Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (58 page)

With a little bow, he turned on his heel and strode out.

No one moved inside the house for a long moment. Then John promptly shut and locked the door. Anne put a hand to her stomach, sure she would be sick, and reached for the back of a chair to steady herself. Her breaths came out shallow and ragged. John put his hands on her shoulders.

“Are you all right?”

She looked up, her head spinning. “Trask,” she cried. “What are we going to do about Trask?”

Speaking his name opened the floodgates of her tears, and they poured down her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” John murmured.

Desperation and panic clamored for Anne to take action. She pulled away from her father and headed for the door. “I have to go to camp. They have to know.”

But her father caught her by the arm. “You can’t. If Goler suspects Trask is hiding Kyrin, then he probably has men watching the roads. You could be caught yourself or accidently lead someone to the camp.”

Anne resisted him at first, but then the full import of the situation robbed her of strength. Her legs wobbled, and she choked out a sob. “But we have to do something.”

Her father pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “Anne, the only thing we can do right now is pray.”

Footsteps echoed in Trask’s throbbing skull. His body protested every movement, but he pushed himself up off the floor of his cell and gained his feet just before Goler appeared. The captain glared through the bars and looked to be in a foul mood.

“Here to tell me again of my coming fate?” Trask asked. His swollen jaw ached with every word, but he would fight this man to his last breath.

Goler scowled and unlocked the door. He strode in, grabbed Trask by the collar, and slammed him back against the wall. Trask gasped for the air forced from his lungs and winced at the pain streaking through his head. He jerked against Goler, but couldn’t break his hold. The man growled in his face, “No, but you will tell me how to win over Lady Anne.”

The fight left Trask for a moment. “Lady Anne?” His heart reacted to the thought of her and how difficult this must be. If only he had some way to send her words of comfort and let her know how deeply he loved her. Then Goler’s words fully sank in and defiance flooded back. He scoffed. “You think I’d ever tell you how to win her affections?”

“No,” Goler replied, his voice ready to snap. “But I’ll still enjoy trying to beat it out of you.”

A thick blanket of clouds hid the light of Aertus and Vilai and provided the needed cover. Warin motioned to Rayad, and they crept to a small service door in the wall at the rear of Landale Castle. He pulled one of two keys from his pocket.

“Trask gave me these so we could get inside if we needed to,” he whispered.

Easing the door open, he peered into the courtyard. Nothing moved amongst the shadows. At least Goler didn’t have guards stationed here. That was a good sign. They crossed the open space to the castle itself. Here, Warin unlocked one of the back doors. Inside, pitch-black surrounded them. Warin put his hand to the wall and led the way. They wound around in the darkness until they reached a torch-lit hall and followed it to Baron Grey’s office.

Morris sat hunched over, staring unfocused at the paperwork strewn across his desk. At the creak of the door, his head shot up. His eyes widened, but weariness dragged down his expression.

“Warin, thank the King you’re here,” he breathed. “Please, come in and see the baron.”

Warin’s heart sank at the older man’s reaction to them, which all but confirmed his fears. The secretary hurried to the office door and looked in. “My lord,
it’s Warin and Rayad.”

The two of them walked in as the baron rose from his desk. The same weariness dogged his face, his eyes bloodshot and in need
of rest. Desperation flashed in them as if devouring him from the inside.

“What’s happened?” Warin asked, skipping any formalities.

Baron Grey leaned on his desk and appeared more like a frail old man than a strong lord. “Goler arrested Trask yesterday. He knows he’s hiding Miss Altair and that he’s a follower of Elôm.”

Though expected, the news punched Warin right in the gut. He and Trask had discussed this scenario, Trask making sure he’d continue to run the camp if he were gone. But it surely didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Grey sank back into his chair. “Goler sent word to Valcré of his suspicions about Miss Altair and expects the emperor to send men to investigate. Once they decide whether or not Trask can or will provide any information…he’ll be executed.”

The last phrase was barely audible.

Warin cleared the tightness in his throat. Trask would want him to make sure this didn’t jeopardize the mission. “Do you think Goler suspects you of disloyalty?”

Grey shook his head. “I’ve done my best to appear apathetic.” Something changed in his expression, and a fiery look came to his eyes as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair. “But I won’t let him do this to my son.”

Warin winced. He’d be right there with the baron in any attempt to break Trask free if he didn’t have to consider the far-reaching consequences of any rash actions. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you, but you must uphold your pretense of loyalty.” He winced. The words tasted so wrong. “I implore you, my lord, do not take action in this.”

The baron’s lips set in a grim line, and he glared at him. Warin had never before seen him display any anger toward one of his friends.

“How do you expect me to stand back and watch my son be tortured and killed?”

Warin sighed with a heavy heart. “By remembering the people. I know it’s a hard choice to make, but Landale needs your leadership.”

Grey shook his head again and rose abruptly to pace. “I just don’t think I can do it.” His fists clenched. Without looking at Warin, he said in a thick voice, “He’s my son.”

Warin grimaced, sharing the man’s pain, but sometimes leadership meant sacrifice. Too many people counted on them. “We still have time. Hold off any action, at least until there’s no other way. I don’t know yet what we can do, but you know we won’t just stand by and watch him die. Please, my lord. Trask wouldn’t want any of us to put him before the people of Landale. He would want them taken care of first. That’s why he set up camp and is in custody now, because of his desire to help people.”

Grey hung his head and morphed again into a mere shadow of a man. “It’s only a matter of time before I’m discovered too.”

“Perhaps,” Warin acknowledged, “but Landale needs you for as long as you can keep up appearances.” He glanced at Rayad, still unsure the baron would heed his words and make the necessary choice between leader and father—an unimaginable choice.

Rayad stepped up, his voice understanding, yet firm. “I apologize, my lord, but there’s nothing you can do for Trask. Not on your own. You would only be arrested and executed right along with him. What would that accomplish?”

Grey just stared off at nothing with glazed eyes and didn’t respond. Had he even heard Rayad?

At last, he looked up, his expression sagging. “Please, there must be a way to save him.”

Warin rubbed his beard, knowing of no way to give the man hope. “We can’t break him out. There are too many men stationed at the barracks.” He glanced away from the man’s stricken face, wanting a way as much as the baron did. “We’ll set watches at the barracks. Our best chance at saving him would be if
he’s moved. He wouldn’t be under such heavy guard then.”

“Do you think he will be moved?”

“Not until they’re ready to execute him, either here or in Valcré.”

Grey’s eyes misted. “But you think you have a chance of stopping it?”

“We’ll certainly try,” Warin promised and whispered a prayer inside.

T
he training swords met with a violent crack. Kaden pushed his advantage and forced his instructor back two steps. Sweat rolled down his face, and he panted, but did not slow. He pressed forward, attack after attack, moving almost recklessly, but right on the edge of precision. The frustration burning inside him needed an outlet.

Another ten minutes passed, maybe fifteen, before his instructor stepped back and called the match to a halt. Kaden frowned at him, far from ready to quit. He would fight until he practically dropped just to
be rid of the restlessness that gnawed at him. His instructor nodded past him, and he looked over his shoulder. Two of his guards approached. A third stood at the edge of the training field.

When the men reached him, one ordered, “Go inside and change. The emperor has summoned you to the palace.”

The news doused Kaden like ice water. His shoulders sagged and his arms fell heavily to his sides. He’d finally run out of time. He filled his lungs and let the air out slowly. Somehow, he’d known all along that he wouldn’t escape.

His fist tightened around the practice sword, but he handed it over to his instructor and trudged up to the Hall in silence. Upstairs, the guards waited outside while he stepped into his room and closed the door. Stopping in the center of the room, he just stood—his only moment of privacy to prepare for meeting the emperor. He closed his eyes.
Elôm, whatever happens, help me stay strong and faithful to You…like Kyrin did
.

Instinct urged him to fight this with everything in his power, but common sense called for compliance, if only to see if a better opportunity presented itself. So he changed into a clean uniform and joined the guards. They passed through the Hall and out to the courtyard. Along the way, Kaden spotted Sam. Remorse etched his friend’s face—helpless to intervene. Kaden just met his gaze with grim acceptance. He’d anticipated this for so long he was ready to get it
over and done with. He couldn’t live this way anymore. The next execution would have made him snap anyway.

They followed the same path Kyrin had taken when this all started. Kaden had wished to take her place that morning after the promotion, but at least she was safe now.

The guards escorted him inside the palace, but never once said a word to clue him in on what this meeting entailed. Not that any meeting with the emperor could really end well at this point. He glanced down the halls they passed. Cold, empty halls. Without Kyrin, they lost any hint of warmth or welcome. Not a single familiar face met them. But for Elôm, he was on his own.