Rise of the Citadel (The Search for the Brights Book 2) (56 page)

“Go ahead, I
will stand watch,” Tokeye said as weapons appeared on his body.

The chain
evaporated and floated away in the air. Kilen took two steps back towards the
window. He could feel the cold mist of the window brush his face as it wafted
away from the edges. He could easily touch the surface. He took another look
back at the smiling warrior who nodded once more.

Kilen brushed
his fingers against the surface of the vision and his eyesight faded to
darkness once more.

**********

  The stars
pulsed in and out and The Crying Man screamed in defiance of Tokeye’s control.
Kilen’s mouth tasted salty and his stomach was a tight knot of muscle. It was
the only warning he received before the fountain of vomit spewed from his mouth
down his face and chest. He began choking on his own stomach matter until Leroy
moved his head to the side. He cared nothing for the warmth or the smell of his
sickness.

  He did not try
to wipe it away, instead his focus was inside his mind. Still clawing and fighting,
The Crying Man lashed out until Kilen once again assailed him with his mind's
grip. The Crying Man let out a sob at being back under Kilen’s control. Pushing
the man as far away from his mind as he could, the voice seemed to quiet.
Tokeye remained a tight knot of nervousness. Kilen loosened whatever grip he
had reactively acquired on the warrior who had saved Kilen’s body from being
snatched from within.

  As he thought
over the events that had transpired, he remembered a moment when Tokeye stood
less than an arm’s length away from the frameless window. In brief time Tokeye
proved his loyalty a hundred times over by not taking control of Kilen’s body
for himself. He was mere inches from what luxuries life had to offer and
instead he chose to help Kilen, The warden of the prison to which he was being
held.

  The Captain’s
voice brought Kilen’s mind back to the tasks at hand, “Oh! get him out of here!
Izabel, tell me as soon as possible if this sickness can catch. Until I hear
from you, the men that helped him will remain away from the others.” The
Captain's head barely looked over from the edge of the wagon as the torch light
disappeared from Kilen’s face.

Queezyness swept
over Kilen as the wagon lurched forward, starting to move again. Kilen did not
even know they had given him the poison yet, but felt the effects now that he
was in control of most of his body

  Leroy lifted
Kilen’s head a bit more and began brushing the vomit from his chest and neck
with a rag. He could feel the numbness dissipate from his toes. The feeling of
wiggling toes was so joyous that the next set of dry heaves didn’t dampen his
spirit.

“Can you respond
to me?” Leroy asked.

  Kilen spat to
the side the last of his stomach contents, “Never again.” Kilen said as he
tried to catch his breath, “will you do that to me.”

  “Sorry, I
didn’t know she was going to do that. You know how she is; one minute she’s
selling something, the next she’s stabbing a customer through the hand.” Leroy
said holding his hand up as if checking for the wound.
            Izabel snapped from the driver's seat, “That was
your
fault,
Leroy.”

  The wagon
rocked back and forth, everyone stayed quiet. The last of the fading daylight
fell upon them when Leroy encouraged Kilen to sit up. They were past the line
of soldiers and well on their way to Keepers.

As they
approached the small city, a man got off a seat and then saw Wells amongst the
riders. He gave a wave and sat back down. Poles with lanterns hung at every
shack and tent for those that were still awake inside. Kilen could hear a flute
ahead in the distance and watched the cook fire grow in size drew nearer. He
was sure the dancing would start soon, he only hoped that he would feel up to
it.

  A large man
with a leather apron stood by the cookpots, tasting and dropping in herbs without
looking at the bottle’s contents. Master Bradley had worked this way for many
years here in Keepers and would probably continue to do so when the next king
was risen. Kilen hoped that the master chef would have many years left in
service; the soul wizard threatened their very existence.

  Kilen scooted
to the back of the wagon and stepped out. Immediately, he fell to his knees
still feeling the effects of whatever poison they had given him. Wells was at
his side before he could stop the world from tilting. Wells, the soldier
without a king, helped Kilen to his feet trying to let him keep as much dignity
as he could.

Leroy approached
and handed Kilen a leather covering. Inside was his sword and the satchel the
Elders gave to him. “We didn’t know if you would be coming back to the inn so
Sargeant Wells thought to retrieve it. You buried it pretty deep.”

  Kilen gave a
weak laugh that smelled of his last meal and strapped on the sword, putting the
chainger in place. The magic from the sword increased his strength, but not the
steadiness of his mind. He leaned on Wells for balance and moved at a steady a
pace as he could through to the cook fires.

“Master
Bradley,” Kilen said.

  The round cook
wiped his hands on his leather apron and turned to see the man Wells was
aiding, “My boy, you do not look good.” He too a step to get a closer look and
his eyes went wide. He looked to Leroy, “Stupid child. You should not have
brought him here. Hurry, get him to your mother.”

  Kilen pushed
Leroy back as his friend started to obey his father, “He was doing as I asked,
Master Bradley.”

  “He knows
better the ramifications of bringing you here. If you are caught, we will surly
all die.”
            “Then let us not get caught. I need your help,” Kilen said.

  The cook
replaced Wells and helped hold Kilen steady, “Let us get you inside so you
aren’t seen. Then we will discuss matters. Leroy, mind the stoves. Sargent, get
me a bucket of water to clean him.”

  Leroy nodded
and went to work checking the contents of the big pots. They traveled through
the small arrangements of structures known as Keepers until they came to what
served as the Bradley’s home. They pulled back the tent flap to reveal a
graying woman lying on a cot.

“Weapon Bearer,
I would like you to meet my wife,” Master Bradley said.

Izebel pushed
past the two and went right to work on the cook's wife laying on the cot. She
ignored the men, “How is she doing? Did you give her the herbs I sent?”

  “I have been
doing just as you said, Miss Izabel. I give her the tea three times a day. I
don’t see how it’s doing much good,” The fat cook said.

Kilen kneeled
beside the cot and felt the woman’s body with magic. Her energy was low and the
damage to her body was extensive, yet no wounds could be seen. Her body seeped
inside with fluid that should not have been there. Somehow he knew she was
dying.

  “May I?” He
asked, looking to the large cook who nodded to his head as he tried to hold
back tears.

  Kilen pushed
energy into the woman and watched as only a small amout took hold. As he moved
energy into her body it seemed to disappear like steam into the air. He
wondered if the energy could not stay because of the damage already done.
Slowly, he pushed larger amounts of magic in through smaller areas. Some color
returned to her as he worked and she began to move her limbs. He moved the
extra fluid to area’s where her body could void them. Her skin was soon soaked
with what he could move out of her. Kilen wished Max and Joahna would have
taken over the healing, he was already feeling faint from the exertion.

  The woman’s
eyes finally opened, and she blinked at the bright lanterns in the tent.

“I hope that
helps a bit. Let me rest and perhaps I will be able to do more tomorrow.”

  There were
tears coming down the cook’s face now, “You have done enough, my boy. Izabel,
would you please bring my son?”

  “Of course,
Master Bradley,” She said curtsying.

  “Pete, it is
Pete,” He said as he placed a hand on her arm.

  “Of course,
Pete,” She said as she smiled and curtsied.

The three were
left alone in the tent. The cook hugged his weak but revived wife.

  “What is wrong
with her?” Kilen asked trying to be be insensitive.

  “She is dying,
my boy. We new this end would come, but you seemed to have staved it off for a
little while longer and for that I am grateful. Now, tell us why you are here.”
He stroked his wife's cheek and looked into her eyes as he listened to Kilen.

  “The Elder
Wizards and I are looking for a new king for Leviathan. I thought you would
know where we might find one,” Kilen said, hopeful.

  “I have been
here for many years. I have sent many inquiries to nobles and the children of
nobles. In all my searching there is none that will stand against Warlord Atmos.
He was bred and raised by a warlord and has become a monster on the throne. All
potential candidates tremble at his name. No, there is none that will make a
stand to raise the citadel from its depths.” He spoke to Kilen but did not look
up from his wife.

  There was a
silence following his answer until Leroy’s mother spoke, “We had high hopes for
you, but seeing that you are here seeking another I assume you are also
afraid.”

  “I am not
afraid of Atmos,” Kilen said as almost by reflex of his mind.

  Pete faced
Kilen, still holding his wife's hand in his own, “Then take the crown.” The
dying woman on the cot nodded her head in approval with a smile on her face.

  “I cannot run
a kingdom, I am from a simple family,” Kilen said in argument as he ran his
hands through his hair.

  The woman on
the cot put up a finger and whispered into her husband’s ear.

Pete nodded his
head and faced Kilen, “The family of Dylan Everheart is anything but simple.
Your father was a warrior and a most trusted scout to more than one kingdom. In
the end he saved many lives here in the Water Realm.”

The cook let go
of his wife’s hands and pulled back the tent flap and showed him outside. He
took Kilen by the shoulder and lead him into a thick part of the camp. Citizens
of Keepers were starting to gather musical instruments for their nightly
celebration near the fires. Kilen saw a couple of the women Bowie had danced
with the last time they had been there.

  Pete gripped
his shoulder, slowing him to a stop. He spoke in a voice so that many of those
around could hear him. “Kilen Everheart, should you decide to take the weight
of this land on your shoulders, there will be many deaths. There will be a war
to celebrate your crowning. Some will hire assassins and mercenaries to kill
you. You will be cursed at and ridiculed for every decision you make.”

  The crowd
around had begun to emerge from the three sided homes.

He took a step
closer and spoke louder, “There will also be those who are willing to fight
that war. There will be those willing to endure those pains with you, to give
their lives, to stand for everything that you stand for.”

  The crowd let
out out a yell, “Yeah!”

Pete’s voice was
almost matching theirs as he spoke, “There are those that give their lives to
protect yours. There are those that will give up everything to serve at your
feet as you fight to save this kingdom.” Pete put both hands on Kilen’s
shoulders so they stood face to face. “If you choose to seek the crown, I would
follow you thick into battle against an army of the dead to my death just to
see the crown atop a man’s head.”

The crowd was
cheering when Pete lifted his hands to silence them. When the crowd was
silenced he stepped in close once again. “Many will come and stand with you,
like the people here. They will bolster you and make you stronger than you
could know. Think on it hard, Weapon Bearer. There is none other that can or
will claim the throne.”

  The cook took
a step back and slowly lowered his large body down to one knee. Others soon
followed, causing a wave of people kneeling through the camp. Others approached
and joined the crowd on one knee. Leroy and Izabel walked to the back of the
gathering and smiled as Sergeant Wells approached shortly after them.

“You will have
my sword.” Wells lowered himself down and clasped a fist to his chest.

The air was
thick with emotion so much that Kilen thought his heart would beat clear out of
his chest. Inspiration seeped from the people here and pulled at him to say
yes. He took a step back trying to shake himself of the feeling. He knew he had
to make a decision that was best for everyone.

  Kilen didn’t
know how to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to be their king. He only wished
to see his sister free and to see that they stood a chance in facing the Dark
Army. Without a word, he walked between those kneeling back towards the camp
fires. He only stopped to talk to Leroy in passing, “Your mother is awake.”

  He knew that
his being alone would not last long. Sergeant Wells and Izabel joined him at
the fire. They said nothing to him. He was sure they knew there was nothing
that could be said that hadn’t been already. The music started playing and some
started to dish out the food in the Bradley families absence. He cleaned
himself and was given a fresh shirt that was surprisingly white for people
living without walls. Kilen ate a small amount of the stew that was offered and
staved off the last bit of nausea.

  The
celebration lasted for only a few hours. Many asked him to dance. He refused,
still deep in thought as to where he could seek out the next king. He looked
around to find a place to retire and he found Pete looking at him from a stool
amongst the giant pots.

Pete stood and
walked over, “I am sorry about earlier. You are the best hope we’ve had for a
king in years.”