Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) (14 page)

“You know what Sculley? That’s the best advice I’ve heard from you yet.” Ronan said. “I think your friends want to hear the rest of your story.”

“Yeah Sculley. What happens next?” A vagrant seated by the fire said.

“Shut up and maybe he’ll tell you,” the other vagrant said.

Sculley stared in shocked disbelief and nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”

Arvas writhed on the floor next to an unconscious Needles. “Please kill me. I can’t live like this,” Arvas said.

Sculley staggered to his seat and sank into his chair. He stared motionless into the fire.

Ignoring Arvas, Sculley, and the vagrants, Ronan tied a handkerchief around Rika’s wounded shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Rika picked up the oil lamp and followed Ronan through a passageway beyond Sculley’s fire.

They continued onward following a confusing maze of twists and turns for another quarter hour. The corridor sloped downward then narrowed forcing Ronan and Rika to crouch.

“That’s it. Up ahead,” Ronan said.

The earthen tunnel continued forward without a visible end in sight.

“Up ahead where?” Rika peered into the darkness. “It just keeps going.”

Ronan stopped and placed his palms flat against the ceiling. “There’s a trapdoor here. You have to be looking or you’ll miss it.”

A wooden panel appeared under his hands blending in with the dirt ceiling surrounding it. Ronan pressed upward, and the panel loosened. He slid it sideways where it disappeared inside a hidden slot.

Dim light streamed through the opening revealing a tube extending fifteen feet upward. With walls made of stone and built-in iron rungs, the tunnel provided secret access to the palace.

“Leave the lamp. We should have enough light,” Ronan said.

Rika extinguished the oil lamp leaving it on the ground.

He grabbed an iron rung and pulled himself upward beginning the short climb. After the first few rungs, he whispered to Rika. “Stay quiet. Shard knights are always listening for assassins.”

She nodded her agreement and followed him up the ladder.

As they reached the ladder’s top, the light grew brighter revealing the beginning of a corridor.

Ronan paused where the ladder intersected a shadowy corridor and waited for Rika.

Torchlight filtering through cracks showed a passage curving from the ladder in a single direction.

Ronan pulled himself upward, turned, and extended a hand to Rika.

Pain etched Rika’s face as she took Ronan’s hand and pulled herself into the passage next to him.

A heavy ache settled in Ronan’s chest. The wound she’d suffered in the Shadow City looked worse than she’d first admitted. He cupped his hand to her ear and whispered. “This passage circles the western guardhouse. We’ll follow this for a bit. Just go slow. Knights stand guard on the other side of this wall.”

She nodded once. The blood soaked handkerchief wrapped around her shoulder dripped, and the droplets rolled along her armor before spattering on the wooden floor.

His stomach writhed with worry. Her wound needed cleaning and stitches, but he’d never get this opportunity again, and she couldn’t go back without him. She’d never make it alone. With steel determination, he pressed onward.

Beyond the stone wall, many plate mail boots rattled echoing from the rough guardhouse floor. The sound of creaking armor stopped, and a deep voice barked muffled orders.

Ronan stood still as a statue and focused on the deep muffled voice.

“The city is on full lock down. That means not a single citizen, wagon, boat, or soldier enters or leaves Freehold until we apprehend the criminals. You are to search all wagons and boats requesting entry or exit from the city.” The voice said.

Ronan shuddered. He’d expected this, but watching the impact on real people left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“The king has ordered a house-to-house search. As you pass by the exit, examine the sketch and memorize the faces. They should be considered armed and dangerous. One of them has stolen and used an enhancement shard. You should not approach them alone.”

“Did His Majesty indicate where they might be hiding?” Another voice said.

“Our sources believe the girl is Ayralen, so we’ll start with the Ayralen district. You’re to search every house inside and out, and conduct your search in any manner necessary to produce results,” the captain said.

Ronan’s skin tingled, and his stomach sank. He and Rika had made friends in the Ayralen district, and they’d pay for his theft. He and Rika lived inside the Ayralen district, and Rika poured hours of love and care into building their home. That Pride’s barbarians would toss their memories like a trash heap both enraged and nauseated him.

“What about Meranthian homes?”

“Your search should not exclude Meranthian homes, but you’re to use minimal force during the inspection.”

Rika’s hand pressed against his lower back signaling him to keep moving. His face flushed with anger, but he lowered his head and pressed forward.

A heavy wooden ladder appeared ahead.

Ronan moved beneath the rickety ladder and traced it upward.

The ladder rose four floors straight up intersecting every floor along the way. Rika and Ronan wouldn’t stop until they reached the top floor.

Ronan grabbed the ladder and climbed.

Rika came after him, but she made slow progress. The right side of her leather tunic appeared soaked with blood, and her face looked a shade lighter than a few minutes earlier.

His senses screamed at him to turn back. She looked ready to collapse, but they’d moved beyond the point of return.

They reached the top floor without incident. The shadowy passage leading behind the royal wing stretched out empty and silent.

Ronan crept along the corridor taking extra care with each step. He channeled his power listening for any sound near him and picked up nearby voices.

Two rooms ahead, in the king’s private drawing room, two men carried on a placid conversation.

Ronan recognized Pride’s voice. Like a snake slithering through a hole he didn’t wander far from the nest. He whispered to Rika. “I hear voices in the drawing room ahead. I think it’s him. We’ll wait until he’s alone. Are you ready?”

Perspiration beaded her forehead, and lines of sweat streaked her face. “Let’s make this fast.”

Her skin grew paler by the minute. She’d lost too much blood. He’d carry her over his shoulder when they left. “Why don’t you wait here? You look ready to drop.”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you. Go.”

Through cracks and watch holes, light flowed from the drawing room casting dim light in the tight passage. The sound of male voices carried through the thin wall without need of shard magic.

Ronan eased into place behind a watch hole while Rika took position behind another hole next to his.

The stately furnishings and decorations of the royal drawing room snapped into focus. The pasty white figures of Merric Pride and Lord Niles Randal sat across from each another engaged in easy conversation.

“You can rest assured knowing the crown is turning over every stone. We’ll find them,” Lord Randal said.

Pride nodded. “That’s good Niles. I’m confident Commander Renault will bring the pair to justice.” He picked up a wine glass and drew a sip. “Niles, what progress has The Order made finding the rings?

“For now we still don’t know the location of either ring Your Majesty,” Randal said.

Ronan’s ears pricked, but he hadn’t known of a second ring. His mother had never mentioned it.

“What about the ruins located at the inland swamp? I thought you were looking there.”

“We’ve searched the ruins but found nothing. Besides, Ambassador Finn’s work never pointed to that location,” Randal said.

“Ambassador Finn is one step removed from an animal. Ayralens can’t process information the same way as you and I. They’re brains are incapable of assembling information at that level. Why do you think the ambassador came to Meranthia to begin with? He needed our scholars,” Pride said.

The statement stunned Ronan. In the years he’d known Pride, he’d never said something so racist and inflammatory. How had he fooled his mother?

“I agree Your Majesty, but we shouldn’t discount his work. He may have stumbled upon information made available by ancient Meranthian researchers,” Randal said.

Pride’s brow furrowed, and he scratched his chin. “I suppose that might be possible. Has he given you any new information?” Pride said.

Rika’s hand shot to her mouth suppressing a gasp.

Ronan’s skin tingled with excitement. The news that Rika’s father lived might offer the adrenaline rush she needed to stay on her feet.

“Not yet but we’ll keep up the pressure,” Randal said.

“Did you ever locate his daughter?”

“No Your Majesty. We believe she’s either dead or fled to Ayralen.”

“I see. That’s too bad,” he said. “We could’ve used her as leverage.”

Ronan smiled at Rika and nodded.

Tears streaked her face, and she returned his smile with a crooked one of her own. She reached for his hand and squeezed.

“Niles, what’s the progress with the colonies?” Pride said.

“I’m pleased to report that they’re ready Your Majesty. We await your orders on how you’d like to proceed.”

“How many savages can we fit into each colony?” Pride said

“Ten thousand per colony Your Majesty. The southern colony will house the male of the species. The northern colony is for females and their offspring.”

Time stopped, and Ronan’s blood ran cold. Pride had lost whatever sense he’d once held.

“When are they old enough to breed? I don’t want any more of them running around. Elan knows we have enough of them already.”

Lord Randal cleared his throat. “They follow the same reproductive track as Meranthians Your Majesty. So, about fifteen years old.”

“Make sure you separate them as soon as their old enough. Let’s make it thirteen years. Better safe than sorry.”

“Yes Your Majesty. We do have some complications. As you know, some Meranthians have taken to interbreeding with the Ayralens. How should we handle that situation?”

“Round them up. Meranthian and Ayralen alike. Any Meranthian willing to breed with the savages is not welcome in this realm. Elan has expressed his extreme displeasure on this matter,” Pride said.

“We don’t have enough colonies for that number -”

Pride cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Then stack them together. It makes little difference to me. Maybe cramped conditions will help them find Elan’s light that much sooner. Regardless, you have my permission to proceed. Start with the Ayralen district. It’s time to reclaim our home.”

Ronan clenched his jaw, and he trembled with rage. In his wildest imagination, he’d never considered Pride capable of genocide.

Glassy-eyed, Rika stared straight ahead mouth agape. Blood dripped from her fingertips as her soaked tunic could hold no more blood. A moment later her eyes rolled back, and her legs trembled and gave out.

Ronan channeled his speed and burst toward her lunging to intercept her as she fell.

Rika collapsed, and her body pitched forward smashing into the wall.

His best effort fell short. He’d missed by an inch.

As her legs buckled, she slid down the wall and collapsed near the hidden door leading into the drawing room.

The hidden door exploded in a spray of shattered glass, stone, and wood. Shrapnel flew over Rika missing her by a razor’s margin.

Ronan, still imbued with speed, leaped away from the door, and debris bounced off his shard enhanced skin.

Blue spirit energy burst through the space once occupied by the secret door blasting into the stone wall behind Ronan.

Hot rage roared through every cell of his body as Ronan raised his leg and hammered the wall in front of him.

The drawing room’s wall groaned and burst apart. Rock and wood flew outward at blinding speed. Shrapnel collided with the spirit shield surrounding Pride igniting shimmers of blue and white energy. Tiny pieces of splintered wood burned away while stone and glass ricocheted at wild angles. The debris ripped apart furniture, shattered expensive glass vases, and shredded upholstery.

Ronan leaped through twisted wreckage rolling into a crouch in front of Pride. He stood and yanked his knife free of his belt sheath.

Pride’s mouth fell open, and his eyes went wide with shock.

With his knife held high, Ronan soared toward Pride traversing fifteen feet of empty air. He poured his strength into his arm, and plunged the blade into the spirit barrier surrounding the traitorous king.

Pride’s shield blazed in a torrent of light. Smoldering energy poured from the fracture caused by Ronan’s knife, but, unlike a battle knight’s shard blade, Ronan’s dagger melted on impact. Molten steel dripped and flowed across the sphere’s blue surface, and black smoke billowed as the stink of burned metal scorched the air.