“So. What do we do now?” Lia asked. While the question sounded genuine, I could already feel that she knew the answer to the question.
“Lia...I know we just started our first real adventure together, but...we have to go back.”
“Yeah.” She lay back into the grass and stared up into the brightening morning sky. “I don’t know what to tell everyone back home.”
I fell back beside her with another sigh. “I know what you mean, but...that isn’t what I meant.” I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance as I finally accepted the truth. “We have to go back to Kaldan.”
***
14. PLANS
The heavy wooden door shattered beneath Jarut’s shoulder, and we slipped past him through the splinters, each clearing one side of the throne room’s entryway. The two guards in front of me jumped away from the shower of wood and metal with just enough time to scramble for their weapons and shout before my sword ended their protests. I spun to assist Kel, but I found her standing casually above the three corpses she had silently created, watching me. She tapped a dagger against her shoulder and mouthed the phrase I already knew was coming: “Too slow.”
The bloody violence of our procession towards the throne stood in stark contrast to our last visit, when we had been paraded as heroes before the most important nobles in Alderea to receive the King’s blessing. A three-year campaign of death, loss, and betrayal separated the two events. Every guard that fell before us on our advance towards the throne stood as a poignant reminder of where we had come from and what we had lost in order to return.
“ORLAN!” Jarut bellowed as he caved in the skull of an approaching Disciple with the blunt end of his battleaxe. “Come down here and face us yourself!”
King Orlan recoiled on his throne, and his disheveled gray hair and untamed beard began to tremble beneath his bejeweled crown. “Protect me, Disciples! Protect your King!”
I felt my blood boil as he cowered behind the sea of expressionless faces. A series of rainbow lights flashed along the length of my sword as my combat enhancements flared to life, and I dove headfirst into the crowd of Disciples. Kel and Jarut joined me a moment later, but their assistance was entirely unnecessary; none of the members of the mob before us were strong enough to deflect my blows or fast enough to escape my onslaught. The place within me where I once pitied the Disciples had long since been gutted and replaced with a growing fire of rage and disgust.
The guards that fell to our assault were clearly not trained soldiers; anybody who had so much as looked at a sword had been rounded up and sent to the warfront years ago, leaving the Alderean capital almost entirely undefended. The King’s retainer had stayed behind at his insistence, but their bodies were strewn across the front steps of the keep, having valiantly blocked our path as we arrived. Despite the matching royal armor and weaponry, the clumsy movements and lack of coordination of the King’s current defenders revealed them for what they truly were: civilians.
I broke through their ranks long before Jarut and Kel and leapt up the steps to Orlan’s throne in a single jump. “YOU,” I roared, pointing my sword into his blue and purple robes until the tip pressed against his sternum. I lunged forward and shoved him roughly against the throne by his shoulder. “How could you do this?” I shoved him again as my arm began to tremble, not waiting for a reply. “HOW?”
“Elden!” Jarut shouted, rushing up behind me. “That’s enough. Let him go.”
I looked up at him in bewilderment as every inch of my body screamed for me to run Orlan through with my sword. “You can’t...Jarut, he—”
“Elden,” he repeated, “listen to me. You aren’t thinking clearly. Let him go. ”
My nostrils flared at the admonishment, but I shoved Orlan one final time as I withdrew my sword and took my spot next to Kel. Jarut stepped forward to take my place, crossing his massive, plated arms and staring down at the cowering king with cold, narrowed eyes.
“Please, spare me!” Orlan shouted, holding his arms up over his head to defend against some unseen attack. “I’ll give you anything you want, just spare me!”
“I want answers, Orlan,” Jarut snapped. “Tell me: Was the war always a lie? Did you plan all of this from the start?”
“No!” he cried. “No, I had no idea, I swear! It was Baasch! Baasch was working for Kalateth the whole time!” The old king squirmed backwards against the dark iron throne as he babbled, trying in vain to find a means of escape. “He started the war and tricked me into sending my troops away so he could take control of the capital himself!”
“And you just GAVE it to him?” I shouted over Jarut’s shoulder, unable to contain my anger. “I saw my friends DIE because of you, and you just—”
Jarut turned abruptly and blocked the king from my view. “ENOUGH, Elden,” he commanded. “You’ll stay quiet, or you’ll leave.” We locked eyes for a long moment before I turned my head away to stare at the floor, silent and seething. He turned back to Orlan and pointed an armored finger into the king’s chest. “You could have recalled the royal army. You could have called for aid from the north. But you gave the city over to him and didn’t say a word.” He let the statement linger for a moment, then leaned his face down level with the king’s. “Why?”
“If I hadn’t gone along with his plan, Baasch would have just killed me and done it anyway!” he replied frantically. “He told me it was the only way to save Alderea from evil! He said it was the only way to keep everyone safe!”
In a sudden flurry of movement, Jarut hauled
