Flower of Light | Chapter 3
Flower of Light: The Eternal Stones 1 by Allison Wade.
The full book is available in ebook and print on Amazon.
3. Magic
In the night, lying on an uncomfortable bed in the room he shared with Berth and Greystone, Jonathan couldn’t fall asleep.
The fight had sobered him up, but it hadn’t exhausted him enough to make him collapse. Besides, he couldn’t get the thought of what had happened out of his head.
That girl, the magic she had used, the symbol on her face. It was something he had never seen before.
He knew about magic, had been to the shows of traveling illusionists, visited the Temple, seen the rituals honoring the Sun. Nothing had ever come close to what the blond girl had done in that alley. Because he had felt it.
It was a surge of boiling energy that had taken his breath away for a moment. It had reverberated inside him and left him extremely confused. That sense of premonition he had felt since they entered the village had resounded in his head like a call. And the strangest thing of all was that it felt almost… familiar.
He shook his head. It wasn’t like him to get lost in such reverie. Maybe, it was just the tension of confrontation. The taste of danger. Maybe he needed some fresh air again.
He got up, trying not to wake the others, who seemed to be sleeping soundly. He was wearing only his breeches and a shirt, but at the last moment, he thought it would be a good idea to at least bring his dagger. Not that he intended to stray too far. He just wanted to clear his head a little.
He stepped out into the hallway that led to the stairs, but a sudden thud brought him to a stop. It seemed to come from the room where the prince was sleeping.
The moon in the sky was a sliver, and its faint light barely came through the windows. Yet he remembered seeing that window closed when he had made his last round before going to sleep.
He heard the noise of something metallic falling, this time unmistakable. He saw a black figure rush out of the prince’s room.
“Hey, you!” he yelled, reaching for his dagger.
As soon as it heard him, the figure moved its hand, as if to throw something. There was an explosion and, suddenly, the corridor filled with fog.
“Guards!” called Jonathan, before a coughing fit made it difficult for him to breathe.
He couldn’t see anything around him and felt disoriented. He had no idea where that figure was, but he soon found out, when he felt someone grab him from behind.
The knight’s body reacted instinctively, and he tried to break free by elbowing backward. He heard the man’s groan as he was hit and felt him loosen his grip, but he also felt a sharp pain in his back, something tearing through the light fabric and piercing his flesh. He tried to lunge forward and spin around to put his dagger between him and his attacker. He didn’t understand why it was so difficult for him. He could only see fog. But he could hear the voices of the others and the sound of footsteps. His cries must have woken them. The figure in black slipped away in an instant.
Jonathan tried to find the prince’s room. “Your Highness!” he called out. He was so disoriented that he couldn’t even figure out which way the door was.
A warm liquid soaked the back of his undershirt, and he felt an uncomfortable burning sensation between his shoulder blades. He was wounded, no doubt about it. As he struggled to breathe, he noticed the fog beginning to clear.
Among the voices around him, he heard a groan. It was close. Jonathan followed the direction of the sound but saw no one. His feet stumbled over something. He bent down on one knee, feeling around with his free hand.
Prince Brayn was lying on the ground. His neck and chest drenched in blood. More came out of his mouth as he tried to speak.
“Your Highness!” cried Jonathan, blindly searching for the wound. He found a gash in his throat. He pressed on it with both hands. “Guards!” he shouted again, so the others could reach him, as Brayn Bluand convulsed and choked on his own blood.
Jonathan heard footsteps approaching.
“What happened?” He recognized Greystone’s voice.
“The prince has been stabbed!” shrieked Jonathan.
Someone finally brought a lantern. “Go find a healer,” Greystone ordered one of his men.
“You’re bleeding too, Jon,” another one said, but Jonathan couldn’t figure out who it was. His mind was still confused, he was out of breath. But he had no intention of moving from there. He knew he couldn’t remove his hands, but he also knew it was too late. The prince kept gasping; his airway obstructed.
The knight’s head was crowded with thoughts. What could he do? Was the enemy still there?
If the prince kept bleeding like that, he had little hope of making it. Why couldn’t Jonathan do anything to save him? Why did he always have to watch those around him die? He closed his eyes, pressing on the wound, his hands now sticky with blood. Labored breathing, heart pounding in his head.
The prince’s brown eyes were wide, terrified, and fixed on him. He, who was his only and last hope, who was meant to protect him. He should have saved him. And now that he had failed in his duties, all he could do was press on that damn wound, facing the inevitable, as if he really could have changed things.
There is nothing more to be done. It’s too late. You can’t save him. Just as you couldn’t save your brother when he sacrificed himself to protect you. You can’t do that, said a stupid voice in his head.
“Hang in there, Your Highness,” he said aloud, clinging to the last thread of hope, while he felt the life leaving the prince’s body.
I can’t accept it, he repeated to himself. But there was also another voice. It kept whispering a word to him. Relentlessly. In a language he had never heard before.
Djahr.
What the hell did that mean? Why now of all times?
Djahr.
“What is that? On his face…” noted someone, maybe Berth? Jonathan didn’t know what he was talking about. He only knew he had to say that word.
“Djahr!” he spat out, and it was like releasing an oppressive weight. It was like a burst of light.
Light filled his body and emanated from his hands, enveloping the prince as well, shaking him. Brayn’s eyes widened and his mouth opened to take one last breath. He turned to the side, escaping Jonathan’s grasp, while the knight remained there, stunned, too overwhelmed by what was happening.
The prince spat blood on the floor and then resumed breathing, long breaths of air, interspersed with coughs. He sat up, touching his neck. Only a dark spot remained where the blade had pierced him, but there was no wound. He stared at Jonathan, dumbfounded, and Jonathan stared back at him, unable to explain what he had just done. It looked like… magic.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” asked Lorenz Gendon, stepping in and helping the prince to his feet.
Someone else pulled Jonathan up by the arm. “How the heck did you do that?” Greystone watched him with incredulity.
“I-I haven’t the slightest idea,” Jonathan murmured, looking around, confused. Yet he felt invigorated. That sense of fatigue and the stinging pain in his back had completely disappeared.
He took off his shirt and found an extensive blood stain and a gash in the fabric at the back. “What the…” he searched for a reflective surface in which to examine himself. He found a silver mirror among the junk the prince had scattered on the nightstand. Squirming, he tried to touch and look at his back and… nothing. There was absolutely nothing. No wounds. Just dried blood.
He dropped into a chair, running a hand through his blond hair, still in disbelief. “What on earth happened?” he muttered again.
“I’m fine, I said!” shrieked the prince, fending off Gendon’s hands, which were still searching him. “This is absolutely outrageous!” he exclaimed furiously. “They tried to assassinate me! Right here! Half a day away from the Imperial Court! My cousin will hear of this!”
“Did you see who it was?” asked Lorenz, apprehensively.
“An assassin! In an inn full of guards!” Brayn snapped. “What kind of coward attacks a man in his sleep?”
“I am mortified, Your Highness,” Gendon continued. “But the important thing is that you are unharmed. I will send the guards to investigate.”
The prince chased him away, waving his hand, then turned to his men. “You pack everything and get the horses ready. We are leaving immediately. I will not stay a moment longer in this horrible place!”
Jonathan was about to go retrieve his equipment, but Lorenz held him back for a moment. “Sir Silverhart, forgive me for asking, but are you… are you a Warden?”
Jonathan looked at him, puzzled. “A… what?”
“A Warden of Light. I noticed your star…”
“My… what?”
Lorenz shook his head. “Don’t mind me. I think, at the Imperial Court, they will be able to give you an explanation for what happened.”
“I hope so,” Jonathan replied, setting off to prepare for the journey.
* * *
Having heard Sir Silverhart’s call, Kris Wasa grabbed the dagger he kept under his pillow, and with silent steps went out into the hallway before his companions even realized the commotion and woke up fully.
The confined space was filled with fog, but Kris’s room was the last one before the stairs and had not been reached yet. There came the sound of approaching footsteps. Kris retreated to the threshold for a moment, trying to blend in with the shadows of the night.
When the figure passed by, Kris sprang forward and grabbed him with his strong arms. He slammed him against the wall, pressing his forearm on the man’s throat, and showing him the sharp dagger. “Don’t move,” he threatened. “Who are you?”
The man didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the blade, the rest of his face covered by a hood and mask.
“What’s going on?” asked one of Kris’s companions, shining the light of his lantern on them.
Kris took the opportunity to snatch the fabric away and look his captive in the face. Fair skin, thick, dark eyebrows, shaven chin, a scar on his upper lip, curled into a kind of snarl. Just a few moments to memorize his features, then the stranger muttered something in a language that Kris didn’t know, and a spark ignited between them, smelling like sulfur. The warrior of the Forests stepped back to shield his face, and the man slipped away.
Kris followed the assassin down the stairs, but when he reached the floor below, there was no sign of him. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. From upstairs, he heard the commotion of the Waterfall Kingdom’s soldiers. Kris climbed the stairs again, to go and see what had happened.
It was then that he noticed the light coming from the prince’s room. “What’s that?”
“Krisantha,” Councilor Seiba called him. “Where were you?”
“I tried to stop the running man, but he got away.”
“Did you see his face?” another voice asked, one of the guards accompanying Sir Gendon.
Kris nodded.
“The prince is alive!” someone else exclaimed, interrupting them in the confusion of men and weapons moving through that cramped space.
“Don’t leave the inn,” said the guard addressing the Forests delegation.
The Southern men looked at each other, confused, then moved to one of the rooms to make space for the others.
After a silent wait, someone finally reached them. Sir Lorenz Gendon introduced himself with a polite nod. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I heard that one of you saw who stabbed the prince.”
Kris stood up. “That’s me.”
“Your name?”
“Krisantha Wasa.”
“What exactly did you see?”
“A man in black coming out of the fog. I grabbed him and took off his cover. I got a look at his face, he seemed a Northerner, with dark hair, and a scar on his lip.”
“Would you recognize him if you were to see him again?”
“I think so,” Kris replied.
“Good. I must ask you to come with us, then.”
Kris turned toward Councilor Seiba, seeking approval.
“Go with them, Kris, they need your help,” said the elder, with a graceful nod.
Kris followed Lorenz. They returned to the room where the rest of the guards had gathered. Among them were also a couple of Knights of the Waterfall Kingdom. One of them was Sir Silverhart, who, for some strange reason, was shirtless, with the torn and bloody fabric in his hands. He looked up at the Southern man when he saw him enter.
“We need to search the area to find the person responsible for the attack,” Gendon began immediately. “Leave no stone unturned, ask questions if possible.” He pointed at Kris. “Wasa saw his face and can recognize him.”
Jonathan stood up and finally put his shirt back on. “Who knows where he’s sneaked off to by now, that weasel… We should first worry about protecting the prince, since he’s planning to leave for the Imperial City right away.”
Lorenz nodded. “I’ll leave a couple of men here to investigate. The rest of us will escort you to Gensteth. We will make sure the prince arrives safely.”
* * *
In the darkness, Kyra jolted awake.
“Did you feel that?” asked Yaf, who was lying beside her.
“It wasn’t a dream?” she replied, confused, looking for something to make light. She found a candle and brushed it with her hand. Immediately, the flame was lit.
The girl stared into the fire. She hadn’t gotten used to her new power yet, but her body seemed to have a will of its own. Sometimes, it made her uneasy.
“It’s close,” continued the Fay. “Maybe in Dalswol.”
Kyra peeked out of the tent, observing the forest at night. She couldn’t see the village from there, everything was dull and dark. “I think it’s him…”
“Who?”
“The Knight of the Waterfall.” She turned to Yaf, thoughtful. “When you read my future, you said the waterfall protects me…”
“… or perhaps the signs indicated that a Warden would come from the Waterfall Kingdom,” finished the Fay for her. “But we can’t know yet, we’ll have to meet him.”
Kyra nodded. “I have to go back to the village.”
“Tomorrow morning, in the daylight,” Yaf held her back. “Now come and sleep. Destiny can wait a few more hours.”
The girl looked into the night, then gave a resigned sigh. “Fine.” And with a huff, she extinguished the little flame.
* * *
They had been searching the streets of Dalswol all night long, but they seemed to have lost all trace of the assassin.
Kris Wasa helped the guards dispose of the corpses of the lizards he, Jonathan, and that mysterious girl had met a few hours earlier, but he didn’t mention her to the soldiers. Kyra had asked for his silence, and he always kept his promises.
He followed the tracks of those beasts back the way they had come, but they led to the woods outside the village, where they would be impossible to follow.
“There is nothing else to do here,” the team commander concluded. “Let’s go back to the inn.”
“I’ll make one last round and catch up with you,” Kris replied.
“As you wish, but don’t get into trouble. We have enough already,” commented the guard, and then walked with his men toward the town center.
Kris bent down on one knee, drawing his torch closer to a fresh footprint etched into a muddy stretch of road. It looked the same as the others leading out of the village, but had a slightly different angle, as if heading to the right. As much as they were called men, those lizards were more similar to animals in their behavior, and it was strange that one of them had parted from his group without a reason.
Kris tried to imagine its direction and advanced a few steps. There was another mark further up the paved road, but it was only partial and would be easy to mistake for a simple dirt stain. Perhaps that was why they didn’t notice it earlier.
In that part of town, there were but some scattered old houses. If the assassin had taken that way, perhaps he had entered one of the buildings? Kris went a little further, but everything seemed quiet. Going alone was not a good idea. He should have called the guards back, but a strange feeling crawled up his spine and made him feel uncomfortable.
He turned and faced two pairs of deep blue eyes.
“Kris… Wasa?”
He immediately recognized the blond girl, but there was also a woman with her, her hair hidden by a hood.
“Kyra?”
She nodded. “We are here to talk about what happened tonight.”
Kris frowned. “Did you see something?”
“I didn’t see it… more like felt it. The power of Light…”
“You mean what Sir Silverhart did?”
“So it was him? I wasn’t mistaken.” Kyra gave a half smile. “Where is he now?”
“I think he has already left for the Imperial City with his prince.”
Kyra turned toward the other woman. “We have to catch up with him.”
She shook her head. “You’re not going to the Imperial City. You have another path to follow.”
“But he must know who we are,” Kyra began. The woman shushed her with a gesture, then talked to Kris.
“Man of Geb,” she called him by the ancient name of his people. “Are you also headed to the Imperial Court?”
Kris confirmed. “I need to rejoin the delegation of the Forests.”
“I have a favor to ask of you, then. If you meet the Knight of the Waterfall, tell him we are waiting for him at the crossroads to the east.”
“The crossroads…? Forgive me, but I don’t know this area.”
“It’s halfway, on the fastest route between here and the Imperial City. Likely they have already passed it on the road there. You will also cross it when you resume your journey.”
“I’ll do my best to deliver your message.”
Kyra gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Kris. I’m glad fate put you on our path.”
“Now, go back with the guards,” the hooded woman interjected, looking around with concern. “It’s not safe here. Better not stay alone too long.”
Kris hesitated for a moment, but finally decided to listen to her. “I’ll get back and… let me guess. I mustn’t tell anyone else about our meeting?”
“That’s right,” replied the woman, serious.
“I hope I don’t get in trouble for all this,” he concluded, waving them off with a nod.
“The Constellations protect you,” said the woman, then she and Kyra walked away, taking the path to the woods again.
* * *
A few hours later, in the late morning, when Gendon’s men had given up their fruitless search, a figure in black made his way back through the silent alleys, moving close to the walls, mingling with the shadows, heading for the safe house on the outskirts of Dalswol. When he was sure no one had followed him, he slipped inside through the back door.
Sitting at the main room table with a couple of other men, arms crossed, his face lit by a lantern, his commander waited for him.
“You’re back, at last,” said the brown-haired man, impatient.
“I had to hide from the guards.”
“Did you do what you were supposed to?”
“Yes, Captain Rutherkann,” he replied, albeit with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“Are you sure, Hazael?” The man peered at him with stern brown eyes and furrowed brows, stroking the pointy goatee that framed his chin.
“I stabbed him in a vital spot. I was caught off guard by one of his men, but it was already done. There’s no way anyone could survive that kind of injury.”
“Then how do you explain the fact that the prince and his delegation left as if nothing had happened?” His tone seemed calm, but he was standing up now. That was never a good sign.
“I…” stammered Hazael, breaking into a cold sweat. “I swear, Captain, I slashed his throat, there’s no way he could be…”
Rutherkann didn’t let him finish. He struck him right in the face with a fist covered by a studded glove.
A flash of pain caused Hazael to see all black for a moment. He spat a trickle of blood onto the floor but tried not to go down.
“It’s not your fault,” Rutherkann said, giving him a sinister smile. “We didn’t know there was a healer among his escort.”
Hazael widened his eyes. “A regular healer could never patch up that kind of damage… so quickly…” he mumbled, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his mouth and the taste of blood between his teeth.
“The lizard that was watching your back from the alley saw the… what did he call it?” the Captain addressed another of his men.
“Magic light,” he replied in a wry tone.
“Magic light,” Rutherkann repeated. “I’m afraid we’re dealing with a Warden. But then again, we’ve been expecting them.” He turned back to Hazael. “Get cleaned up. I still need you,” he said, a grin rippling across his face. “We have a new target.”
