We•Will•Rise

Chapter Five

When we reach the iron gates, my insides cut flips in my stomach. The iron gates are no longer a welcoming sign, but the whisper of a threat.
Passed the gates is the long, stone walkway that stretches a mile to the castle's doors where two Sultans stand in wait, armed to the teeth with weapons and specially trained to use them. The Sultans are the best of the Queen's army, and go through vigorous training that either kills them or turns them into a deadly weapon. That's why they're considered her personal guard, her men, while the Guardsmen are the men of the capital.
When we reach the massive doors of the black, looming castle, the Sultan to the left speaks. "You bring us Alaya Maltrov," he says to Nikolai and Barron, his voice thick with the capital accent and void of any emotion. "Come collect your reward." He and his partner stretch over and pull open the castle doors, doors that I'm sure weigh over a hundred pounds. They groan and creak as the hinges pull against the wood until they're open enough for us to step through.
Barron and Nikolai, acting the part, shove me forward. I stumble, nearly face planting the carpeted floor. Thanking the Gods for my good balance and mentally cursing my "captors",  I step forward and into the open mouth of the castle.
The entryway is brillant, it stuns me each time I see it. With a beautiful red carpet that trails to the grand throne, and a marbled floor that seems to stretch miles. Windows the length of a single house flank the walls, all with the same silk, golden curtains that fall and curl at the floor. Doors line every inch of the wall where there isn't a window, some leading to rooms of maids and others leading down long, eerie halls.
As we get closer, we can see the fine details of the throne that sits on a lifted slab of black marble. The throne itself is silver, and shines in the sunlight. The top of the throne ends in sharp spikes, but across the seat and arms itself sits a lush, golden blanket that drapes to the slab. Beside the throne stands my father, Lord Commander, and Princess Amari, who's dressed lavishly as usual in a deep, purple gown encrusted at the neck and wrists with gleaming gems and a lavender drape over her shoulders.
But my eyes are on my father's, his shean in them the only sign of emotion on his face. But he doesn't look as I left him. The left side of his face seems to droop, and he stands leaning heavily against a silver-topped cane. Worry floods through me, and I bite down hard on the inside of my lip to keep myself from rushing towards him. What did they do to him?
We're all quiet, and the air is filled to the brim with enough tension that I could suffocate. That is, until the Sultans pour out from behind the wall on each side of the throne.
There are at least a dozen and they march in an orderly form, their swords sheathed at their waist as they come to stand behind Amari and the Lord Commander on each side of the throne.
"Kneel before your Queen," one says, his voice thunderously loud in the emptiness of the throne room. We all force ourselves into a kneel as Amari freezes herself mid curtsy. My father struggles, unable to move his left leg like his right. He drops into what looks like the shadow of a kneel, and I can tell by his pinched eyebrows that it's a painful position. I wish I could go to him so I could soothe his pain, take away whatever it is that causes this. But I'm not that ignorant. The Queen will have me whipped or chained if I dare move, so I can only watch in sympathy as my father fights to keep his kneel.
The sound of heels against the marble floor is what pulls my gaze from my father's.
The Queen enters the room. She wears a long sleeved blood red dress, satin by the looks of it, that's long enough to trail behind her. It's encrusted with black jewels along its neckline that forms a teardrop down to the black corset around her small waist and chest. Her lips are a crimson red, bright even against the tawny color of her skin. Her black hair is done in a long braid that falls across her shoulder like a rope. Her far set brown eyes are lined with kohl black, and focused right on mine. She takes her seat at her throne, relaxing her arms across its armrests.
"Rise," she commands in her raucous voice, like claws against steel. But there is no missing the power behind it. We all stand, my father finding the action a bit more difficult than the rest of us. "You brought me quite a price, young men." She taps her fingers against the arms of the throne.
"My Queen," Barron begins, just as we practiced. "That is not all we brought."
"Oh?" A perfect brow rises on her oval face.
"We bring news from Colford," Jerrick speaks this time, "News that is troublesome."
"Well, go on," she waves a pale hand for us to continue.
We all exchange a look. "It seems as if we were wrong, all those centuries ago," Barron watches the Sultans, their movements, their eyes, as he continues, "The vamphir are not extinct like we first thought." Amari's face twists in confusion and my father looks at the Queen, clearly taken aback by the statement. "They are in Colford. And they are coming."
There's an intense silence that settles over the room. And then she laughs. It's a humorless, throaty noise that makes my ears ring and hopes crumble. "You bring me a gift, and then ruin it with your lies."
"No lies, your majesty," Jerrick speaks this time, "All truth. I witnessed them myself."
"So you're the liar?" She leans forward in her throne. "You would not have lived had you seen such a thing." She looks at the Sultan at her left. "Take the girl, pick someone to give the coins to and kill the rest."
"My Queen," My father's voice startles me. It's still gruff, deep and warm, but it sounds forced and slurred. "Perhaps we should consider their words."
"You," she says, turning on him, "will not speak on these matters. I'm not sure I trust you yet."
"Your majesty," Amari begins in a timid voice, "We never got a letter back from Sir Gordin. He was in Colford. It's been a month's time."
She pauses, then turns to her daughter. "Sir Gordin is a useless man, I'm sure he has forgotten to respond."
"If I may—"
"You may not," the Queen cuts Amari off, "Now, take her," she orders, jabbing a narrow finger at me. 
The Sultan closest to her right steps from the slab and starts towards me. And then it really starts to go bad. Barron pulls a hidden dagger from his pocket and slashes the ties that bind my hand. The Sultan stops and goes for his sword but before he can unsheath it, Nikolai is on him. He slices his own dagger through the opening of his armor under his chin, cutting through his neck in a single fluid motion. The Sultan falls to his knees, the sound of his gurgling and choking pulling me into action. I pull my dagger from under my sleeve as the Sultans swarm us.
"Kill them all but the girl!" The Queen yells, standing from the throne. Three Sultans escort Amari and the Queen out of the throne room while another argues with my father. That's all I see before two Sultans rush at me.
I dance out of their way, clutching my dagger with a white-knuckle grip. One of them flips their sword and attempts to clip me in the head, but I duck, sliding to the left and slamming my foot into his side. The other grabs a fistful of my coat, nearly yanking me off of my feet. I whirl, slamming the hilt of my weapon against his head. His armor dents at the force, and he crumbles to the ground in a heap. The second Sultan, having recovered, throws what would be a knockout punch, but it's almost as if it's in slow motion. His fist hits my palm and I use all of my strength to squeeze his hand. His bones crack and pop under my grip and he yells in pain, swinging his sword towards my head with his other hand. I whirl, yanking his arm behind his back and shoving him forward. He stumbles, nearly falling, but recovers quickly. He arcs his sword as he twirls to face me, going for my throat. So much for keeping me alive. I drop to my knees and swing my foot, knocking him off of his feet. He falls, hitting the ground with a thud.
Then someone grabs me from behind, yanking me off of my feet. I scream, throwing my head back and knocking it against hard metal. The hold on me releases, and I whirl, only to feel something slam against my head. I stumble at the force, my vision blurring as I fall into the Sultan in front of me. He throws a punch, his fist smashing against my temple. The room spins and I fall to my knees with a yelp. Multiple hands grab me, tugging me up and dragging me across the throne room by my arms and legs.
"Get off of me!" I scream, cursing and struggling despite the pain radiating through my skull.
"Maltrov!" Nikolai shouts as he quickly dispatches the Sultan with a sword he must have picked up, slicing through the leg of the man and rushing towards me. He comes from behind the Sultan holding my legs and cuts through the back of his neck. The Sultan's hold releases and I drop, using my legs to kick us back, taking me and my captor both to the ground. I fall on top of the Sultan pinning my arms hard enough to hear the breath leave him. I yank my hands free and pull myself to my feet, taking in the carnage in front of me.
Several of the Sultans lay dead, sprawled across the floor in heaps. Barron is surprisingly holding his own against two Sultans despite the blood dripping from his forehead. Nikolai, having moved onto the next Sultan, fights vigorously, with a speed and force that can only come from an Imordal. Jerrick is pinned between three Sultans, an evil grin on his face as he uses a fallen sword to cut them down, dancing around them with light feet.
More Sultans are coming in from both sides of the throne room, filing in with their swords drawn. There's too many, even with two Imordals, there's no way we can fight them all.
"We need to go now!" I yell, rushing to Barron as he stumbles away from two fallen Sultans. I grab his arm, steadying him as his eyes flicker to something behind me.
"Watch out!" he says, and without thinking I whirl, my blade cutting through the air as it connects with the throat of a Sultan. It severs through the skin and tissue of his neck, spraying blood across my face. The Sultan clutches his wound as he crumbles to his knees. Time seems to slow as I stare in shock at the dying man. I just killed him, tore through his throat with an ease that shocked me.
"Alaya, come on," Barron grabs my hand and pulls me into a run towards the doors. Nikolai and Jerrick are beside us in a second as we all flee for the exit. My legs seem to work on their own, reacting on instinct to get me out of danger, but my mind is far away. I can only see the splatter of blood through the air and the life leave the Sultan's eyes.
Sultans follow close behind us, but they aren't fast enough, their heavy armor weighing them down and slowing their speed. We break through the heavy doors and pass the Sultans standing guard. They're too stunned to make any move, but they give chase with the others.
We run through the Royal Square, the clearing filled with people. Some dart out of the way, watching with wide eyes as we push past them. Others aren't so lucky, they're knocked to their feet and shoved out of the way by us and the Sultans, pushing them to the ground. But the crowd is too thick, the horde of Sultans lose us through the throng. One second they're behind us, the next they're gone, lost in the sea of people.
We dart through alleyways, not stopping until we reach Thimmund Avenue and are through the door of my brother's house.
Barron closes and locks it behind us as Emilia and Isabel jump up from the couch, staring at us in horror.
"Father!" Isabel speaks at the same time as Emilia.
"What in the world happened?" Emilia asks, rushing to Barron as he bends over and struggles for breath.
"The Queen," he gasps between breaths, "She didn't believe us."
"Bleeding heavens," Emilia says, gently examining the wound on his forehead. "I hope they didn't follow you."
"They didn't," Nikolai assures her, "We lost them in the crowd."
"Alaya," Barron calls my name and all eyes turn to me. "Are you okay?"
"I—" I begin, but the words stay lodged in my throat. I'm all too aware of the sticky blood that's sprinkled across my face like morbid freckles. "I killed him." I finish after a moment, the shock making my hands shake. I ended someone's life. I look down at the dagger in my hand, coated in the man's blood. I sliced his throat without a second thought, took him out of this world without even a blink. It was so easy and I didn't even mean to do it.
"You did what you had to do," Jerrick says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"I—I didn't want to kill him," I stutter, my eyes wide in shock. "There was so much blood. . ." I can feel my heart rate triple in my chest, and suddenly I find it difficult to breathe. The image replays behind my eyes, over and over again until all I see is the red blood gushing from his wound.
Nikolai steps towards me, grabbing my hand. His skin is warm, his palm rough and calloused from years of use. It's like an anchor that pulls my racing mind to a stop. "Let's go wash up," he says in a soft voice before looking at Emilia. "Where do you get your water?"
"The plumbing in this part of the capital is iffy,  but you can try to use the conduit. It's down the hall to your right."
Nikolai leads me out of the living room and I feel everyone staring as we turn down the hall. He takes a right into a room and pulls me with him, closing the door behind him. It's a small space, with a bathtub and a copper pipe that juts out from the floor, a bucket placed underneath it. Nikolai releases my hand to pull a string hanging from the pipe. Water gushes sporadically from the opening of the conduit before slipping into a steady stream. When the bucket is full, he pulls the string again to stop the flow of water. I watch him as he comes to stand in front of me, studying the fluidity of his movements and trying to focus on him instead of the sting of tears in my eyes and lump in my throat. I can't cry, not in front of someone I hardly know that slit a man's throat as easy as slicing through bread. Something I thought I could never do.
He rips a piece of the bottom of his tunic off, the soft fabric tearing easily in his grip. He soaks it in water before bringing it gently to my cheek. "When I was just a boy," he begins in a gentle voice, his emerald eyes focused on his hand that cleans my face, "my mother told me that what makes a man a man is not just his actions, but his reasoning for those actions."
I follow his eyes with my tear-filled ones as he carefully wipes my skin. "What's the reasoning?" I whisper hoarsely. He meets my gaze with his serious eyes.
"Surviving," he answers, "Not just surviving, but living."
I understand that because he's right. We do what we have to for our people, for ourselves to live the life we deserve. But at what costs? What does that make us? What do we do differently that makes us deserve to live and not them? But then, those thoughts don't run through your mind when your life's on the line.
"And for this?" I say so softly I'm not sure he even heard. But after a moment, he gives a reassuring smile.
"It doesn't sit well with me to see someone in pain," he answers, "And I've felt what you are feeling before." That surprises me. He seems so calm, so unmoving and resolved, like not much can phase him. The polar opposite of me. He must see the shock on my face because he chuckles. "I'm not as heartless as I seem."
"No, I know," I say with a shake of my head. "I didn't think that."
"Then what do you think?" He surprises me again by asking. The question is sincere, and when I search his eyes I see nothing but a softness I wouldn't expect from him.
"I—"
A knock sounds at the door. "Everything okay?" Barron's voice calls from outside the door.
"She's fine," Nikolai says when I don't answer, looking towards the door. He releases a breath and then turns back to me, offering a tight smile.
"My apologies. I overstepped," he says, focusing back on wiping my other cheek. After a second of silence, he removes the makeshift rag from my face. "No more blood."
"Thank you." My voice comes out as a whisper. He tosses the cloth to the ground and starts to leave. I react on instinct, reaching out and grabbing his hand. He turns back to me in surprise. "I think you're a good man." The words leave me in a rush, without a thought behind them. But I don't find myself regretting saying it.
There's a sad look in his eyes at my words, one that makes me want to pull him into a hug, reassure him that things are going to be okay. He offers a tight smile before he exits the room, leaving the door open for me to follow. I stand there for a moment after he's gone, wondering exactly what just happened between us. But I don't have the luxury of contemplating things like that. Time is of an essence right now and there are more important things I need to worry about. With a sigh, I step out of the room.
When I join the others in the living room, I can immediately tell everyone is tense. "What now?" I ask, breaking the silence. They all look up at me.
Jerrick sighs, "That seems to be the question."
"We should leave," Emilia says, "We should all just leave the capital and let it rot."
"We can't do that," I snap, pointing towards the door. "There are innocent people out there that are going to die and we have the option to do something about it."
"And what do you suppose we do, Alaya?" Barron counters from where he sits on the couch beside Emilia. "There's only six of us and two are my wife and ten-year-old child."
"They can be here any second, for all we know we already are out of time." Jerrick speaks this time, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Nikolai?" I turn to him, my eyes pleading for him to back me up. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking from Jerrick to me.
"Elcove is right," he says, making my heart sink. I feel my face heat up in rage.
"So that's it then?" My voice comes out hard and angry. "Just forget about all of these people and leave? What happens when the vamphir find us? When they destroy every town they see? What then? There are only so many places to run, as you two already know," I snap, turning to Jerrick and Nikolai. "Running isn't an option, not for me. I won't sit here and watch my home and its people burn."
"What's your plan?" Nikolai asks, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. I pause, thinking about that for a moment.
"I'm going back to the castle." I lift my chin up high, despite the unsureness that makes my stomach knot. "I'm going to get the Grimstone sword."