The King Trials 2: Beyond.

The day dawned with the sight of insurmountable terror.

I race to the waist of the voyager, holding onto the railing for support. Beyond and below the waterline straddles the shore of the Pantheon, the sky above is blanketed above by a cover of grey fog that fails to conceal the shroud of black-fortified warships looming on high as many as my vision permits me to see. Columns of thick smoke billow from the besieged city. Even from our distance, the bellow of resounding drums can be heard like a phantom scream.

We are too late.

A clamorous rumbles ensues an enormous ball of fire that erupts from a towering edifice, a holy monument, the explosion bursts out as the building crumbles, swaying before toppling over another structure.

I whisk around and shove through a clump of thunderstruck sailors who are clustered at the rim, so horror-stricken it renders them immobile. I dash to the bridge of the ship and when I enter, Kelan is already there, Devwar is ready at the helm steering the airship away from the beleaguered metropolis.

“You cannot abandon this course of action!” Kelan yells, a wild glint in his eyes. “I need to reach the castle; I must ensure the life of the High King!”

“You and what army?” Devwar wheels on him with his veins standing out in his neck. “All hope is lost, Emikrol has an entire armada out there, and I am certain by now word has been sent about the invasion. Ten hells, you can see the bloody ships from Nivalis!”

“As long as there is life, there is hope,” I say pouring conviction into my words to rally both his and mine’s courage. “This is about the life of our sovereign High King. I am not asking you to fight, I am asking you to take us close enough where we will not be detected by armed forces.”

“No!”

“Captain, I beg of you—”

“No.” Visibly trying to calm his fraying temper. He nods his head to himself, resolve settling within him. “You are going to need all the aid you can get; you are right, this is more than just us or…my fears. I will aid you. For our King and for our realm, my sailors are not soldiers, but like I, we can hold up well in a fight.”

Devwar guides the airship eastward to go around the City of Old and come out on the other end, at the rear of the castle, sailing above a sprawling forest that infringes the steepish spine of the hilltop that the castle sits upon. The vaporous beast descends with a ravenous advance, its misty maw slurping up everything wolfishly, devouring everything, giving us a blest covering from the invaders.

A fanfare of horns signals the castle’s distress.

Devwar halts the ship so it hovers directly above the treetops.

“How do you plan on infiltrating, the only already infiltrated castle?”

“With surgical strike,” Kelan says steadily, unnerved, and undaunted. “There are secret tunnels in the southkeep that lead outside, many of them actually, erected for the event of an untenable crisis. I made sure to memorise them when I came into the confidence of the Crown. It’s dark, but you need only to follow my lead.”

The Second Officer bursts in and demands an appraisal.

Devwar dismisses him suddenly, ordering him to rally the crew. Swallowing a protest, he whips around and exits the cabin.

“Aurora, you stay here—”

“Stay here?” I nearly laugh. “No, unlike the other Heras you have shuttled, I am not a defenceless prude.”

He stares at me confoundedly, doubt and disconcert clouding his eyes.

Trampling over humility, I say, “Just watch.”

We all vacate the bridge and hurry to the balcony that overlooks the main deck. Below, all the Officers and crew members are assembled in a multitude of white and blue, awaiting further orders. Devwar briefly introduces what is about to transpire, a synopsis, before he steps aside and Kelan takes his stead, expounding on the plan of entering the castle through the secret tunnels.

By the impression of various trades of anxious, bug-eyed looks and disheartened murmurs. They are afraid. As we all are. This is not a terror faction, aspiring insurgents daring to defy the Crown. This is the Emikrol Empire, Emikrollian soldiers who are bred for war, led by the Ethane famed for their conquests. This is not about their daunting skill in battle, but what pounds in their veins and weaves the very fabric of their unified identity.

That fact alone makes them almost unbeatable.

“I know you are scared. There is no living being that is not afraid in the face of danger. But true valour is in facing danger when you are afraid. Use your fear as a motivator to empower you. Do this for the sovereignty of your realm, for the love of those you care for, and for the honour of our High King.”

Murmurs grow into mutters, waves of heads nod, varying in degrees of buoyancy.

“Generations ahead of us will remember this day and let your valour be written in the annals of history for braving to do what is right despite impossible odds.” Verve strengthening each of his words. “You will not be remembered as mere heroes, but your names will be spoken of in reverence. Your legendary bravery to protect the High King from those who wish to usurp his throne, but Urium will not fall!”

The crew booms a riotous cheer in a whole-hearted furore.

“This is our land, and by blood and by bone, we will fight for it!”

Simultaneously, the riled flock pound their fists in the air in a two-beat tempo repeatedly.

Kelan walks off. By the order of Devwar, we prepare to breach. The Third Officer opens up the armoury, a vault of weapons, the sounds of preparation echoes, clomping shoes, snatching up weapons—scimitars also known as the sabre blade for its long and curved shape. The crew arm themselves with leather jerkins, sliding their weapons into the bracers integrated at the back.

I acquire a bracer to fit over my corsage, its only purpose to hold my sword.

A few of them collect torches, along with flint and steel. Whilst the others tie knots of rope on the railings in a series to make ready for the descent. The Second Officer, Mackie and a handful of others remain aboard to guard the ship and ensure a clean and quick extraction when the time comes. Equipped with a regular longsword, I make my way down the main deck where some sailors have begun flinging themselves off the ship.

I spot Schwick reassuring a teary-eyed Mackie before he engulfs him into a hug, lifting him off his feet, swaying him from side to side dramatically before setting him down. When he does, he meets my gaze.

I glance over my shoulder, across the deck, and Kelan watches me pointedly before extending his hand. My gaze shuns his, rejecting his offer as I briskly make my way to Schwick, who has a furrowed-brow stare aimed at the sword in my grasp. I slide it over my shoulder, sheathing it.

“I don’t mean to sound like an aresling,” he disclaims. “But wouldn’t you be safer on deck?”

I laugh humourlessly. “Then who is going to come to your aid when you are in peril?”

I look down at Mackie smiling half-heartedly. I shoot him a wink. “Your brother is going to be just fine; no harm will come to a single strand on his pretty head.” I bend over and turn my head to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “I swear it.”

Mackie’s eyes implode, glistening, his mouth rounds and he claps his hand over his cheek. “I ain’t ever going to wash me face again.”

Schwick chuckles before he heads over to the railing and vaults over it; gripping the rope, his feet anchored to the hull. “Shall we, Hera?” I move forward and I clasp his outstretched hand as I climb up and overboard before latching onto his back, my arms locked around his neck, my legs secured around his slender frame.

We rappel down a long precipitous distance from atop, descending between tall trees, their bristle branches scratching us as we glide down. Eventually, my boots safely meet the ground. After a brief interval, everyone who needs to be here has landed, from the Captain and his steadfast crew to Kelan. Ready in arms, some even wielding two scims.

Kelan rallies us in a triangular formation before we begin the trek through the woodland, lurking between trees, vigilant of any surprises along the way. Tension electrifies the air. My heart hammers in my chest, expectant of the unexpected. Schwick and I just behind Primus Kelan, who leads the slow-crawl advance from the tip of the triangle.

I jerk aside at the ground-shaking tremor that rattles all of our stability. The violent quake halts us all for a cautious moment before we resume. By the seismic force and rippling distance, the eruption was detonated nearby, invading forces trying to mine their way through the castle.

In the treeline, the castle walls soar to the overcast sky like stagnant sentinels, slightly obscured by the stanch drapes of foliage. My alarm peaks at the sound of voices. Kelan thrusts his fist up and the entire crew stops at the signal.

I heed to the flat tone of bored voices. I slant my head to obtain a better visual of two Emikrollian soldiers armoured in heavy infantry, the colours of star shadow and viridian. They stand posted in a small, circular clearing enclosed by the ring of trees, the only vegetation inside is a blatant, overgrown patch of evergreens covering something.

Kelan draws his sword, his head tilts downwards.

In an eyeblink, he blazes forward like a bolt of lightning and strikes before they even have a chance to grip their swords. With a flash of red, he cuts them down like a stalk of a plant. Kelan raises his head and motions for us. We all begin to gather around him.

Kelan kicks the evergreens away to reveal a stainless-steel hatch. He bends over and twists the lever, screwing it open. After a few turns, he flips it over. The sailors with torches are quick to light them up.

“If the tunnels were a secret, how come they had soldiers guarding the exit or entrance?” Denver asks.

The look of pain that crosses his face confirms that it was likely Reinsbure’s doing. Wordlessly, Kelan snaps his fingers at one of the torchbearers. He rushes over to hand it to him, and Kelan snatches it from his grasp before examining the black hole, then he enters, climbing down the ladder, his hair thawing into the black.

After I follow, then Schwick, a trail pursues until everyone makes their way down. Kelan navigates the way through the deep darkness, at least the beacons of light illuminate the path, a gaping shaft of sheer rock, the flickering firelight flailing panickily on the walls. My breaths shallow. The narrow channel is suffocating and presents no glimmer of hope that the darkness will ever end. Many of the soldiers mumble indistinct words to each other, toying with their weapons anxiously.

We all stop at the stone cladded wall that seemed to have sprung up from nowhere, sealing up the rest of the way. I do not know what Kelan does, but he taps it at random places as if inputting a password. With a quiet groan, a section of stone swings into the darkness, and we all shuffle in through the gap to view a stairwell with an unprotected, spiralling staircase going up.

In single file, we all troop up the steps in a steady jog.

Once we reach the top, Kelan pushes a panel open and the sounds of battle bursts through like a shockwave. He slips inside and we all follow in a mass stream to a yawning corridor of the castle. Weapons lay scattered on the ground with fallen Avangard soldiers, blood splattered on the glided walls in a horrific display.

As everyone pools inside, Kelan takes a moment to study the scene, looking at the stained tapestry as if trying to locate where exactly in the southkeep are we, ruminating on the protocols most likely, one where would they take the High King in the event of an invasion.

Decisive, he says, “This way.”

He runs ahead to the left and we all sprint after him. We streak through the network of huge passageways that echo the same dread, foreshowing our fate, corpses everywhere, halos of red surrounding them, the stench of blood too potent it sickens me. Piles of bodies, limbs sticking out haphazardly. Carnage everywhere, Emikrol butchering their way, leaving desolation in its wake, death free to roam.

Kelan pauses in the centre of a huge four-part crossway, and down three of the halls, a thin line of burgundy tries to hold off against swarms of dark silver. The ear-piercing ring of clashing blades only swells, the invading forces making further inroads.

Kelan directs us down the only vacant passageway. Rounding a corner, we are obstructed by a compact platoon of burgundy with a shield wall held aloft. The moment they see Kelan, the wall of bevelled-shape shields dissolves away and one of them steps out to walk in front.

His greyish hair stiffened by dried blood.

“Primus Kelan.”

With a warlike grunt, they all beat their fists to their hearts in a show of respect.

“Commander Harrison,” Kelan acknowledges. “Status report.”

“The High King is secluded in bureau just further south; an additional squadron is blocking entry from the other end of the hall. But Primus, the High King was wounded in a skirmish to relocate him to safety and the High Queen… she is fallen.”

I inhale a jagged breath.

“We are all but surrounded from all fronts, every exit sealed off by Emikrollian forces, choking us from every point, and somehow they discovered knowledge about the emergency tunnels, most of them clogged with bloodthirsty Emikrollians.”

“Not all of them, the one in the southkeep is clear because they have mowed down every last Avangardian.” His words wither at the acid in his tone. “Has word been sent to the Legions?”

“The Third Legion is nearer, but they are still hours away. Although a battalion of Vanguard troops are on route.”

Kelan snaps a nod. “I need to see him.”

A rising clamour loudens from our rear as an onrushing wave of dark silver gushes towards us, spilling into the hallway. The Avangard split aside to allow Kelan and the rest of us to pass through before they merge together.

“Shield wall!”

Approaching lofty double doors, Kelan kicks them apart, only he and I enter the high-ceilinged chamber bordered with an endless array of bookshelves. The High King kneels on the floor, bent over, weeping hideously, cradling the head of the High Queen to his chest, her limp body splayed on his lap, her toned legs slipped out her sheeny, blood-coated gown.

“Your Eminence,” Kelan says to pull his attention, but he continues to wail over the corpse his beloved.

“Your Eminence, you have my condolences, but I need to take you to safety.”

“I thought I was safe.” His words slurred by sobs. He raises his head and surprise shimmers in his eyes. “Primus Kelan… what are doing here?” He asks absently.

His face is blanched, pale but not from fright nor trauma.

“There is no time to explain.” He hurries over to him and forcibly grip his arm to relinquish his hold from his wife, hoisting him to his feet but Urus sags as if his own body weighs him down, seething painfully, he clutches his side, a growing blood stain in his regal robe.

“There is no saving me,” he says, his voice rough with pain, features warping.

“You are Urium, without you, the realm will fall, and your foes know that Your Majesty,” Kelan spurs urgently. “You must live; you must fight. If not for yourself, then for your people!”

Urus’s trembling head shakes a no. “The fall of Urium was my doing, all this death was of my doing.” He breathes hard, words eject in haste as if fearing his chance to confess shrinks with each second. “Emikrol fights against us, but it was I who gave them the ammunition.”

I retreat, their voices fading as I scamper to stand at the doorway, wide-eyed sailors look left and right frantically. From both sides, the burgundy blockade dwindles, and so does the possibility of us escaping with our lives.

“We have to leave.”

I swivel around and race back inside, only to stagger to a halt.

Kelan holds a perished King in his grasp. His eyes struck wide, glazed over. Tears prickle the back of my eyes and my hand flies up to slap over my mouth, stifling a shocked yelp. Kelan lays him down and backs away from him slowly.

“Emikrol will bleed for this.” Brimming with hostility. “And when I get my hands on that Ethane, I will peel the flesh from his bones,” he vows, storming out of the bureau with me in tow. “I need to get you and the others out of here.”

From the left and the right, death floods the halls with only some Avangard soldiers remaining on either side. “Abort,” I yell to them. “The High King is fallen.” The announcement hauls the gaze of several Avangardians, distracting for a moment.

The Captain and the crew gawk at me as if a second head sprouts from my skull.

“Commander,” Kelan roars. “Make a charge to the southkeep, closest exit.”

The burgundy surges against the current, going against the tide, pushing back until we reunite with the four-part crossway and it’s like a raging battle arena. I brandish my sword, ready to unleash a cycle-worth of fury and grief.

Despite his anguish, Kelan barrels through, whirling back and forth with liquid and deadly movements, swift like a shadow on the surface of a river, a controlled chaos that makes the air around him blaze.

My blade and another’s crash together in a starburst of sparks. I surrender to the wrath of battle, letting it reign, for today, mercy is unknown to me. My actions are agile, the sword becoming an extension of myself as I brace against the double-bladed swords of Emikrollian choice, matching me stroke for stroke. With a hard knock, I jab my sword at his wrist faster than he can react. His weapon goes spiralling.

I dive out of the way of a lethal strike, landing back on my feet in a deep side lunge with the sword fully drawn at my side.

Past the three soldiers creeping towards me warily, an arrow rockets towards me and I fall, my back hits the ground. I grab a shield beside me, springing up to my haunches, holding it before my curled over frame, arrows pelting the surface.

I rush up and collide into the trinity, bashing the one off his feet but another yanks me back by the tail of my braid, wrenching a cry from me as I bend in the direction, twisting around elastically, I plunge the blade in the vulnerable gap in his armour; he doubles over, stumbling back.

I myself flinch back at the onslaught of dual blades, slicing in every direction possible, my lungs burn, and my muscles become heavy as the sequence of dodge and parry becomes harder than the last, countering thrusts with maximum effort. Fighting through the fatigue, my blade swings blow for blow, sending sparks flying as our blades connect. Preserving until it is only I who stands.

The battle moves as the Avangard manage to breach down the right, fighting towards the southkeep. I battle amid dark silver and blue—I erect at the scream emanating from Schwick nearby, swamped by a fresh deluge. I tear through a horde of dark before I shield him with my body.

My sword locks with the blade of another, and I push against him with all the strength I can muster…. He stumbles back and I lunge to slash a red line across his throat. Another comes at me and I repeat a feat of fleeting triumph until I can spin around and shove a mildly injured Schwick towards the others trying to break through the thick barrier, ploughing through the dark barricade.

“I never knew ya could fight like that.”

I parry a ruthlessly ambitious attack, driving the blade in his throat before ripping it out, spurting blood.

“I never knew you could scream like that.”

I wince at the cacophony of metal shrieking against metal, armour clinking. I whip up my arm to block, with an eagle’s eye, I set my target on a bowman. I seize an advantage, swinging my blade in a wide arc, neatly severing head from neck. Too overawed, frenzied by adrenaline, the impulse to survive is greater than the moral repercussion of battle.

An obstacle emerges and forays a torrent of thrusts with such ferocity, I dare to deem it personal. I retaliate in kind until my path is unhindered.

The bowman spots me and releases two arrows, the one I knock away with the blade and the other my hand snaps up to seize it mid-flight, the steel tip inches from my forehead before I chuck it on the ground. He gapes at me, then recovers from his shock, charging at me—I sidestep, running him through, the tip of the blade protruding from his back, his breath hitching in my ear.

I snatch the bow from his loose grip, and I sheathe my sword. He collapses, and I swiftly claim his quiver, slinging it over me, relatively well-stocked with decently crafted arrows. Notching three of them, I unbridle barrage after barrage, paving a way back, arrows assailing assailants before embedding themselves in my targets as soldiers drop with a howl, bellowing my grim victory.

By the stroke of fortune, we make it closer and closer with every push and metallic hum of a blade. I catch a soldier slam his axe into the helm of a passing sailor, cleaving his skull in two. I yank out an arrow and I fire it at him, depriving myself of the pleasure of watching him fall, quick to draw close to Schwick, defending his rearguard. I have promises to keep.

The bow twangs as I launch arrow after arrow until I reach back to claim another, only to grab air. I rapidly make the trade from bow to sword, ridding myself of the quiver, tossing the bow. My health falters. A blade slices into the side of my leg and I fall to one knee, a fist comes whistling towards my face. An infinite, explosive moment later, my head hits floor in a sickening smack, my flesh minced at the hail of blows.

Before anything permanent can ensue. Devwar and Schwick swoop in to my rescue. A pair of hands heave me up to my feet and we take off running as I unsheathe my sword, a limp stunts my speed as I try to shake off the burn. We make it to the exit point. Kelan unlocks the panel, and it flips open, but the remainder of the Avangard are obstinate and refuse to leave without their Primus, so they allow the sailors to flee into the tunnels, group by group they funnel them out.

Crossing blades with another blur; a helmeted solider I wait until I find my opening then I bury my blade in the eye slit. I pull away and I try to summon my power, but it is so far out of my reach it like trying to set alight wet wood. Impossible.

“Lead your soldiers out, Harrison. That is an order!” He casts a glance at me. “Leave with them.”

Harrison grunts before he starts assembling his troops, forcing them out pair by pair. As I’m about to slip in among them. I glimpse Kelan raring like a wolf on the attack, taking on formidable force of Emikrollians, ignorant to the ones at his rear as Avangardians dwindle. Wrath inspires every move of his, dismembering soldiers with swift and brutal lacerations.

The combination of Alrosia fashioned weapons with flesh-penetrating steel, the mere thought of the only thing that can pierce him, slew him—death muting the storm in his eyes.

It loans me necessary vigour.

I lunge forward and unleash a flurry, the salvo of metallic shrills shriek in my ears as I vanquish the threat behind him, but the might of the invasion easily overwhelms. I parry several attacks; I strike high, slash low.

Swirling through a tornado of blades, unscathed. I am so absorbed, constantly flicking glances at Kelan, I miss the threat to my own self. I kick at a soldier and his plated body hurls into a swarm. Before I can even pivot my shoulders to turn, an endless agony shreds through me, blinding for a searing second, robbing me of rational thought, skewering into me mercilessly.

My wrenching scream thuds to the ground like a blade falling from a dead hand.