Scarlet and the Keepers of Light (12 page)

Brennan looked away, his mind a tumult of thoughts. “What you did—back in the woods—that was dark magic?”

“Yes, it was. Do you have a problem with that? As I remember, it saved our lives.”

“My mother always told me that the users of dark magic were . . .” Brennan’s voice trailed away. His nerve was failing.

“Your mother was a sheltering, overprotective woman who had been so abused that she was afraid of her own shadow. I expect that most of what she told you is oversimplified rubbish,” Chosen said coldly, turning back to his chopping.

Brennan felt a surge of anger. His mother had not been afraid of her shadow. She was brave and strong. How dare this twisted man speak of her like that? How dare he defile her memory? “Don’t ever speak about my mother that way,” he snapped.

Chosen stopped his work on the vegetables and looked up at Brennan. A wicked sneer curled his lips. He stared at Brennan for a long, uncomfortable minute.

“Have I struck a nerve, boy?” Chosen said scornfully. Brennan’s arms flexed, and his hands bunched into fists. “You are going to need a thicker skin. Tell me, what did I say about your mother that you take issue with? What did I say that wasn’t true?”

“My mother was not a coward. And she did not lie to me.”

“And you do not listen. A trait that will get you into more trouble than most things. You are also an inexperienced boy who knows nothing of the world.”

“You said she was afraid of—”

“Yes,
afraid
. That has nothing to do with being a coward. I said she was afraid of her own shadow because she feared too much, sheltered you too much. Left you unprepared. Her running away with you was an act of courage, nevertheless. She knew it would end in her death, and yet she did it anyway.” The words were kind, yet there was no compassion in Chosen’s voice, no attempt to soothe Brennan’s mourning soul.

“What do you want with the girl?” Brennan asked suddenly.

“I have told you that it is my business. Yours will be to keep her alive. It’s my price for your freedom.”

“And what if I don’t choose to pay that price?” Brennan quipped.

“Then you are without honor and useless to me anyway,” Chosen answered dismissively.

With those words, Chosen had him; Brennan could feel resolution descending within him. If there were one thing his mother would have asked of him, it would have been to live an honorable life. When he walked out of that cell with Chosen, he had as good as given his word. Does your word count when it’s given to a devil? Brennan didn’t know.

The answer came to him as if he had known where it was all along, but never bothered to look for it. Chosen wanted him to protect some girl—for what, Brennan didn’t know. He couldn’t possibly imagine what Chosen would want with her, or what dark plans he held in his twisted brain. It didn’t matter. Brennan would stay until they found the girl, and then he would do exactly as Chosen had asked. He would protect her from anyone who would do her harm. Including Chosen.

14

Caelesta

By sunset the following day, Brennan and Chosen had reached the outer walls of Caelesta. Massive ramparts encircled the city, with only two breaches allowing passage through the towering walls of stone, the massive metalwork gates at the southern end of the city and, at the northern end, a tunnel, also protected by metal gates, that had been bored under the moat to provide one of the few passages through the mountain range on Leona’s northern border. As mesmerizing as the walls of the city were, it was what rose inside those the walls that defied Brennan’s wildest imaginings.
White towers loomed over the surrounding land, gathered in a spiral of progressively taller spears, and ending in a final spire that seemed to defy heaven itself.

Brennan stopped, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide. He had seen a few towns and settlements in his short life, and he had tried to imagine what a city would be like from his mother’s stories, but nothing in his mind’s eye had come close to such grandeur.

“I suppose even I was taken aback the first time I saw her,” Chosen admitted in a rare moment of civility. He had walked back to Brennan’s side. “It is a shame that the Dorans claim her as their own, when it was your people who built her.”

“I can’t imagine how anyone could have built such a castle,” head tipped back to gaze up at it. “Surely it must have been magic of some kind.”

“Of some kind, maybe. That depends on your definition of magic. Cunning, will, and the strength of the Tempest. If that is magic . . .” Chosen took a moment to admire the structure, although his admiration did not come from pleasure in its beauty but from respect for its technical prowess.

Brennan’s enchantment with Caelesta did not diminish as they moved closer to the city. With every step the towers seemed to further defy possibility. A small crowd of Dorans joined Brennan and Chosen within a mile of the gates, and Brennan did not have to guess that many of them were the owners of the abandoned houses and fallow farms on the road to the capital. All carried themselves with a look of defeat, their clothing tattered and soiled, their skin sallow, and their bodies weak.

“What’s happened here?” Brennan whispered to Chosen, who seemed to have barely noticed the Dorans around them.

“War is coming. They are here to seek shelter within the city.” Chosen shook his head with disgust. “This is not good for us. It will be harder for us to get in if we are taken for refugees.”

Brennan didn’t understand why this would be the case. After all, if they were mistaken for Dorans, surely it would be easier to get into the city. He didn’t ask Chosen, however. He didn’t feel like being shot down again or made to feel like a child for not understanding.

In any case, when they finally arrived at the gates, it became clear what Chosen had meant.

The crowd thickened, a dense mass of people shoving and shouting, pressing toward the city, trying to move to the front of the pack. Armored guards stood above them on the walls to either side of the massive gate, while others blocked the entrance, checking everyone who wished to come inside.

“What do we do now?” Brennan asked.

“Quiet,” Chosen snapped. “I have to find the captain of the guard.”

Brennan followed closely behind Chosen as they wove their way through the crowd. A few of the more brazen men shot nasty looks at them, but turned away or even cowered when they looked up at Brennan or caught sight of Chosen and his cloak. When they finally reached the gate, Brennan saw a burly guard arguing with an equally brawny farmer.

“This is our city as much as yours,” the farmer was shouting. “We have as much right to its protection as you do.”

“You just crawl out from under a rock, peasant,” the sergeant barked, his voice as gruff as his appearance. The soldier had scars down both cheeks, and his dark hair was cut nearly to the scalp, showing clearly another scar that ran the length of his head. “You got no right to protection. War’s coming, and wars have a way of being ’specially harsh on the countryside. Farms and hamlets being abandoned left and right, all coming here. All wanting the same thing. How many you think can fit in one city?”

“Then the children. At least let the children in,” the farmer pleaded.

“Oh, that would be smart, wouldn’t it? Let a bunch of plebe halfwits into the city with no one to look after them,” the sergeant scoffed. “What makes you think they’d be any safer in here? Think the walls of Caelesta will protect them, do ya? This is the first place the dark one’s gonna come.”

“I beg you,” the farmer said, his eyes filling with tears.

“Enough,” the sergeant barked, placing a booted foot against the farmer’s stomach and shoving him away. The farmer tumbled into the crowd and was swallowed by more just like him, another taking his place at the front of the line.

“Sergeant,” came a voice from behind the guard, who immediately snapped to attention.

A Doran nearly the size of Brennan was making his way through the crowd. Brennan knew enough to tell by the medals and gold on the Doran’s uniform and by the reaction from the sergeant that he was a commander of some sort. This new soldier had a way about him that bespoke competence.

“Captain, sir,” the sergeant acquiesced.

The captain grabbed the sergeant roughly by the collar and pulled him slightly away from the crowd, although Brennan could still hear them clearly.

“We do not abuse the people we are meant to serve, soldier. They are scared and hungry and are under the mistaken belief that we are here to protect them. Your actions are the closest many of them will ever get to associating with the king. You want them to believe that their king is an uncaring, abusive sovereign?” the captain said, his voice calm and direct.

“Of course not, sir,” the sergeant said.

“Now pick that man up, apologize, and get these people into the city,” the captain ordered. As he turned to leave, he stopped briefly as his eyes passed over Chosen. He turned back, and the blood seemed to drain from his face, which moments ago had been tanned and healthy.

“Do not let him pass,” the captain said, motioning toward Chosen.

“And after all that talk about service and letting the people into the city,” Chosen said, his voice strange and distant. It was not a tone or accent Brennan had heard him use before. “Who
are
you, soldier?”

“I’m Captain Matthias Caelesta,” the captain answered. “Of the King’s Army.”

“Oh my,” Chosen responded, feigning surprise. “A blood relative to the king. I
am
honored.”

“That I am, and a sworn protector of Leona. I know what you are, and who you serve.” Matthias’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.

“You know no such thing,” Chosen lilted, his voice hanging eerily in the air. “
What
I am is not of your concern. I am merely passing through.” Chosen closed the gap between himself and Matthias. “I am tired of talking, and you have been rude and inhospitable, not something I’ve come to expect from the walls of Caelesta.”

Brennan expected the large Doran to seize them both at any second. He steeled himself for the fight, choosing at that moment death over prison. What occurred next left him dumbfounded.

“Of course,” said the captain, his eyes lowered, his head in a reverent semi-bow. “I’m sorry for my rudeness. Please,” he added, waving Chosen and Brennan through the gate.

“Please—forget it,” Chosen said. To everyone around them this might have sounded enigmatic, but Brennan sensed something more meaningful in the simple statement—a feeling confirmed by the sudden blankness of the captain’s face.

Chosen took Brennan by the arm, his grip ice-cold. Brennan allowed himself to be led through the gates, waiting for the guards to be out of sight before he spoke.

“What just happened?” Brennan asked.

“Not now. We need to get to the north end of the city and out of here,” Chosen said, rushing them through the streets.

“That makes no sense. All that to get in here, just to leave?” Brennan stopped suddenly, causing Chosen to be yanked backward.

Chosen whipped his head around, glaring at Brennan. “You will move, now,” he commanded.

Brennan felt a strange tug in the depth of his muscles. He felt compelled to move, to follow. It became for a moment the most urgent thought in his head. Panic began to consume him, sweat running down his brow and chest, chilling him to the bone. He had to follow, lest something horrible happen to him, or even the whole world. Then, from the center of his chest, he felt the warm sensation of the Tempest, and it was as if power itself was contained within him. The panic was gone as quickly as it had come over him, passing with the simple thought that it was not real. He met Chosen’s gaze, seeing a twitch of fear in his eyes.

“Explain what is going on,” he said, feeling the warmth spread farther throughout his body, radiating out from the center. With a violent jerk, he shook off Chosen’s grip.

“You are full of surprises,” Chosen said coldly, rubbing his hand and trying to regain his composure. “I don’t owe you an explanation. I saved your life. How soon we forget.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything.” Brennan felt the warmth leaving him. “But owing you my life doesn’t mean following blindly.”

Chosen smiled nervously. “We cannot be here. That captain wasn’t as easy to fool as he pretended. He’s got a hint that something is wrong, and he’ll put it together soon.”

“How do you know that?” Brennan asked.

“Because I do. If the Doran Army finds me with enough men, I won’t be able to stop them without a great deal of killing. Is that what you want? Now hurry. There isn’t time for this.” Chosen grabbed Brennan’s arm again and started pulling him through the street once more.

Caelesta was large, nearly two miles from the southern to the northern end. With so many Dorans on the streets, it took Chosen and Brennan half an hour before they finally reached the northern wall. Unlike the southern entrance, there was no crowd gathered.

Chosen walked straight up to one of the guards standing post at the sealed metal gates. “We wish to pass through,” he barked.

The soldier looked at him in disbelief, and then at his fellow soldiers, who were chuckling behind him. “Good for you, but the gates are to remain sealed.”

“Open them,” Chosen said, again in the lilting voice.

The soldier seemed to struggle for a moment, but then he turned, pulled the crossbeam from the metal gates, and pushed them open. Chosen hurried Brennan into the passage. Just before the great metal gates fell together with a clash of metal, shutting them off from Caelesta, Brennan heard the alarm being raised inside the city.