Allegiance by Cayla Kluver
“Damn it,” Cannan muttered in response. “You don’t suppose they—”
“The tunnel’s entrance wasn’t specifically guarded, so I don’t think it’s been compromised, sir,” one of the scouts said. “And we did nothing to alert the Cokyrians to its existence.”
I couldn’t help but wonder, knowing London had been a scout, if it were a common trait among them to interrupt their superior officers. At any rate, Cannan did not take offense, merely waving the three men out of his office, giving one of them an order to send his deputy captains to him.
“Will someone be taking them soon?” Steldor asked distantly, assuming his father’s plan had not changed and sounding as though he were so exhausted he could scarcely concentrate. He moved to take up position in the padded armchair in the corner, once more leaning his head back.
“Yes. The exit may not look good, but we have no choice. As soon as my deputy captains arrive, I’ll arrange departure for all those who should go.”
I knew this pointed phrasing would not be lost on Steldor, but he did not react to it. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stay awake, but when he moved his hand, his lids stayed shut, and his head tipped to the side, body shutting down against the mind’s resistance. Cannan watched him for a long time, and I imagined he was storing up memories, not knowing how much longer he would have with his son.
The deputy captains trailed in one after another, in the order the scout had located them, until there were six in total. Steldor did not awaken, and Cannan made no attempt to bring him round before addressing his most trusted men.
“Two of you will be escorting the Queen to the safe place as soon as possible. Davan, you will go with her—I want at least one Elite Guard who was formerly a scout to protect and guide her. Gather whatever supplies you may need. Where is Destari?”
“He has not yet been located, sir,” Halias replied.
“He should also accompany Queen Alera. If he is not found timely enough, you, Halias, will go in his stead.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cannan glanced at Steldor, still asleep in the chair.
“I’ll try again to convince him to leave willingly. But if he will not, we’ll take him by force—knock him out, if we have to.”
The deputy captains accepted this, undoubtedly having anticipated it.
“Davan, report back to my office when you are prepared. There’s no time to waste. And if anyone sees Destari, send him—”
A great rumble overtook the palace, shaking its very foundation, stopping Cannan’s words and jolting Steldor awake. The quake lasted only a few seconds, but there were shouts and screams from beyond the office doors long afterward.
“What was that?” the captain demanded, but he did not dismiss the men in the office to find out, knowing someone would come to inform him.
No more than a heartbeat later, a scout came bursting through the guardroom door.
“The armory, sir. At the Military Complex. It’s…it’s been demolished!”
“What?”
The captain was for once stunned. Steldor had gotten to his feet and everyone else had broken into harried discussion. I stayed on the floor, trying not to draw attention, for I wanted to know what was happening. Sudden realization came to Cannan.
“Find Destari,” he ordered, then his eyes connected with Steldor’s. “The crisis strategy. He’s the only one not among us who knew the plan.”
But at that moment, the supposed rogue guard walked through the door.
“You decided to go ahead with the plan after all, sir?” Destari asked, then he frowned as he took in the startled expressions of his fellow deputy captains. “Sir, what’s going on?”
A second rumble, less fierce but still noticeable, shook the floor beneath us. Cannan grabbed the scout who had brought news of the armory by the collar and flung him toward the door.
“See if that was the infirmary. Go!”
The man hastily exited, and the captain turned back to the rest.
“I gave no orders for this strategy to be carried out. And we alone should have been privy to its details. Did one of you coordinate this without my knowledge?”
“No, sir,” came the collective reply.
“Captain, the power of the explosions we’re feeling—only the Cokyrians have the means to cause this type of destruction,” Halias said. “Although it makes no sense for them to take such action.”
“There are people at the Military Complex, Baelic, for one,” Steldor reminded everyone. “Intelligent men who might independently decide that such resources should not be turned over to the enemy. And they could have gotten access to the Cokyrians’ explosive powder from a dead enemy soldier.”
“Both the armory and the infirmary, if that’s what we felt, are at the Military Complex, so men there could have reached those targets,” Destari agreed, sounding a bit dubious. “But if the King’s theory is correct, none of the other targets will be hit. It would be impossible.”
“We wait,” Cannan decisively replied.
The minutes passed in stony silence, then the scout rushed in to confirm that the infirmary had, indeed, been destroyed. Before anyone could respond, the largest tremor we had yet experienced tore through the palace, knocking objects to the floor and causing the men in the room to stumble in an effort to maintain their footing. Screams of true terror now echoed in the corridors.
“What the hell is going on?” Cannan shouted as he stormed from the office, and I jumped to my feet to follow him to the Grand Entry Hall, Steldor at my side. Destari also came, but the other guards stayed in the office, probably a little unsure of their commander at the moment.
As Cannan prepared to harass his soldiers for an explanation, a man from the floor above, where the windows provided a view, called to us.
“The mill and the main warehouse! Gone in one blow! The enemy is frantic!”
I could tell Destari’s mind was working furiously, and evidently so could Cannan.
“Who?” he asked, and his dark eyes scrutinized the clouded visage of his deputy captain.
“Only one person who knew the plan is not with us. That same person would know how to use Cokyrian powder and might be able to move amongst the enemy undetected. I would say…it’s London, sir.”
The captain scowled, caught between knowing this was impossible and realizing that the pieces fit.
“How can that be?” I said in a near whisper, not quite believing Destari’s words, but desperately hoping he was correct, for the thought of London’s return gave me irrational hope. No one answered me.
“Go to the stables,” Cannan at last directed. “If you’re right, we need to bring London into the palace, and I suspect he’s on his way to the final target.”
Destari nodded and set off. Cannan glanced at me, then took me by the arm to lead me back into his office, Steldor following.
Once the other deputy captains had been brought up to date, an irrepressible buzz filled the room while the men debated. As some pointed out, it was possible we would never know what was happening. Destari might leave and find no one; and it was all too easy to forget he might be going to his death. Danger abounded outside the mighty stone fortress that was our palace.
It was unspoken that those of us headed for the safety of the predetermined hiding place would await Destari’s return. If London were with him, he might have important information. If London were with him, everyone wanted to know how he had escaped a second time from Cokyri.
Then we felt it—the fourth explosion rippling the ground. I dropped my eyes to silently bid goodbye to the Royal Stables, praying no horses had been trapped inside but knowing it made sense to destroy the carriages and tack. I also said goodbye to my bittersweet memories, for it was in the stables that Narian had first spoken freely to me; and it was there I had told him of the tunnel, inadvertently paving the way for my sister’s abduction.
With greater force even than the explosions, fear shook me as I let my mind touch on what the Ove
Thirty minutes was all it took for Destari to reenter the captain’s office, for the enemy was greatly distracted in the aftermath of the explosions. Miraculously, London came behind him through the door, Destari’s cloak thrown over the Cokyrian uniform that he wore. He stepped to the side, guiding a young woman who tightly gripped his hand across the threshold. She wore black pants and a dark cloak in the manner of a Cokyrian woman, but there was no mistaking her identity.
“Miranna,” I breathed, faint with relief, then I rushed forward, all else forgotten, to pull her into my arms. She did not respond or hug me back, but still I held her close. When at last I drew away, she gazed at me with vacant blue eyes. Physically, she seemed well—she bore no scars that I could see and moved without sign of pain; she was not starved; even her curly strawberry blond hair seemed healthy. It was trauma of another kind that caused her to look so unlike herself.
“She’s in shock,” London said to me as he closed the door. “She has been through much.”
I nodded, my eyes pooling with tears. Without thought to status or appropriateness, or for London’s undemonstrative nature, I threw my arms around him, and he momentarily returned my embrace.
“Thank you,” I choked. “Thank you for bringing her home.”
I returned to my sister, guiding her into a chair, hugging her once more, wanting never to let her go. Halias stared at us from across the room. As Miranna did not seem to be aware of his presence, I guessed he was resisting the urge to go to her as I had, not wanting to make this harder on himself. At least she was alive.
“London,” Cannan said and, in his signature style, summed up every possible question into one word. “Report.”
“We have about eight hours until the Overlord arrives.”
This blunt statement seemed to ricochet around the room, and the moment it hit each man could be determined by the expression upon his face. Cannan, however, remained as stoic as ever.
“We knew he would come,” he stated.
“Narian released me,” London went on, “so that I could return here and take Alera out the remaining tunnel. He will pull troops from the area to the best of his ability without arousing suspicion—he is under close watch.”
“He knows about the second tunnel?” A note of unease registered in Cannan’s voice, and the muttering that had already begun at the mention of Narian’s name increased.
“Yes, but he has told no one and will tell no one, I swear it.” Looking into Cannan’s eyes, he added, “I trust him, Captain.”
Whether it was the conviction in London’s voice or his rare show of respect for authority, I knew not, but everyone seemed to accept London’s opinion, waiting only for the captain’s response. Finally Cannan nodded.
“And Miranna?” It was Halias who spoke, still unable to tear his eyes from his charge. “How did she come to be with you?”
“I took her, after Narian let me go,” London answered, urgency punctuating each of his words. “I could not leave her behind. But I had to travel more slowly with her and so have arrived later than I intended. And on that note, we need to get moving.”
The captain stepped around his desk, ready for business.
“We were already preparing to take the royal family out through the tunnel,” he informed London. “Our plan was to move in two groups, ten minutes apart, following different routes to the hideaway. You, with Alera, Miranna and Davan, can go first—both you and he were trained as scouts, so Destari and Halias will stay to assist with matters here. Galen and I will follow with Steldor, and when we’ve gotten beyond the enemy’s reach, I’ll return.”
“Sir—” began Destari, ready to argue about Cannan’s intention to double back.
“I will not desert my troops,” he said, shutting down all argument.
“You don’t have to go anywhere. I told you, I won’t leave.” Steldor’s gaze was determined, and his posture was tense, ready for a fight.
“Listen to me, boy,” Cannan said, striding over to his son, and there was something in his voice very near to desperation. He put a firm hand on the back of Steldor’s head, enmeshing his fingers in his dark hair. “As long as there is a king, there is a Hytanica. As long as you are alive, there is the hope that someday we will be restored.”
“A dead king is of no use to anyone. A live king is dangerous, and your survival will rob the Overlord of some of his victory,” London added. “But we have little time to convince you—just trust those with the experience to make the judgment.”
Steldor stared at his father, resolve failing. Cannan squeezed the back of his son’s neck, knowing the decision had been made.
Steldor and I were taken to our quarters to change clothes. My husband gave me a brown shirt and a dark green cloak, which I put on along with the trousers I had worn to the negotiation meeting, tying my hair into a tight bun. When I reentered the parlor, Kitten came skittering out of hiding, and I picked him up, snuggling him close. Sadly I set him on the sofa as Steldor, likewise dressed in dark colors, came from his room, knowing I could not take a pet with me. To my surprise, my husband carried a small dagger which he offered to me. To his surprise, I slid it into the sheath that Narian had strapped on my left forearm, for I had continued to wear it despite its uselessness. Neither of us spoke, however. We left our quarters, in all probability never to return, and I left the door open, giving Kitten, who had grown considerably in the past few months, freedom to find his way however he could.
We reconvened in the captain’s office, where our guards awaited us, Galen among them. Everyone was now dressed in brown leather jerkins in the manner of the scouts, with black cloaks for warmth. Cannan directed that we go out in pairs so as to draw as little attention as possible, for the last thing we needed was for every terrified, stranded citizen to learn there was a tunnel leading outside the city; the ensuing chaos would exceed belief. I went first with Davan, pressing through the crowd gathered in the Hall of Kings until we reached the door to the dungeon, slipping through it onto the landing of the steep, narrow steps. An Elite Guard waited within, ready to bar the door behind us if necessary. He handed Davan a torch, and we waited in tense silence until London and Miranna joined us, knowing that the others would in due course follow.
The staircase was dimly lit, cold, suffocating and sinister. We were going underground, to a place where people were sent for punishment, torture and death. As we started downward, the incessant noise of the palace diminished, but I could not escape the feeling that we were descending into a tomb. When Davan and I reached the bottom, I was glad to see that the stairwell opened into a large room, the place where the dungeon guards normally congregated. Torches had been lit along the walls, but no men were on duty, no doubt at Cannan’s decree. I turned to London as he and Miranna emerged from the stairwell, then quickly went to my sister, who was hanging on to the Elite Guard, burying her head against his chest. The reality that she had been in the Overlord’s dungeon hit full force, and my heart ached for her and for the fact that, although she was back among us, she was far from safe. I took her into my arms, freeing London, who walked toward one of several heavy wooden doors that opened onto a row of prison cells.
As the second party emerged from the stairwell, Cannan took a torch from its bracket on the wall and joined London. After a brief exchange of words, the two men beckoned us into the corridor that lay beyond the door. The cells that lined the sides of this aisle looked as though they had not been used in ages, but still my skin crawled as Cannan led us inside one of them. London walked to the center and began to kick away layers of dirt on the floor to reveal a trapdoor, and it was clear why this particular cell had not been put into use. The chance could not be taken that a p
London pulled up the wooden door, then dropped his torch into the hole so we could see the bottom. Davan jumped down, disappearing from view as he confirmed that the tunnel had not been blocked or discovered.
“All clear,” he called a few minutes later.
“Alera, give me your hands,” London said.
With a sinking feeling, I accepted that I would be going in next. London would lower first me and then my sister, as Miranna needed to be constantly with someone she knew, especially under such conditions. She had to be kept calm, no matter what, for she could alert the enemy to our presence if she became hysterical. As I sat on the edge of the opening, feet dangling in the air, I silently cursed whoever had constructed the entrance of this tunnel for not making access easier. Then I let London take my hands.
He lowered me in carefully, giving me a moment to taste the stale air before my feet touched ground. It was freezing, colder than the dungeon had been, and every breath burned my nose and throat and made me want to gag. I moved down the tight corridor to make room for Miranna, hoping the tunnel would not be this small for its entire stretch, for if it were, we would be traversing single file.
“No,” I heard from above, and I recognized my sister’s voice. “Not down there, don’t make me go down there.”
“Mira,” I called, stepping back to where she could see me. “It’s safe. We’re just going into hiding.”
“Alera,” she said, a crack in her voice, then her pale face peered down at me. “I’m—I’m scared. I don’t want to…”
“I know,” I replied, and I truly did. I was afraid of leaving behind everything I knew; I was afraid of what we would encounter when we exited the tunnel, for Cannan’s scouts had thought there was a good chance we would all be killed. I was afraid of surviving, for I did not know how long we would need to hide, living in shadows; and I was afraid for my future, for I did not know where we would end up, only that there would be no Hytanica to welcome us home.