Ascension (35 page)

My heart
fluttered, but I sternly put it to rest. Any feelings I had would
have to wait. I couldn
’
t afford to lose myself to any confusion, to any
distractions. We had a plan now, a goal that was more important
than myself or Erik or Croxley. It included the fate of all my
people. Anything that happened afterwards, well, I
can
’
t say I
plan on fighting it. But for now, I was content to let
Erik
’
s hand
warm mine as we lay on the ground, the same ground that I had slept
on my entire life, and fell asleep.

Chapter
31

Croxley emerged from the forest, Sir
Thunder and Sam in tow.

It
’
s been weeks since
I
’
ve last been
here, he thought to himself. He had been charged by the King to
send a message to the border, warning the neighboring country of
Bastland that if they refused to trade with Ahrenia, the King
wouldn
’
t
hesitate to send an army to invade.

He sighed, weary
from the traveling, and thought back to all the times he had
delivered similar messages to small, defenseless countries, with no
way to protect themselves from the King
’
s wrath. They always ceded to
the King
’
s
will. Really, they had no choice.

This time was
little different. Croxley remembered how the King of Bastland had
read the message, a frown carving itself into his forehead as he
translated the diplomatic message into the warning it was. He grew
angry at first, they all did. But after a day of deliberation with
the council, he called Croxley back to relay the response to the
King, that they would accept and open their borders to
Ahrenia
’
s
products once again.

Croxley understood why Bastland, and
all the other small border nations, hesitated to trade with
Ahrenia. With the Nethers constantly slaving away, Ahrenia had a
surplus of products that invaded the markets of the other countries
at much lower prices, and eventually their economy became
completely dependent on Ahrenia.

But Croxley had
long-since removed himself from this world of economics and
politics. Normally, on such missions, he would deliver the message,
and then leave to some tavern somewhere, using the
King
’
s money to
find women and get drunk. This time, it wasn
’
t much different. He still went
to the tavern, he still spent the night with some very talented
women, but he didn
’
t enjoy it as much as he had before. He
couldn
’
t help
but feel like he was trying to replace something, to nurse himself
from his wounded heart.

Blast it, he
thought as he absentmindedly guided Sir Thunder and Sam through the
gates. Lost as he was in his memories, he didn
’
t notice that there
weren
’
t any
guards at the gate, only the gatekeeper, who called out a
brief,
“Ho, Croxley.”

But Croxley, his
mind still stuck in the past, didn
’
t respond. As much as he wanted
to ignore it, he knew that he had been trying to nurse himself back
in Bastland. Normally, he would drink with the gay spirit of
adventure, and enjoy his women with the pride of a conqueror. But
this time, he couldn
’
t help but think of Fara. Fara and Erik. Damn, he cursed
inwardly. Every time he thought of either of them, the other
accompanied, always together as a pair in his head, a painful
reminder that he wasn
’
t a part of them. They were each other
’
s, and he was
alone.

He had thought
that, with Fara, he had something. Most of the girls he had known
before were shallow, self-centered. But Fara, she showed spirit,
she had a passion for the future that exceeded that of what she was
going to wear the next day. It didn
’
t take much for him to fall in
love with her. And he had thought, hoped, that the world above she
was so obviously falling in love with, the nature, the people,
everything, had also included him.

But then she met
the Prince. How had that even happen? Erik was never interested in
the slaves. What were the chances that he would be sitting in on
the council when Croxley brought Fara in for evaluation? And he
couldn
’
t just
let Croxley save Fara from that merchant. No, he insisted in
helping, saying he wanted something
“
exciting
”
to do that night.
Because saving a woman was just another form of entertainment for
him.

Fate
didn
’
t seem to
smile upon Croxley, but it always smiled upon the Prince. Erik had
gotten everything he wanted, his whole life, while Croxley had to
work behind him to keep up. Any trouble they got themselves into
somehow ended up Croxley
’
s fault. Erik, on the other
hand, always ended up scotch-free. Any girl that Erik lay his eyes
on would end up his by the end of the night, and Croxley would end
up with the rejected girls, forlorn at being overlooked by the
Prince. Upon finding Fara, Croxley finally had something that was
his, untouched by the Prince. So when Erik told Croxley that he
loved Fara, it stung like a betrayal of the worst
kind.

Croxley stopped
and exhaled, feeling some of his anger leave him with his breath.
As much as he begrudged Erik, they had always been best friends.
They
’
ve gone
through too much to let something like this tear them apart.
Eventually, Croxley may even feel happy for Erik and Fara. I doubt
it. The best I
’
ll be able to do is tolerate it, Croxley thought. But for
now, Croxley was bitter, holding on to his anger and avoiding
thoughts about Erik and Fara by finding solace in drink and women.
And yet, no matter who he took to bed, he wasn
’
t able to find satisfaction,
because his heart now knew what it wanted, and primal lust was no
match to the longing for love.

After coming to
agreement with the King of Bastland, he didn
’
t come straight home. Despite
the pain of unrequited love, he still had honor, and he was going
to stay true to the plan of rescuing those condemned to the
colonies. And if there was a chance to prove himself to Fara, there
may still exist the possibility for her to change her mind. With
this in mind, Croxley had made a detour to the nearest colony, the
northern clan of Fyzen. It was the smallest colony, and it had
little protection from the guards because it was also the least
productive. The only thing it could produce this far north in the
mountains was granite, which was difficult to transport, thus the
King arranged two large caravans a year to collect the gathered
stone and otherwise left the Nethers to
themselves.

Croxley knew that
the last caravan left a few months ago, so there
wouldn
’
t be
very many guards around to challenge his
appearance.

Overall, his
mission was successful. He met with the Fyzen leader, an old woman
named Thylora, who despite her many years, was strong and stubborn.
He had a friendly relationship with her. They enjoyed to bicker
back and forth, and she found his youth refreshing. Fyzen
hadn
’
t had much
success with children because all the mountain dust was hard on
infants
’
lungs,
so there was rarely a child to fuss over.

Croxley laughed
to himself as he remembered what she had said to him when he first
asked for her help.
“
Have they bred all
the brains out of ye in place of a pretty face? I
don
’
t know if
ye can tell, but we be stuck under miles of rock.
‘
Ow do ye think we can get to the royal city
without those fancy wagons and ridin animals you
’
ve all got to carry your lazy
arses around on land? By the time we got there, me grandchildren
would be needin canes to walk.
”

“
I hate to break
it to you, Granny,
”
Croxley had said, and
she squished her face together in an effort to hide her grin at his
playful flirting,
“
but the
‘stinkin city
’
, which
is my home, by the way,
”
he mocked
good-naturedly,
“isn
’
t as far as you think it is. Those merchants and guards who
say they
’
ve
been traveling for months, well, it
’
s only been a week, two at most.
It
’
s just one
of the lies they tell you all to keep you here.
”
He watched her expression, a mixture of disbelief and
anger, and went on.

“
I
’
ll let you in on another secret,
too. You aren
’
t
alone. There are more colonies. If we can get them all together, we
could actually have a chance.
”

Thylora set her mouth in a tight
line, thinking. Croxley waited patiently, knowing that, like the
mountains themselves, her mind would change slowly and steadily.
But once it did change, it would stand firm.

He waited for
what felt like hours, Thylora only breaking the silence to let out
a hmmm or haw. It wasn
’
t long before he felt his eyes grow heavy in that dimly lit
cavern. Eventually, she let out a decisive grunt and stood
up.

“
Alright,
”
she said, standing and crossing her arms,
starling Croxley out of his doze.
“
If
these words ye say are true, my people and I will give you aid. To
be true, a lifetime of work in the mountains have made us strong
and tough. If all ye surface-dwellers are as scrawny as you are,
sonny, the King and his men don
’
t stand a chance!
”
Thylora gave a firm nod and stuck her hand out
to shake Croxley
’
s, laughing when Croxley whimpered as his hand was crushed
in her firm grip. He pulled it back and shook it in the air while
grinning at his success and knowing that now, it had
begun.

Ξ

He made his way through the
outskirts of Stonewall, noticing that things were much quieter than
usual. Normally, in the middle of a sunny day like this, the
streets would be full of merchants trying to peddle their goods,
wives hustling through the streets to get back to their homes to
cook supper, and petty thieves sticking their hands into every
pocket that had the slightest bulge.

As Croxley approached what used to
be the stables, he slowed down and led Sir Thunder and Sam to the
shadows to watch the scene unfold before him.

Only half of the stables remained
standing, and it was so badly burned that it looked like it would
soon collapse and join the other half in a pile of rubble and ash.
Around it stood the kings guards, poking through it as if they were
searching for something. Croxley felt his stomach lurch as they
pulled out what looked to be human bones. Did they belong to Heath?
A dreadful silence filled the air around him, and he flinched with
every clack of his horse's hooves. As he came closer, the guards
heard him, and a few of them ran his way.

"Sir Croxley," a guard with a thin
mustache, if one could even call it that, greeted him.

"What happened here?" Croxley asked,
adding the weight of authority to his voice.

"Arson and murder, sir."

"Murder? By whom?"

"By the Prince
and his accomplice, me thinks, my lord-" the guard to
Croxley
’
s right
didn't get a chance to finish, because the peach-fuzzed guard hit
him on the back of the head.

"What he means to say, sir, is that
we don't know yet, but the Prince has gone missing and some say
they saw him enter the barn."

"The Prince has left? Where has he
gone?" Erik, what on earth have you done?

"Nobody knows, sir. But the palace
is in a riot."

"I'm sure it is.
I
’
d best be
heading there myself, then. Thank you for your report." The guards
saluted Croxley, and he quickly walked the rest of the way to the
castle. He found a servant and told him to take his horses to
wherever they were keeping the others now that the stables had
burned down, and headed into castle.

If the streets were unusually calm,
the castle was unusually busy. Servants were running around, nobles
were chattering to each other across the hallways, and guards were
storming through in waves. What on earth is going on
here?

For a few moments, Croxley just
stood and watched the hum of the castle. He didn't know just what
he had meant to do standing there, but he couldn't think of
anything else to do at the moment.