Siege: A Borrowed Magic Novella (7 page)

There were fewer people gathered at the gates than
Maren would have thought. Only a few hundred. Maybe more rational
minds had prevailed as people truly realized that surrender meant
Kern. And Kern meant…well, maybe worse than death.

Daric faced them one last time. “Are you
sure?”

A few, probably the ones who’d stirred the
frenzy in the first place, looked at him with disgust, even
thinly-veiled hatred. A larger number shifted on their feet,
perhaps doubting their chosen path but unwilling to turn back
now.

Daric took a deep breath and took Adare’s
hand in his. “Open the gates.”

Soldiers began pulling on the massive chains
that had kept Kern out for two years. They creaked and groaned, but
slowly a small gap appeared. A few more pulls and the gap was big
enough for a man to pass through.

“That’s enough,” Daric said. Then he met his
subject’s eyes for the last time as, one by one, they left the
protection of the walls.

When the gates were once again shut tight,
Daric leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Daric.” Adare said after a minute. “We
should get you somewhere safer.”

He nodded. “Let’s get to the castle. I want
to watch, to see if…”

No one wanted to finish that thought, and
they all walked back to the castle in silence, climbing onto the
ramparts to watch the people slowly making their way to Kern’s
army.

It seemed half the city had the same idea.
Maren had seen the doubt in their faces, the indecision. Some had
questioned their decision to stay. Some worried they’d doomed
themselves to a slow and painful death. Either way, the choice had
been made. Now all they could do was watch.

The refugees approached Kern’s line and a
soldier rode out to meet them. Words were exchanged and then the
rider went back, returning a minute later with a larger group. Five
total.

But Maren could only look at the man in
front.

Kern.

He sat proudly on his horse. His shoulders
straight. His head high.

He stopped ten feet in front of the ragged
group and slid off his horse. Then he took a few steps forward and
gave them a slight bow. Maren saw his lips move in words she
couldn’t hear and realized she was grasping Adare’s hand in
hers.

Then Kern turned his face towards the castle,
as if he could look right into Daric’s eyes.

Dread like Maren had never experienced filled
her, crushing her in its grip. Adare must have felt it too. And
Daric. And the rest of the city. Almost in unison, they held a
collective breath. Waiting.

But nothing happened.

Maren almost thought she’d imagined that
feeling of dread.

Until Kern turned back to the small group
gathered in front of his army. He raised a single open hand, as if
to signal his soldiers, and then closed his fist with what felt
like an audible snap.

As one, every single man, woman, and child
who’d surrendered collapsed.

The silence grew until it was a weight
threatening to crush them all.

And then the sobbing started. Deep and
soul-wrenching, piercing Maren’s heart until she fell to her knees
beside Daric and Adare, their cries joining the mourning all around
them.

Until one voice cut through it all. It wasn’t
loud. Nor was it something they heard with their ears. It was a
whisper on the bitter wind, carried to all the people of
Tredare.

There is no escape. There is no
surrender.

Ten

The castle rocked as another shell hit the outer
walls. No one even flinched anymore. No one did anything. There was
nothing to do but live with the damage, the starvation, and the
rats until there was no living at all.

Kern couldn’t be defeated.

Maren had tried. Every day for more than two
and a half years, she’d spent hours in her father’s study, pouring
over books until her eyes blurred or she was forced to leave to
help put out a fire, or hand out rations, or bury the dead.

She’d found nothing, and now it took
everything she had to maintain any kind of hope.

“Maren?”

Daric stood in the doorway. He looked older,
gray coloring his temples much earlier than it should. But then, he
shouldn’t have dark shadows under his eyes or creases in his
forehead either. He’d expended everything trying to hold his
kingdom together.

Now he grasped a crumpled piece of paper in
shaking hands, and stared at it with an intensity that scared
her.

“Daric, what is it?”

He didn’t answer, just stood there,
staring.

“Daric!”

His eyes met hers and her breath caught.
Hope. It was there. Faint, like a flicker of a candle.

She grabbed the letter from his hand and
skimmed the contents, not even realizing she was holding her
breath, until she had to lean heavily against the table.

“Is it possible?” Daric whispered. “Is it his
writing?”

Maren didn’t have to look again. She knew it
like her own. “Yes. It’s Philip’s. Where did you get it? How did
you get it?”

Daric stared down at the letter again, almost
like he couldn’t believe it was real. “It was wrapped around an
arrow that nearly embedded itself into one of my soldiers.” He sank
into a chair. “Could it really be true? Could Philip actually be
gathering an army, intending to fight Kern?”

“I don’t know,” she said, desperate for
answers that weren’t going to be there. “But I don’t think he’d
send this, give us hope, if he wasn’t.”

Daric stood, taller than she’d seen in a
year. “I’m going to tell Adare and the Council, but not everyone
else yet. If it’s true, we can be as ready as possible. If it’s
true…maybe we can live.”

When the door closed behind him, Maren buried
her face in her hands. Philip was alive. He was coming to save
them.

And would most likely be killed in the
process.

Eleven

They’d received another message. And this time it
came with a sort of validation. Kern’s men were preparing. And not
for another set of shots at the castle. Their attention was turned
outward, to a different enemy.

Philip
had
gathered an army. For two
months, they’d made their way towards the castle, battling smaller
bastions of Kern’s men. Philip had been victorious every time.

But Maren was as terrified as she’d been two
months ago. Philip didn’t have magic. And Kern’s forces were made
up of more than just men.

“I can’t believe it might finally be over,”
Adare said, staring out the windows at where Kern’s armies crawled
over the land like a disease.

Adare was thinner than she’d been three years
ago, but the siege had done one good thing. It had given her
something else to focus on besides the death of her son.

“It might not be over.” Maren turned away
from the window. “It took ten mages to defeat Kern last time.
Philip doesn’t have mages. How can he possibly win?”

Adare put her arms around her. “I don’t know,
but Philip knows what it took last time. Would he really attempt
this if he didn’t have a plan?”

Maren wasn’t sure. If he were angry enough?
At Kern. At discovering their relationship. She just didn’t know.
The old Philip wouldn’t have risked thousands of lives knowing
they’d likely lose. But she didn’t know who Philip was now.

Or what decisions he’d make.

She only knew she was scared. For him. And
for herself. Because if he died, part of her would die with
him.

Twelve

Philip’s army had arrived a week ago, and the
fighting hadn’t stopped since. Everyday Maren watched as the men
got closer and closer to Delorme. Closer and closer to Kern.

Now they were here.

Even from the castle she could hear swords
clashing and men screaming, see bodies lying lifeless on the
ground. It was the stuff of nightmares.

And it wasn’t over.

And there was nothing she could do.

Except watch and wait and ho—

A huge crack rent the air, shaking the ground
beneath her feet and the walls surrounding her. For a moment, Maren
waited in fear, not knowing what it meant, or if it was good. Or
bad.

Then a new sound rose from the battlefield,
and Maren ran to the window, so unsure she didn’t dare breathe.

It was silence.

She gazed towards the battlefield, where
everything was so still it was as if time had frozen. Then she saw
one of Kern’s “men” slump to the ground, lifeless. And then
another. And another. Magic, their creator, no longer sustained
them. Which meant only one thing.

Kern had been defeated.

Kern’s human men began to realize the same
thing, and Maren watched them lay down their arms and
surrender.

Within minutes, the silence turned to cheers
– on the battlefield, through the city as word spread, and in the
castle itself. Then those cheers turned to a chant.

“
Philip
.”

Maren fell to her knees and sobbed in
relief.

Philip was alive. The city was safe. No
matter what happened now, no matter what happened in the past, they
could begin to get back everything they’d lost.

Maren’s thoughts strayed to Philip, and her
momentary relief faded. Maybe she couldn’t get back everything
she’d lost. Hopefully, the rest would be enough to build a new
life. Hopefully, she could find happiness – eventually.

Want to
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About the Author

Shari has
always
loved to read. “Bookworm” may even be an understatement. But when
she discovered Georgette Heyer in high school, her love of reading
exploded. Ms. Heyer’s books were not only entertaining, witty, and
smart, but they saved Shari from the awkward, unromantic teenage
years. To this day, Shari’s favorite books all have romance in
them.

Although Shari spent a good deal of her time
at Brigham Young University on the ballroom dance team, she did
manage to get a BA in History and English before going on to get a
Juris Doctorate. After graduation, she decided her first priority
was to be a mom -- a career she’s stuck with and loved.

In between cleaning, laundry, and homework,
Shari writes. Just like with reading, she wants to get lost in a
world, whether imaginary or historical.

She lives just outside of Salt Lake City,
Utah with her husband and four children.

Other
Books by Shari Lambert

shariwrites.wordpress.com

shariwrites.wordpress.com

facebook.com/shariwrites

Preview of
Chapter One of
Borrowed Magic

The siege had ended. Lord Kern, the dark
mage, was dead.

Maren pushed her forehead against the warm
glass, straining for a better view of the commotion below. A cheer
went up from the crowd, and she searched for any sign of the man
making his way to the castle. The man who’d saved the city – and
the kingdom.

All she could see was a mass of bodies,
crowding the path leading up from the city gates.

It wasn’t uncommon to see people in the
streets of Delorme. They’d come every day for the past two and a
half years, standing in subdued silence as they waited for the
daily rations that grew more and more meager as the weeks went by.
But today the crowd wasn’t silent. Today was different.

The tent cities beyond the wall, once teeming
with soldiers draining the city of life, were now abandoned,
destroyed, thin plumes of smoke the only movement. What was left of
the lush, green fields sat charred and barren. Desolate.

“Anything?”

Maren jumped back from the window and felt
the color rise to her cheeks.

“It’s all right, Maren,” Adare said, trying
to get her own view of the street below. “We’re all curious. And
you have more right than the rest of us. You knew him better than
anyone.”

The dull, familiar ache in her chest forced
Maren to hesitate until she was sure she could speak without her
voice breaking. Even then, she couldn’t meet the queen’s eyes. “I’m
not sure I knew him at all.”

Adare didn’t comment, instead turning her
attention back to the crowd. “I wish I could be out there with
them. But that would be
beneath my station
.”

Maren managed a small laugh. “But would you
really give it all up?”

Adare thought. “Most of it. But not Daric.
Although what he ever saw in a plain girl with no fortune or
political connections will always be a mystery.”

True, Adare wasn’t beautiful. Her eyes were
too small, her nose too wide, and although her hair was a rich
shade of gold, it neither hung in a beautiful, straight curtain, or
in large, soft curls like Maren’s own. None of that mattered when
she smiled. It was like the sun coming out after a storm. “I think
the king fell in love.”

Now it was Adare’s turn to laugh. “Yes, he
did. Despite all the advice of his Council.” She shrugged. “You
can’t help who you fall in love with.”