The Key (6 page)

He was close.
However, she knew the land better than these soldiers did. And the word
surrender
wasn’t in her vocabulary. She nudged Snow onward.

Darmik

Darmik dressed in plain brown trousers and a black shirt, making sure all of his royal markings were covered. Then he slipped out of the castle and past the gate, along with the servants going home for the night. Keeping his head low, he walked toward the main street, looking for one of the larger taverns.

The group of men ahead of him talked about getting a drink before going home. Darmik followed them to the main street leading to the town square. Things seemed back to normal—no evidence that any sort of gathering had occurred earlier in the day. People went about their business, heading home from work. Stores were open again.

A sign hung above a large, wooden structure reading: Usavo Tavern. Light shone from the windows and several people stood outside, laughing. Entering the packed, stuffy room, Darmik was immediately assaulted by the smell of bread, ale, and body sweat. Nudging his way to the bar, he ordered a drink.

Darmik listened to the conversations around him. It didn’t take long to figure out people were talking about what had happened in the town square earlier today. The man on his right was speaking to five men, all in their early twenties.

“He made good points,” the man said.

“Yeah, but what can we do to change anything?” another one asked.

Good
, Darmik thought. The speaker today wasn’t actively organizing people. He was only in the beginning stages—getting the people riled up.

“Excuse me,” Darmik interrupted, “do you know the name of the speaker from the town square?”

The men turned toward him. Darmik took a sip of ale, acting casual.

“Don’t know. Never seen him before,” one of them answered. “I was walking by and heard him shouting. I stayed cause I liked what he had to say. Turned into a mighty good gathering, don’t ya think?”

“It was very interesting, indeed,” Darmik answered. “Know of any other meetings? I’m new in town.”

“No,” a man replied. “But when someone wants to speak, word spreads like fire.”

Darmik nodded and finished his drink. He was glad there wasn’t a leader spearheading the campaign. That meant there was hope he could end the demonstrations before any real damage was done.

Wanting to get back to the governor’s before his absence was noticed, he headed toward the exit. A man nudged his shoulder and whispered, “News just arrived. It’s time to prepare. The end is near.” There was a gleam to the man’s eyes as he smiled.

“What did you say?” Darmik asked.

“The word is to be prepared. The key will arrive. We must all be ready.” The man bounced on the balls of his feet in excitement. “Tell everyone, but don’t let the soldiers know.” He moved on to the next person, saying the same thing.

Another young man came over. “Did you hear? The royal family is alive!” he said with tears of jubilation.

Of course they
are alive
, Darmik thought. He was standing right there, and his father and brother were always well protected. Darmik moved to leave.

“Any word on which one survived?” another man behind Darmik asked.

Darmik froze. Was there an attack he was unaware of? He turned to the men.

“No, only that one of them did. And we best be ready to restore them to the throne.”

The room spun before Darmik. He left before his face could reveal anything. Did he hear correctly? A member of the previous royal line had survived? This was the first he’d heard of it. Of course, it was probably a ruse, gossip to rile up the people.

The previous royal family—king, queen, and three children—bore a secret royal tattoo identifying them as the true bloodline. Their relatives all had a different variation of the mark. King Barjon demanded that the entire line be exterminated, and he claimed he had proof. Since none of the civilians knew about the secret tattoo
, or what it looked like, it would be impossible for an imposter to pass someone off as a descendent of the royal line.

****

The sun shone directly overhead as Darmik walked along the wooden platform hastily constructed for the execution. It was in the middle of the town square—the same spot the man on the crate had spoken the other day. Armed soldiers stood around the perimeter of the stage. The prisoners knelt in the center, each held upright by a soldier, whose face was covered with a black mask, concealing his identity. Darmik had the prisoners’ hands bound and mouths gagged so they couldn’t talk. They were also covered in dirt, their faces purple with newly swelling bruises.

Darmik turned toward the
peasant crowd of several hundred standing in the town square. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. In full uniform—royal-blue tunic with a silver sun embroidered on the front, along with a crown above his chest—he demanded attention from every single person there.

Archers
stood around the edge of the crowd, ready. It was silent, the people waiting for Darmik to speak. He pointedly looked into as many eyes as he could. He had to maintain control over Telan. Otherwise the kingdom wouldn’t survive.

“You are all here to witness the execution of these men,” Darmik
nodded to the seven prisoners. “Each of them has been found guilty of treason, punishable by death. Anyone who talks of removing our king is subject to arrest and execution. The law is the law, and I will enforce it accordingly.” His voice echoed over the crowd.

Civilians
glared at him with hatred in their eyes, but they remained silent. Darmik noticed a desperateness to the people. Most were skinny with bones protruding from lack of food. They didn’t understand that Darmik was trying to protect them. Instead, they saw the crown and army as the enemy.

Movement caught Darmik’s attention
, and he glanced left. A teenage boy threw a rotting apple toward the soldier at the end of the platform, hitting the soldier on the shoulder. A few people cheered.
Foolish
, Darmik thought. Didn’t these people have any sense of self-preservation? The boy, young and naïve, looked fifteen years old. He was probably buying into the rumors.

G
uards were stationed throughout the crowd. A soldier near the boy moved toward him. The teenager pulled out another rotting apple, raised his arm, and the soldier jumped, knocking the boy to the ground. The soldier yanked the teenager up and bound his hands.

“Murderers!”
the boy screamed, thrashing his body, trying to break loose.

The
soldier punched him in the stomach. The insolent youth doubled over. Another soldier helped drag the boy away.

A
few other civilians had items hidden in their hands. It was a pathetic attempt to retaliate.

“Anyone else care to join
the boy?” Darmik asked. “I have enough soldiers to arrest everyone here.” He detested being harsh with people who were starving and desperate.

Searching the crowd, Darmik
remembered the little girl from the other day sitting next to her dead mother. He imagined her innocent eyes watching him, like the commoners here did, with sad, judging eyes. He inwardly cringed, but kept his expression blank. Slowly walking to the other end of the platform, he scrutinized the prisoners.

After
Darmik had left the tavern the other night, he followed the individual who had told him an heir existed. The man seemed intent on telling every single person he passed to be prepared, that the
key
would arrive, and they would fight to restore the throne to its rightful owner. Unfortunately, this man wasn’t the only one spreading the rumor. Darmik found an additional six men repeating the message. Darmik decided to have them all apprehended.

Each
prisoner bore Telan’s mark on his left wrist. After extensive questioning to try to ascertain specific names of the people organizing the rebellion, and what their plans were, Darmik realized that these men knew nothing—they were simply messengers. The man who had spoken in the town center approached them after the gathering. He paid each of the men money to deliver the message, “The key is coming and we will take back the throne and restore our kingdom to its former glory.” The only solution was to kill the messengers to prevent any sort of uprising—to save the lives of civilians by sacrificing these men. It was a steep price to pay to prove a point.

T
he prisoners seethed with hatred, yet none of them fought back. Putting the men in jail would’ve been Darmik’s preferred choice of action, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. A public execution instilled fear, and this crowd needed to fear authority right now. Sometimes the power Darmik wielded scared him. Often times, it overburdened him.

Hating to do it, Darmik lifted his hand and
gave the signal. The seven soldiers released the prisoners, raised their axes, and in less than thirty seconds, it was done. Blood splattered on the floor. The heads were skewered on spikes and placed on the platform for all to see. A reminder to the people of the king’s authority, and the power of the army backing the king.

Darmik nodded to his men, who
then pulled the mutilated bodies from the platform, throwing them onto the ground for their families to bury or burn. Although he’d seen worse, Darmik still had to remind himself why he was doing this—those men wanted to overthrow the king, and he had to safeguard his father at all cost. Killing was necessary, needed. It was his job to protect his family—at least that’s what his father had always told him, and it’s what his mother would have wanted.

The crowd
silently dispersed with their heads down, leaving the bodies behind on the street. Where were their families? And why was no one stepping forward to collect them?

“What do you want us to do with the
dead?” a soldier asked.

“Leave them
,” Darmik ordered. Hopefully, the families would come for them after the soldiers left.

“But the disease,” the soldier prompted.

“It’s the responsibility of these people to dispose of their dead. We won’t give them that honor.” Besides, moving the bodies would be a sign of disrespect.

The soldier nodded
before joining the others patrolling the area. Something caught Darmik’s eye. Down one of the side streets, he thought he saw a little girl crying. Blinking a few times, he looked again, but no one was there. Shaking his head, Darmik refocused on the town square.

Uniformed s
oldiers were everywhere, keeping a strong presence. None of the civilians would try anything today. Everyone would go home to their small houses or rooms and lock their doors, without publically speaking against the king.

U
ntil the king pushed again. Then rumors would resurface, the threat of rebellion rebuilding, and a civil war would ensue as the people became desperate and foolish.

But f
or now, Darmik needed to return to the king’s castle to see his father’s evidence that the previous royal family was dead. Darmik wanted to personally verify that no one from the past had slipped their notice. Because if someone did, there would be no stopping a bloody war.

Rema

The wind twirled
Rema’s hair as Snow thundered north through the forest, in the direction of the cave. When they reached a boulder shaped like a bird, Rema steered the horse left.

Years ago, when
Rema was only five, Uncle Kar began bringing her deep into the woods, pointing out certain trees, terrain, and rocks. He made sure she knew how to find the cave on her own, even in the dark. When she asked him why, he simply told her it was good to be prepared. For what, she never knew. Now she was beginning to understand.

Uncle Kar
had brought Rema to the cave often, always careful not to leave a trail. They brought provisions with them, keeping the cave fully stocked with food, blankets, water—everything they would need to survive for a couple of days without leaving.

T
he cave’s opening was about another mile north, hidden between two boulders on a hillside. The entrance was small and well camouflaged. Rema wondered how Uncle Kar had discovered it in the first place. The inside was pitch-black but lanterns were stashed throughout, and she remembered that once they were lit, the ten-foot-by-ten-foot cave wasn’t so scary. However, she had never spent more than a few minutes alone inside it before.

The deeper into the forest she traveled, the denser the trees became and navigating
Snow at this speed was difficult. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled, creating a song all their own. Rema’s skin prickled. She wasn’t alone.

Even without seeing
anyone, Rema felt the prince’s men gaining on her. At the top of a hill, she chanced a look back. Soldiers were spaced evenly apart, heading in her direction. She recalled learning how to herd sheep atop a horse. Uncle Kar had taught her what to look for and where to maneuver the horse in order to get the animals into the paddock. These soldiers reminded Rema of herding with their lethal speed and swift movements—but this time she was the sheep.

As they tracked her, s
he realized they weren’t ordinary soldiers. Even though they wore the King’s Army uniform, there was a variation that Rema had never seen before. A black line extended the entire length of their sleeves and up over their shoulders.

Riding
down the other side of the hill, Rema knew it would be difficult evading the soldiers, yet she had to try. She dismounted and sent Snow westward, then took off on foot in the opposite direction. She prayed it would take the soldiers a while to realize she was no longer on her horse. Luckily, Snow was familiar with these woods and would eventually find his way home.

Rema picked up her skirt and held it close, making sure it didn’t get caught on a twig and tear, leaving a trail.
At the bottom of the hill, she glanced around. There weren’t any trees small enough for her to climb and hide. Running out of options, she sprinted toward the cave, praying she’d make it in time. Moving as fast as her legs could go, she tried to remain quiet while running over the dry-leaf flooring of the forest.

A
series of whistles rang through the air. The soldiers had to be communicating with each other. The pounding of horse hooves grew louder, closing in on Rema. She dodged between the tree trunks, hoping to remain hidden. There was a sturdy tree with a branch low enough for her to take hold. Grabbing the thick limb, she pulled her body up from the ground. One leg made it over the branch, and she hoisted herself up into the tree.

A
soldier on a brown horse slid from his mount, nocked an arrow, and pointed it directly at her. She froze, her hands and legs tightly gripping the limb.

“Prince Lennek has ordered your detainment on the grounds of disobeying a royal summons,” the archer stated.

For a moment she considered climbing higher, assuming the branches and leaves would shield her from the deadly arrow. But then what? She couldn’t stay in the tree forever, and these men wouldn’t leave until they captured her.

Having no other option,
Rema unhooked her leg and released the branch, landing on her feet. A bush rustled, and a second soldier stepped out from behind it. She hadn’t realized anyone else was so close. The archer lowered his weapon as the other soldier seized her hands, tying them behind her back.

“
Are you arresting me?” she asked, wondering if her aunt and uncle would be arrested as well.

“
Our orders are to take you to Lord Filmar’s.”

Several other
soldiers joined them. They were all big, burly men. Rema’s legs shook. She hoped these were honorable soldiers who wouldn’t take advantage of her. Aunt Maya had often spoken of the king’s men raping women for fun when they passed through towns.

Rema understood
the importance of avoiding soldiers at all cost.

“This way, sweetheart,”
the man holding her arm tightly said.

“I’m not your sweetheart
. You will not address me in such a manner,” Rema replied.

Several of the soldiers laughed, their voices echoing in the forest so that it sounded like there were a hundred men making fun of her,
instead of only twenty.

“Aren’t you a feisty one
?” the archer said.

One of the men toward the back moved forward, looking Rema over with lustful eyes. “Maybe we should teach her a les
son, play with her a bit.” His teeth were yellowed, and his beard had a piece of food stuck in it.

Rema tensed. She would rather die than allow these men to attack her. If any of them moved toward her, she’d kick him and run
, even if it meant getting an arrow stuck in her back.

“No,” the archer
ordered. “Prince Lennek wants to speak with her, and I’ll not deliver damaged goods. That might have been how you did things before Commander Darmik, but you will not behave that way now. If the commander hears you making crude suggestions, you’ll be discharged and sent home in disgrace.”

The soldier looked disappointed, but obeyed.

Rema flushed and kept her face down, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Hearing these men speak of Prince Darmik confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed an ethical person who cared about others. How could her aunt be so wrong about him?

“Is Prince Darmik at the governor’s?” Rema asked.

“No,” the man holding her arm whispered. “We’re here on orders from Prince Lennek. The commander has already left.”

“
Move out,” the archer ordered.

T
he soldier carefully picked Rema up. He sat her atop his horse and climbed on behind her. Slipping his arm around her waist, he held her tight against his body so she wouldn’t fall. Rema had never been held like this by a man before, not even Bren. She wanted to smash her head into his nose to get away, but there were too many soldiers around, and she didn’t stand a chance of getting very far. The best thing to do was to go along with them.

When they reached the edge of the forest, her house appeared in the distance
surrounded by a sea of blue soldiers. Fifty men from the King’s Army were here to do Prince Lennek’s bidding. But what did he want with her? Usually men found her odd looks unappealing. However, there were some, like Bren, who insisted she was beautiful. Rema certainly didn’t feel beautiful, and if anything, felt out of place in a kingdom where everyone had black hair, dark eyes, and brown skin.

The soldier lowered
Rema to the ground and dismounted. He took her arm, leading her through the prince’s men to her house. Inside, there were an additional five soldiers crowded together in the sitting room. It was stifling hot from so many pressing together in such a small place. When her presence was noticed, they all quieted down and moved against the edges of the room.

Now
Rema had a clear view of the two chairs in front of the empty fireplace, where Aunt Maya and Uncle Kar sat with swords pointed at their chests. Rema took a step forward, but the soldier gripped her arm tighter until it hurt and she cringed.

“No you don’t,” he said. “You stay put.”

She stifled the urge to run to her aunt and uncle, demanding their release. But she was at the mercy of these soldiers—they had the power to kill Kar and Maya without cause.

A man
holding a helmet with a large plume stepped forward. He was short and stalky, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, and his beard cut short. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. Lifting her bound wrists, he read her band and released her. “You were delivered a royal summons?” he asked.

Aunt Maya pointed her chin in the air—her sign for Rema to hold her head high and be brave. Rema knew she could do this.
Understanding that these men were here to intimidate her, she took Aunt Maya’s advice—she wouldn’t let them see her fear.

“Yes,
” Rema replied in a loud, clear voice. “But I had no escort.” Her bound hands clutched into fists. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, I
’m here to escort you.”

Rema
looked at Uncle Kar. He shook his head ever so slightly. But if she didn’t agree, they would be executed. Having no real choice, she said, “Fine. Release them, and I’ll go willingly.”

“Oh you’ll come,” the
officer replied. “Willingly or not.” The guards lowered their swords, and Rema’s shoulders relaxed.

“Trust me,” Rema said
with as much venom as she could, “my cooperation is in your best interest.”

“It will be a pleasure delivering you to Prince Lennek
.” The officer chuckled so softly that Rema wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Serves him right—a feisty girl that he won’t be able to easily control, quite the change from his usual mistresses.”