The Last Enchanter (28 page)

The gryphon nudged him again, keeping her head lowered.

“I think she wants me to climb on.” Marcus tested this by carefully pulling himself up to sit on her neck. He helped Lael to climb on behind him.

“This is incredible!” said Marcus. “It's as if she's always
known me. Do you think she'd take us back to Dokur?”

Lael slid her hands over the creature's downy feathers. “Well, she's certainly large enough to hold all of us.”

Marcus drew a deep breath. “All right then. We'll pick up Bryn and Rylan and then head home. Hold on!”

And with that, the gryphon's mighty wings unfurled, lifting them high above the ground. In moments, the entire landscape for miles around became visible, and Marcus thought he could almost see the silhouette of Dokur in the distance.

Seventy-five

T
he hour is late,” said Chancellor Prost. “There is no need to prolong this trial further.”

The throne room was located in the uppermost section of the Fortress, overlooking the southern courtyard below where a gallows was being constructed. The relentless pounding of mallet against spike broke through the silence in the room.

There were only nine people present: the two prisoners accused of treason bound in chains on their knees, Jayson, Brommel the human trader, four armed guards, and Chancellor Prost. Prost stood before the prisoners, his hands clasped loosely behind him. His fingers wriggled like little, white worms as he prepared to pass judgment. He glared down at Eliha the Agoran murderer, whose skin
was streaked with blood and dirt. Dark purple bruises decorated his back and arms, evidence of the beatings he had endured. His sleek, feline-like frame was shrunken from hunger. He was so weak that the guards had to pull his chains taut to keep him from falling.

“You, Agoran, have been found guilty of treason and murder!” said Prost. “Having conducted a careful investigation, I have concluded that you are guilty of the following crimes: burning His Majesty's naval vessel
The North Star
and injuring three of her crew; trespassing on His Majesty's property, namely within these walls, and vandalizing said property; and murdering the king and two of his royal guards in cold blood. We have born witness against you. You will be put to death for your crimes. Have you anything to say before I proceed?”

A loud thud sounded from the window, followed by a series of creaks as the wooden gallows was tested. Eliha lifted his face, which bore a defiant and proud expression. “I do not fear death,” he said, the words raspy and dry. “Unlike some who run from it, I welcome it! But unless my people are given their lands and the government's noose is forever loosed from their necks, there will be others after me! And we will break your necks with our bare hands for our freedom, if we must!”

Prost looked amused. “I see,” he said, smirking. He glanced up at Jayson. “Do you hear that, Jayson? He speaks of others. Is he referring to you, by any chance? I think not. No, I believe his reference to you was in mentioning those who run from death. Hmm? All right then,”
he continued, motioning to the guard beside Eliha. “Take him away to the gallows. His sentence will be carried out immediately.”

Eliha said nothing as one of the guards pulled him roughly to his feet. It was Kaië who cried out, “No!”

“No?” repeated Prost. “Did the prisoner dare speak without permission?”

“You can't accuse him,” Kaië said, “until you consider what led him to do it.”

“You have no right to speak—”

“But speak I must! This man was taken from his wife—”

“Guard, silence her!”

“—his children left fatherless. He was enslaved in Fredric's mine and imprisoned wrongfully! He demands only that his people be given what was promised them.”

“Guard!”

The guard that held Kaië's chains hit her on the side of her head with the grip of his sword. Kaië crumpled to the ground, a fresh trail of blood trickling from her wound. Jayson and Brommel angrily shoved the guards aside and rushed to Kaië.

“Why do you torture an innocent woman?” Jayson shouted, tears burning his eyes. “You know she tells the truth! If anyone is guilty here, it is you!”

“How dare you!” shouted Prost. “Do you know I have the authority and the power to hang you all? In fact, hanging you, Jayson, is something I should have done years ago. I was swayed by Fredric to spare your life and exile you instead. What a weak man he was. You defiled
his only daughter, and yet he could not see you die. Well, Fredric is no longer alive to protect you—to protect any of you! I am the supreme authority here!”

“Prost!”

All eyes turned to the front of the room where Kelvin, having entered through his private entrance, stood scowling.

“Sire,” said Prost, suddenly polite, “to what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

“I am here to put a stop to this so-called trial.”

“You needn't trouble yourself with such matters. You have more important things to attend to.”

“More important than protecting the liberty of my own people?” asked Kelvin.

“If you are referring to the prisoners, I assure you, their punishment fits their crimes.”

“Is that so? I think Kaië is right. Has the Agoran's history been considered? And what evidence do you have against the girl except for Eliha's testimony?”

“But Sire,” said Prost, “they killed your grandfather. You said so yourself.”

“I did. But that was before I knew the truth.”

“Sire, I—”

“Guards, release the prisoners!”

The two prison guards unlocked the shackles that bound Eliha and Kaië, and their chains clattered loudly to the floor. Eliha, trembling from weakness but still proud, rose to his feet. Kelvin walked past Prost and placed his hand on the Agoran's shoulder.

“Your people are free to return to their lands. I give
my word.” Then, holding out his hand to Kaië, he added, “I am sorry I did not come sooner. I promise I will make it up to you in every way possible.”

Prost turned ashen. “This is an outrage! I served under your grandfather for twenty years! I have the authority to conduct this trial as I see fit.”

“Not anymore,” answered Kelvin. “Prost, you are hereby charged with treason against the crown and are to give yourself up to these guards.”

“Treason? But you have no evidence against me!”

“Actually, I have more than I need.”

From the door to Kelvin's private chambers came Rylan, Bryn, Lael, and Marcus. In Marcus's outstretched hand were the documents from Voltana.

Seventy-six

M
arcus held up the papers for all to see. “These documents prove that Chancellor Prost's goal since the beginning was to control Dokur's throne and take possession of the Celestine mines.”

“Preposterous!” shouted Prost.

“And he is in league with Dokur's enemies in Hestoria—the Vatéz.”

Prost gasped and shook with rage. “By whose hand was this claim written?”

“Lady Ivanore,” Marcus said, handing the pages to Kelvin.

Prost tried to snatch the papers from Kelvin's hand, but a guard blocked him with his sword.

“Ivanore is dead,” said Prost. “Her testimony is invalid!”

Kelvin motioned to his guards. They stepped forward to take Prost's arms.

“I also charge you with both my grandfathers' deaths,” continued Kelvin. “You will be bound and tried. You were supposed to be an advocate of justice, Chancellor. Let justice now have its claim on you.”

As the guards drew near, however, Prost raised his hands toward them. The air crackled as a thin blue bolt of light arced from his fingertips and struck the guards. They lurched backward, their bodies slamming against the floor. Another guard ran forward and was also thrown aside. Prost raised a single finger, pointing it at a huge marble urn in the corner of the room. The blue light zigzagged through the air. It lifted the enormous urn from its base and hurled it at the guards. It smashed into them, pinning them to the floor.

Prost turned, a smirk on his lips. “Anyone else wish to arrest me?”

Jayson took Kaië up in his arms and ran for the door, but Prost spotted their retreat and, with a slight flick of his wrist, shut and barred the door.

“Running as usual, Jayson. Typical. Do your sons know how you abandoned them, spending fifteen years hiding in your ale while your wife and your people waited for your return? Well, no more! It is time you face your worst demons, Agoran half-breed! There will be no more hiding!”

Prost shot out his arms. The blue light pierced Jayson's body, sending a horrible tremor through him. Jayson tried to keep his grip on Kaië, but he could not. He let her slide
to the floor. He struggled against the force that shook him, the strain showing in his face, the veins bulging in his neck.

“Let him go!” shouted Marcus.

Jayson's quaking stopped, and he crumpled to the floor, too weak to move. Kelvin hurried to his side. Finding him exhausted but alive, he then moved to Kaië and tried to wake her. In the meantime, Prost turned his attention to Marcus.

“Oh, yes, I nearly forgot about you—the spare child. I, for one, have had enough of your meddling.”

Blue lightning surged from Prost's fingers. The impact of it sent Marcus hurtling across the room, where he crashed against a wall. He felt like he'd been struck by a boulder. Though it left him winded, he managed to stay on his feet.

“This isn't about the mines or power, is it?” said Marcus between gasps of breath. “You want something bigger—more important. According to Ivanore's documents, you've been a pawn of the Vatéz since the beginning—and the Vatéz want the Celestine seals.”

Prost's lips quivered in silent fury. His eyes narrowed.

“But she wouldn't give them to you, would she?” Marcus continued, the pieces of the puzzle coming together in his mind. “So you sent her husband away and tried to convince Fredric to kill her baby, but she ran away and took the seals with her. But why? What about them is so special that you're willing to kill for them?”

Kelvin spoke up now. “I don't understand. Prost had plenty of chances to take mother's seal from me. Why didn't he kill
me
for it?”

“Because one is useless without the other,” said Marcus. “He needs them both. He hoped you would eventually reveal the location of the second seal. The only problem was that you didn't even know the other seal existed, let alone where it was. But I do.”

Prost was so enraged by now that his face was nearly purple. His lips, tight and thin, trembled as he spoke. “Give—them—to—me!”

Nothing in Prost's face or body prepared Marcus for the blow. In half a second, Prost's magic had snaked around the royal throne itself and shot it forward, slamming into Marcus from behind.

Marcus fell forward, miraculously landing on his hands and knees and not his face. A searing pain tore through his back and shoulders as the immense weight of the throne rolled off him and clunked solidly onto the floor.

“Marcus!” Bryn screamed, struggling to break free of Lael's protective grasp. “Stop! Don't hurt him!”

Before Marcus could gather his senses, he saw the glint of one of the guards' swords flying toward him through the air. Prost controlled it with merely a wave of his hand. Marcus dove forward, narrowly missing the blade, which embedded itself in the far wall. He was not to have a moment of rest before Prost sent the marble urn rocketing through the air again, but Kelvin lunged forward, throwing his body against it and setting it off its course to roll and crash against another wall.

Nearby, Jayson moaned as his strength began to return. Prost bent his knees and touched his fingertips to the floor.
The massive stone tiles warped in succession, traveling like a wave toward Jayson. When the wave hit, Jayson flew into the air. Marcus knew at once that when Jayson landed on the hard surface again, he would be seriously injured. Marcus threw up his hands, instantly gathering the air beneath Jayson in an upward gust of gentle wind that cushioned his landing. With Jayson safe on the floor, fear and anger flooded through Marcus's body. He felt a power burst from him, just as it had with the gryphon. He flung out his hands and sent a powerful gust toward Prost, who was thrown back, sliding across the floor.

Prost had not come to a complete stop before he used his magic to uproot several stone tiles, each one as wide as Marcus was tall, hurling them spinning through the air. Marcus avoided the first two with quick maneuvering, but the third struck him in the leg. He cried out in pain, dropping to his knees. The leg was not broken but would be badly bruised.

The fourth came flying, but Marcus sent a current of air that changed its course, sending the stone tile back toward Prost. Prost threw up his arms to shield himself, but the stone landed edge-first across his chest, shattering as it struck him. Prost grasped his wounded chest. He coughed and sputtered, a thin line of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.