It began with the servants.It appeared that not all in Larkridge had sworn fealty to the usurpers.Many were locals, folk from nearby villages who remembered the prosperity under Thorgrin and Gwendolyn's rule.Kellan had spotted the signs: a sympathetic glance from a maid delivering water, a subtle nod from a kitchen boy slipping extra bread into the rations.He started small, whispering to the boy during one such delivery.
"Lad," Kellan had murmured, his voice barely audible over the clank of his chains."You hail from Eldridge, don't you?I recognize the accent.The queen's mercy saved your village from famine last winter."
The boy's eyes widened, but he nodded, glancing nervously at the guards down the hall."Aye, sir.But speak soft—them nobles hang spies for less."
Kellan leaned closer."Then be my eyes and ears.Pass word to those still loyal.The Ring endures."
From there, a network formed, fragile as spider silk but growing stronger.Messages came hidden in food trays—scraps of parchment tucked under loaves, symbols scratched into apple skins.A servant girl, Mira, proved invaluable, her mousy demeanor hiding a sharp wit.She smuggled notes between cells, relaying Kellan's plans to the scattered Guard.Through her, he learned of the castle's layout: the hidden passages in the eastern tower, the weakly guarded storeroom where weapons might be pilfered.
But it was the news from beyond the walls that ignited the spark of hope."The people grow restless, m'lord," Mira whispered one night, under cover of a storm that masked her approach.She pressed a damp cloth through the bars, ostensibly to clean a spill, but her words were the real gift."Taxes doubled, fields seized for the nobles' hunts.Villages whisper of rebellion.In Barrowford, they burned effigies of Aldrich last eve.The beasts from the breaches roam freer now, with no Shield to hold them.Folk say the true queen would mend it."
Kellan's heart surged.The nobles' harsh rule was backfiring, sowing seeds of dissent among the common folk.If the prisoners could escape, they might rally those loyalists, spark an uprising to reclaim King's Court.He envisioned it: Gwendolyn at the forefront, her voice rallying the masses; the Shield Guard and armed once more, and the remnants of the Silver cutting through mercenary lines.But time was their enemy.The dungeon weakened them daily—meager rations sapped strength, the damp bred illness.One Guard had already succumbed to fever, his body dragged away like refuse.
Kellan began sketching the plan in earnest, using a shard of stone to etch maps into the cell floor, hidden under the filthy straw when guards approached.The escape would hinge on coordination: distract the guards during the evening shift change, when their numbers thinned; use smuggled tools—a file for chains, a dagger concealed in a boot—to break free.Mira promised to unlock the cells at the signal, a low whistle mimicking a night bird.From there, they'd seize the armory, fight their way to the stables, and ride for the southern villages where loyalty ran deep.
He shared fragments with his guards through coded taps on the walls—an old Guard signal system.He communicated with Gwendolyn via hissed whispers and secreted notes.Her responses were measured, approving: "Patience, Kellan.But strike true."The queen's spirit bolstered him; she had led them through tough times before.Tougher even than this, and had triumphed.This coup was but another trial.
As days blurred into nights, Kellan refined the details.He assigned roles: the strongest Guards to overpower sentries, the stealthiest to scout paths.Mira reported growing unease among the nobles—Aldrich's council meetings grew longer, more fractious."Lord Varis stormed out last night," she confided."Accused Aldrich of hoarding the treasury.The guards are divided; some take bribes from Varis's men."
Perfect, Kellan thought.Division would be their ally.He set the escape for ten nights hence, under a new moon's cover.He hoped it would be long enough to coordinate and gather what they needed.But fate, ever capricious, intervened sooner.
It happened during a routine patrol.Kellan was feigning sleep, his ear tuned to the corridor, when two guards paused outside his cell, their voices slurred from ale—likely pilfered from the nobles' stores.
"...movin' her in three days, at dawn," one said, his tone gruff."Aldrich's orders.To that forsaken tower in the Wilds—' banishment,' he calls it.More like out of sight, out of mind."
The other chuckled darkly."Aye, with a garrison loyal only to him.No chance of rescue then.The boy's still missin', but with the queen gone, the throne's his for the takin'."
Kellan's blood ran cold.Banishment to a remote location—likely one of the crumbling outposts in the untamed Wilds, beyond the Shield's faltering protection.Once there, Gwendolyn would be isolated, vulnerable to "accidents" orchestrated by Aldrich.The window for action wasn't just closing—it was slamming shut.
He waited until the guards' footsteps faded, then tapped urgently on the wall.He whispered across the divide to Gwendolyn.Her response came swiftly: understanding, resolve.The plan had to accelerate.No more waiting for the new moon; time had run out.They had to move quick, in the next two days, or never.
As the torches dimmed for the night, Kellan gathered his strength, his mind racing.The tensions among the captors, the restless people, the loyal servants—all converged on this moment.Failure meant death, not just for him, but for the queen he loved and for Ring's future.But in the queen's enduring gaze across the corridor, he saw the fire that had forged a kingdom from ruin.
They would escape.Or die trying.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The mists of Nymbrax swirled around the jagged cliffs in ethereal patterns, carried on a breeze that seemed to whisper secrets to those who dared listen.Secrets from a time before memory.Guwayne trudged up the narrow path carved into the island's spine, his breath coming in sharp bursts, each step a testament to the grueling days that had blurred into one another under Calista's unyielding gaze.The suns hung low on the horizon, casting a blood-red hue over the twisted pines and ancient standing stones that dotted the landscape.His muscles ached from the relentless training, but it was the fire within him—the burgeoning druidic power—that burned brightest, a force he was only beginning to comprehend.
It had been two weeks since he had chosen to stay, to submit to Calista's regimen.What began as simple meditations by the hearth had escalated into a crucible of trials, each designed to forge his latent abilities into something formidable.The Sorcerer's Ring on his finger no longer felt like a mere heirloom; it was an extension of his will, pulsing in harmony with the ley lines that crisscrossed the island like veins of pure energy.Calista had been relentless, her blue eyes piercing through his doubts, pushing him beyond limits he hadn't known existed.
Limits of mind and body.She had drummed into him again and again the need to develop both.That they were not separate entities that happened to be sharing the same space, they were one and the same.Intrinsically linked.You could not improve one if the other was neglected.
He had run up mountains.Hewn rocks from the earth.Whenever he had questioned her, her response was always the same.Mind, spirit, and body are one.
And he was realizing the truth in her words.Over the days, the exercises changed.Not in what he was asked to do, but how his body—and his mind—achieved it.His mind would help him lift the last of the huge boulders he had been commanded to carry up a slop.His body would help him summon the energy hidden latent in the rocks.
He was starting to act as one entity.No longer muscle and mind.But one.Guwayne.
"Again," Calista commanded from atop a weathered boulder, her emerald robe billowing in the wind like the wings of some ancient bird.She stood unmoving, her silver braids catching the fading light, exuding an aura of timeless authority.In her hand, she held a staff of gnarled oak, topped with a crystal that hummed faintly, attuned to the island's heart.
Guwayne nodded, wiping sweat from his brow despite the chill air.He planted his feet firmly on the ground, feeling the rough stone beneath his boots, and closed his eyes.The exercise was one of Calista's more demanding: summoning the earth's essence to shape the elements.He had started small—coaxing vines from barren soil, stirring gentle breezes into gusts—but now she demanded more.Precision.Power.Control.
He reached inward, grasping the thread of light he had first touched in the cottage.It came easier now, a golden cord that connected him to the ley lines, drawing on the island's primal force.The ring warmed, its runes glowing softly, amplifying the connection.He visualized the air before him, willing it to condense, to harden into a barrier of wind and mist.A low hum built in his chest, vibrating through his limbs, and with a sharp exhale, he thrust his hands forward.
The air responded with a roar.A swirling vortex erupted from his palms, coalescing into a shimmering shield of compressed wind, flecked with droplets of mist that glittered like diamonds.It expanded outward, pushing against the invisible currents of the island's atmosphere, strong enough to deflect a barrage of stones Calista had prepared earlier.Guwayne held it steady, his focus unwavering, feeling the power surge through him like a river in flood.
Calista raised her staff, and with a flick, she unleashed a bolt of crackling energy—raw lightning drawn from the gathering storm clouds above.It struck the shield with a deafening thwack, sparks flying as the barrier held, absorbing the impact and dispersing it into harmless wisps.Guwayne's arms trembled from the effort, but he didn't falter.The shield pulsed once, twice, then solidified further, the mist within crystallizing into a thin layer of ice that reinforced its structure.
