Guards poured out of the barracks at the far end of the courtyard, racing toward the front of the castle. Ian wordlessly handed the reins of Robin’s horse to the guard at the gate and ran to the castle through the crowd of rushing people.
Somehow, he knew this attack was meant for his father.
Instead of going around the keep with the guards to the front courtyard, Ian bounded up the stairs directly into the castle, his sore muscles and tired body completely forgotten.
After racing down the hall of the family wing, he rushed to his parents’ room at the end of the hall and threw open the door.
The room was empty.
He instantly felt a wave of relief. If his father had been injured, they would have taken him here.
Ian turned around and ran back down the stone hall, heading directly toward the attack itself.
The large main hall was chaos. Castle guards poured through it, heading in the same direction as Ian—while servants and nobles in various states of sleeping attire ran in the opposite direction, attempting to get deeper into the safer parts of the castle.
“The Majis have attacked!” screamed a page boy, running straight into Ian and then pushing him out of the way as he moved past.
Ian caught himself and continued forward. He knew that their attackers were not Majis. All of the Majis he knew of were enslaved on Istroya or in hiding somewhere. These attackers were men sent by Gareth, possibly pretending to be Majis.
He ran through the open front doors of the great hall.
The courtyard was a battlefield.
The men in dark armor and blue livery were spread out near the castle gate. Two dozen of the castle guard were directly engaged with them in hand-to-hand combat.
Every one of the attackers stood taller than the Iseldan men, which was alarming to see, but none of them were wielding magic.
There.
From his vantage point on the steps that led up into the great hall, Ian could see a hooded figure protected by the rest of the attackers.
The man was holding his hands in front of him, clutching a familiar glowing orb of purple light. The same kind of orb that had been launched at Ian during the silverreign ball. It was chaos magic, wielded by one of Gareth’s men.
The hooded man launched the orb over his fellow attackers and into the formation of castle guard that stood on the stone steps below Ian. The guards around him attempted to block the incoming orb with their round wooden shields. In a moment of surprising clarity, Ian remembered that these were the very shields that Gareth had recently sent to them, claiming that they would hold up against the attacking Majis spells.
While the claim had been dubious even then, Ian knew it was absolutely false now.
The purple orb struck a shield, and Ian heard the loud sound of its impact over the general din around him. The shield bearer appeared unharmed, but the shield itself went up in flames.
Ian stepped down. He needed to reach the magic user.
The castle guard recognized him, breaking formation to let him pass through.
Standing at the head of the formation, sword drawn as he watched the active fight in front of him, stood Onric. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye, but he appeared otherwise unharmed.
Ian stepped forward to his brother’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder with Onric as he drew his own short sword. He should have switched his traveling sword for a better weapon.
“Where is Meena?” Onric asked.
“Safe,” Ian replied. “Not here. Where is Father?”
In the pause that followed, Ian risked a glance at Onric’s face. His expression was bleak. “Unconscious. We can’t wake him. The attack hit the council room, an explosion—”
As if on cue, another purple orb sailed just above their heads and hit the wall behind them with a thunderous crash.
“There is only one magic user, near the back,” Ian said, stepping forward. “If we target him, we can easily overpower the others.”
“I go.” Onric said, grabbing Ian’s shoulder from behind. “You stay.”
