Excerpt: Yet to Be Named

As ever, Seril was our vanguard. He stopped before them, turned back to make sure we were all ready, and then laid his hand on the paneled wood.
At first I thought he would do what he had done at the tower’s floor. I braced myself, both for the impact and for the screams to follow.
There was no blast, though, and no screams. Seril opened the door, no harder than was needful, and walked inside.
The usurper had been waiting.
“Seril!” he called out, the name repeated once in a faint echo. “Have you come for my seat? It’s a cold one, I warn you.”
Knights were standing all about the courtyard. Crossbowmen stood beside each of the vine-wrapped pillars, armored in brigandine and mail. They carried no shields, but four feet of stone seemed cover enough. Men in black-laquered plate stood by each of the doors, ours included. Each held a poleaxe at attention, and kept a sword at his side. My left arm itched for a shield.
Seril walked into the center of the court, seemingly oblivious to this show of force. But then, what did it matter where he stood? If he did not have some trick, some grand work of sorcery prepared, nothing would matter. I hesitated, still within the doorframe.
“Silence?” the usurper asked, his tone amused. “You spoke all sorts of words to the council, Seril. Has your gilded tongue deserted you?”
Words. There was danger all around, but now it rang hollow with his banter. So I steeled myself, then stepped into the courtyard, moving to stand with Seril. The rest came with me.
The usurper was staring at me now. Me, and not Seril or Geron. I knew why, but still I met his gaze.
“You.” He was quiet now, his tone measured and slow. “Was everything you told me a lie? Will you bring my brother before me as well?” His eyes were dark with rage, his voice on the edge of shouting, yet he took a breath to steady himself. Again the quiet words. “Neither will I forget this, Lain Carandros.”
Nor would I, no matter how much I might want to.
His eyes moved to Geron, standing at Seril’s side. “And you. Why are you here, boy? Who have you betrayed?”
“I…” Geron started.
The usurper cut him off. “No one. And with men such as Seril and these to guide you, why not? Why should a pawn and a peasant have to do anything but…”
And he was cut off in turn, though by magic, not words. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His hands were quivering. He could not raise them from the stone of the armrests.
My stomach grew tight, and I could feel each heartbeat pounding in my chest. But whatever Seril’s magic did to me, I could see that its effects on the usurper were far, far worse.
“Keep your tongue, usurper,” Seril said, finally. I could feel his disdain, like oil coating my skin. He turned, and nodded at Geron.
The boy was clearly scared beyond sense. Any could see that. But he spoke his words nonetheless. “You are no rightful king, Sayfen Tarn.”
Even with the pit of my stomach knotted by Seril’s magic, I smiled at Geron’s courage. For a moment while he paused, I hoped that he would look back for support and see it.
He did not. “You stood before the Forum and the high council, and told the assembled lords and commons that you had nothing to do with the king’s death. You lied. You conspired with the king of Umbris, and when an Alabast killed…”
“You gullible fool, you truly believe…”
The knot in my stomach tightened further. My eyes stayed on the usurper, though, and I could see that he was even worse off.
Geron spoke again, and I could hear the conviction seeping into his voice. “Your assassin killed my father, usurper, and his blood is on your hands.”
The usurper stared, looking as incredulous as his pain would allow him. “Believe what you will, boy,” he said. “What now? You cannot kill me and hope to survive. Why are you even here?”
“I have come for my sword,” said Geron, now unsure.
“Oh. That?” He laughed. “No. Call me usurper all you will, but I am king here. You shall not have it.”
Geron opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He looked at Seril pleadingly.
“Then he shall take it,” Seril said, and ushered Geron forward.
At first he was hesitant, but with each step forward he regained his air of confidence. Geron spared no more than a glance for the usurper as he walked past the throne and climbed the fountain. Slowly, carefully, he reached up and grasped the hilt. A tingle, faint as starlight, ran across the skin of my arms. Then he had it held firm in his hand. The blade was still dripping when he carried it back.
Seril smiled, and I could feel him release the usurper. “Now,” he said, “we take our leave.”
The usurper looked confused for a moment. Then…something…filled the air. Magic, I could only guess, though all of Seril’s other spells had come with discernible feelings. I shuddered.
Then the usurper shouted, “No!” and leapt up from the throne.
I heard the familiar twang of a crossbow. A bolt punched through Seril’s shoulder. Time seemed to slow, and a tinge of red crept into the corners of my vision. I watched as he raised a hand to the bolt, sticking out of his flesh, watched as he traced it back to the wound, leaking blood, watched as he turned his head to the knight who had shot him. Beyond him, a leaf settled to the ground, so slowly that I could have walked over and plucked it from the air. If I could move, it would not reach the marble floor.
It never did. The world went red. My skin felt aflame. And Seril…Seril burned. My head whipped around, fixed on the errant crossbowman once more, and my horror mounted.
His was greater still. He screamed, even before I could see anything, but then the skin began to lift from his face in flakes. Chaff on the wind. Was I screaming with him? I did not know. All I could see was him, flesh boiling, peeling, tearing, his lipless mouth in a rictus of animal pain. I could not look away. I watched…I watched his nose dissolve into nothing, saw the bone beneath, saw the inside of his mouth through the ruin of his cheeks. And still he screamed! I saw…
“Seril!”
I looked away.
“Stop this madness, Seril!”
I retched, coughed and choked up bile onto the marble of the floor. The fit passed quickly, and when I looked up I saw the speakers. They were at the door, two of them. Mages.
“We aren’t here to hurt you,” one said. “Just…leave him be.”
I heard the knight slump to the ground. I did not look.
Seril turned to face the two of them, his face pale. It looked like he could barely stand. “Let us go. This is not your fight.”
“You will leave then?” the other asked. “Spill no more blood?”
He had spilled enough of his own already. His cloak was red with it, and…
The bolt was gone from his shoulder. The skin around it was black. He had burned it out.
Seril staggered, nearly dropped to his knees. None of us moved to help him, not even Geron.
“You have my word,” he said.
They nodded, first to each other, and then to us. Then the unnamed feeling returned, building quickly. Could he cast a spell, in his state? What would happen if he failed?
The world twisted. White light exploded in front of my eyes. For a long moment, I felt the floor beneath my feet fade, the sense of touch growing lighter and lighter. Then everything was gone, all sight and sound. Only I remained.