The Trial of a Tyrant: The Assassin of Acreage Book Two Read online

  The Trial of a Tyrant

  The Assassin of Acreage Book Two

  R. L. McIntyre

  Copyright © 2021 R. L. McIntyre All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-7365182-2-9

  E-Book ISBN-13: 978-1-7365182-3-6

  Cover design by: Getcovers.com

  rlmcintyreauthor.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedicated to two-spirits.

  You are loved. You belong.

  Chapter One

  Serena

  Time passed too easily, like raindrops collecting at her feet one drop at a time. Each added to the pool that grew and threatened to drown her. Serena was unprepared to leave Bathon. A week seemed so long before, but now felt like nothing. Like a single exhale she was forced to release to survive, and she hated it. Giving this city to the enemy was a mockery of the lives they lost. Their blood stained her hands just as much as the enemies, and she could do nothing to wipe it away.

  Thunder roared overhead. Dark clouds threatened to unleash their fury at any moment. She walked to the edge of the alley, not daring to step on to it. At least not yet. Her heart raced loudly in her ear as she tried to calm the bile rising in her throat. She avoided this street all week long. She avoided a lot of things in the disaster's wake. A cruel laugh stuck in her throat. She should not be acting so weak.

  The shadows that had been her solace felt different. As if their darkness was not just a simple mist but a hole that continued further and further down to the center of the world. She wondered how deep she would fall the next time she walked into them. Who else would die?

  With a frustrated grunt, she spun around the corner to face the empty street. Rain cascaded around her as she stared at the space. He wasn’t there. Raft’s body was not lying on the ground. His blood did not stain the streets as it had her heart. He was just gone.

  The emptiness was worse. The street held no remnant of the young man who died. It was as if he never existed. As if he died for nothing.

  She balled her fists, reminding herself of the parlay they struck. The harsh smell of spices clung to her nose still. Her skin remembered the prickly sensation of electricity hovering in the air from the foreign witch’s magic. The deal was unbreakable. It was what they wanted.

  Time.

  Time to kill a King and restore order before Samoria invaded any further. Failure would bring ruin to Acreage, but political intrigue unsettled her. What terrible secrets did the nobility, the King, and his General hide? She suspected they were worse than even the cruelest assassin could imagine.

  A Samorian horn blew into the sky. The deep hollow note echoed through Bathon and vibrated in everyone who heard it.

  It was time.

  With one last glance back at the haunted street, she walked towards the wall. Guards collected at the gates with their packs slung over their shoulders, ready for the march ahead. They’d be returning to Meta as losers. As far as they knew, the deal was for their lives. They knew nothing of the real deal struck between their Prince and the invading army. Instead, they felt a crushing shame for their loss and the futility of their attempts. Serena understood the feeling. Even though they bought time, the lives felt too steep a price.

  She tried to push the thoughts away as she climbed the steps of the wall. The rain continued to fall, dampening her clothes. Its cold helped her focused. As she stood on top of the wall, she saw the Samorian troops slowly marching towards Bathon. Their black shields with red chimeras on them reminded her of when she saw them a year ago in the marsh fields. The men lined either side of the road, their shields in front of them like a wall. Several War Cats with their spotted fur walked behind the lines, pacing with their handlers. A group of witches, mostly women but with a few men, walked behind the calvary that rode up the road towards the door. It was all a grand show and a threat.

  Serena snorted at the sight and turned to the west, where mounds of freshly dug graves sat. Row after row after row. Too many she dared not count. She didn’t want logic to reason with the deaths. If she could place a number, she didn’t know if it would make it easier or harder to accept. What were a hundred lives worth? Fifty? Just one?

  She wondered again which one belonged to Raft. She regretted avoiding finding out. Looking closer, she spotted a man among the dirt. Ike. Even from the distance she could see this battle, and Raft’s death had deepened the lines of aging on his face.

  She would join him. She needed to say goodbye, but again she hesitated. Walking amongst the dead felt too close to being dead. As if accepting this valley of death somehow, it would poison her own life. A wives’ tale the women in Klona spewed throughout her childhood.

  Children shouldn’t be a part of the assassins. If they are around death, all the time, Altara might mistake them for the dead and take them.

  It felt silly to be nervous by such a childish story. Perhaps it was just a convenient excuse. In these moments, she wanted one. The painful memories of Raft’s kind eyes and excitement before battle felt too dangerous to feel. The knowledge he should be alive still threatened to break her in two. Between the guilt and the logic, she felt constantly at war with herself. Something she could not afford, but how was she to look Raft’s father in the eyes? How was she supposed to face him and tell him his son was dead? For what? What about his poor fiancé, Karla?

  The guilt settled into her gut as dread crept in and mixed. Her legs teetered under the weight as she turned back to Bathon. Looking at it, she could see that it wasn’t as intact as she thought. The remains of burnt buildings told the story of the dead, but they would be fixed while the dead would remain gone. Gritting her teeth, she climbed down the wall.

  The Samorians would not remain patient forever.

  By the gates, Sam stood holding onto Vilkrim’s reins. He tended to her horse, reminding her of memories of their past. Something she knew he was eager to reminiscence about but to her still felt like a lie. Her steed pawed the ground, annoyed with Sam, who did not understand the horse’s mannerisms. He tried to the talk to the horse who continued to show his displeasure.

  Seeing Sam still felt strange. Any minute she waited for him to give some sign of betrayal, but he acted the same. As if no time passed between them.

  “You’re such a good boy.” He said, offering a carrot. Vilkrim snorted.

  “He likes apples,” she inserted, pulling one from the saddlebag on Vilkrim’s back. She offered it to her horse, who greedily took it.

  “You’ve managed to snag apples?” Sam asked, his eyebrows raised. Serena smirked and rubbed Vilkrim’s nose as he ate. Finding and commandeering apples seemed the most fun in the aftermath of the battles.

  “I’m packed so I’ll wait for everyone outside.” She said mounting. Sam grabbed her arm, holding her still for a second. A look passed between. They never needed words. Even as kids, one look could encompass a thousand words. This one felt far too understanding, sympathetic even. She yanked her arm free and rode outside the walls. She did not want sympathy, especially not from him. A shuddering breath left her lungs as she reached the graves.

  Seeing the rows of mounded dirt up close made them suddenly feel much bigger. Down here the graves felt big enough to swallow a
man, but not big enough to encompass the life lost. She looked for markers to discern who each was, but there were none. Templarians believed in burying your bodies with your ancestors. Letting them be the ones to walk you to the afterlife. Yet for soldiers that rarely happened. Unmarked graves in rolling hills scattered their land and now Acreage. Acreans should be burned. Their ashes rising to the sky as Altara greets them for the journey to everlasting life among the stars.

  She dismounted, patting Vilkrim’s side as she pulled out the small bag of things she prepared for this moment.

  Ike stood ahead, hovering over Raft’s grave. With heavy steps, she joined him, peering down at the dirt. He said nothing. Didn’t even acknowledge her presence as he stood in silent prayer. Undeterred, she kneeled and opened the bag. Inside, she pulled out a small offering bowl. A blue cloth, a wooden dagger, and a rose. She laid them in the bowl and grabbed a handful of dirt, scattering on top. It didn’t matter that it was raining. If needed, she’d use a little magic. Nothing would stop her from seeing that Raft made it to the afterlife.

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up at Ike and pulled out her flint and stone. She struck it, igniting the cloth and hovering over it to protect the flame.

  “An offering for Altara, our Goddess of Life and Death.” She explained, taking a deep breath. “May Altara bless the journey of the dearly departed. Let their souls rise to the stars and their memories last in our hearts until the end of our days. Lead them out of the darkness of death and into the light of eternal life. Take care of Raft, a soldier far too pure a man to meet his end so early. See, he’s rewarded for his deeds in the next life. From Mother Wixora we grow, and to Altara we return. Blessed be the path of a warrior.” She prayed. The smoke from the offering rose towards the sky as Ike stared.

  “He would’ve liked that,” Ike said, offering his hand. She took it and stood next to him. His face soft and kind, devoid of the sympathy others offered her. Respect glistened in his eyes, nearly drawing a smile to her lips. A part of her felt like her small offering helped. Even if they were Templarians, they deserved a proper burial and without Gods of their own someone needed to watch over their souls. A slight weight lifted off her chest.

  “He should still be alive.” She breathed out.

  “He was a soldier. He died with honor.” He comforted.

  “What good is honor if you’re dead?” Serena growled. Ike let out a sigh and placed a hand on her shoulder. He gently squeezed, speaking without words before walking off. She stood watching the offerings burn into ash. Her mind still mulled over the enormous sacrifice made and they would need another. You did not depose a King without consequence. People would die.

  No. She refused to grieve at another’s grave. She would do anything to protect them all. Her veins heated with her magic. A warning that it was always there, waiting to be released. A part of her was prepared to use it. Another part was terrified.

  “Serena,” said a voice she recognized too well. The soft trembling bass sent a comforting shiver up her spine. Even before he reached her, she felt his warmth. “We have to go,” Wesley stated. “You’ve done all you can.”

  She looked at him. His soft eyes tried to be a source of comfort. He hovered just out of reach as he waited patiently.

  “I know,” She looked away from him and back at the graves.

  Wesley pulled her cloak from Vilkrim’s saddle and gently laid it on her back. His hands grazed her back. The small touch rose a shiver. “Let’s go,” Wesley whispered, offering his hand. She looked at it but shook her head, tying her cloak around her neck. As much as she wanted to accept and let him cast away all her worries, she knew the truth. She had to be stronger still.

  “I need a target.” Wesley’s shoulders sank as he dropped his hand. It fell limply at his side while she walked to Vilkrim alone. Her muscles twitched with anticipation.

  Wesley rushed after her towards the horses. Worry clear in his furrowed brows. “Serena, please. I can’t give you a target. We need to focus on convincing nobles to sign the Writ of Tyranny.”

  “That’s simple. We either give them something worse to fear or we make them believe we can win.” Her voice was full of steely determination. She mounted her horse and Wesley did the same. He inspected her face and reached over to her hand. This time she couldn’t pull away. He laced his warm fingers in hers and gently squeezed.

  “We will,” He breathed. For a moment, his touch could chase away the anger and the pain. She wanted to stay there in that moment and give up on the world beyond his steel grey eyes. Here with his hand in hers she could feel whole without the shadows. A small smile rose to her lips and just as quickly as the relief came, guilt washed it away.

  She should not feel happiness like this. Not while so many died. Not when Raft died, and she couldn’t protect him.

  She pulled her hand free. Wesley frowned, reaching back out to her, but with a snap of her reins, she focused ahead. Vilkrim led the way back to the gates where Daryl was leading the guards through. General Zion sat on horseback by the gates, watching. His witches hovered nearby. Despite seeing him before, he was as imposing as ever. His helmet had metal horns crafted into it, and his dark eyes watched out with the intelligence of a predator stalking prey.

  Serena looked at him and he bowed his head to her, a smile dancing on his lips.

  “You look aggravated today.” Daryl chimed as he rode up next to her. She turned away from General Zion.

  “Aren’t you?”

  He shrugged, brushing back his golden hair with his fingers. “Yes and no. Bathon is a heavy loss, but the price will be worse if we mess this up.”

  Their army walked through the lines of Samorian soldiers who watched. She ignored their grins, and their jeers. Her target wasn’t them. Not anymore. They reached the open road and quickened their pace, hoping to get ahead of the storm as it blew inland. As they road, Serena turned back to Bathon. Samorian soldiers cheered and entered the city. It felt like someone stabbed her in the chest. She looked away, fisting her hands around the reins. She had to make this trial worth the cost.

  Hours of marching numbed her body as Serena tried not to think about the faces that would watch them return. The tears that would erupt the moment they realized their son was gone forever. She felt the blame rise again and thought over their plan. She doubted she’d be any help convincing nobles, but she’d find other ways to help. Her skills were better suited to sneaking around and stealing things or learning intel. Both were dangerous, and once the King knew what was happening, he would go after whoever dared to go against him. Danger would lurk everywhere from now on. There would be no reprieve.

  She took a calming breath. She was not defenseless, and neither were her friends. Her control of magic would grow with practice. It would be the only trump card she could hold that might save them all if the need arose. That was the hope she clung to. Hope that she could do the impossible and protect them. She looked down at her saddlebags and felt a sense of unease knowing what laid inside. The book of Legends sat as a mysterious miracle from a God. A double-edged sword, more likely. She prayed to never need it and face the consequences of making such a deal.

  Ahead, the soldiers reached the large stone walls of Meta. Serena looked up at the towering form of stone. Their ominous shadow of darkness engulfed them as they traveled through into the streets. Citizens rushed out from their buildings to watch. Most smiled, peering at them as victors. People waved from balconies waving the Templarian flag.

  Serena’s gut twisted. There were no victors here. Not really. Her eyes spotted a pub packed with unknown soldiers. They drank, laughed loudly, and overall carried on their disordered celebration. Their presence put her on edge. They were new.

  The General was in Meta.

  She felt ill-prepared to face him. Her heart raced at the thought of finally meeting the man more feared than the King. It felt impossible to imagine.

  The march towards the palace continued as they started
up the sloped road. The wails of women filled the air as they neared the section of the city where many of the men lived. Their families looked at the mass of soldiers hopefully. The disappearance of husbands, fathers, and sons broke her heart. Her hands shook as she held her reins, getting closer to the entrance to the palace where she knew Raft’s father was waiting. Her heart raced. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do?

  She heard a horse ride up next to her and saw Ike. He gave her a small nod and then led her towards the row of stalls. She spotted the man smiling when he saw their horses. A final moment of bliss before reality would destroy everything. Her heart ached more. Ike got off first, and she followed. Ike pulled a sheathed sword from his saddle. She realized it must’ve been Raft’s. She felt tears rise to her eyes as she walked closer.

  “Sir,” Ike started taking off his helmet. He looked at Ike and then at her. He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “No. Raft! Where is my boy? Raft!” he screamed out. She felt like her heart shattered into so many pieces at the pain in his voice. His eyes searched out desperately as he walked forwards teetering on his feet. His wooden leg caught in a crack on the cobblestone road and he fell forwards. Serena rushed and caught the distraught men who continued to yell out.

  “He’s gone!” she blurted, trying to force him into reality. He shook his head as heavy tears fell down his cheeks.

  “No. My boy! Raft!” he screamed out, his weight crushing Serena. Ike rushed to pull the man up and helped him to sit on a nearby barrel.

  “He died with honor, sir,” Ike said, holding out the sword. The man pushed the blade aside.

  “I want him back! I don’t care if he died with honor! He’s gone! The King took my boy!” he yelled, his voice cracking. Serena rubbed away tears and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight.

  “I’m sorry,” she paused, trying to control her emotions. “I’m so sorry.” She repeated, her voice small and meek. “He was so brave. He wanted to protect his friends, and he did.”