Page 41 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ingrid hadn’t been told what to expect the kingdom of Maradenn to be like, but she was more than a little surprised to find the streets completely empty.

The last few miles before reaching their destination had been dark.

The only road was a strategically narrow one through mountainsides winding around perilous cliff-sides.

Once they were through, the city hanging over the sea seemed even brighter in comparison, brimming with life, with history, with power.

It stretched around a long, flat, coastal bluff.

Tall pillar-enforced structures and a large, domed church peaking out in the center.

The royal castle was strategically placed between the mammoth, uninhabitable mountainside to the north and the ocean to the south.

King Nestor’s home was made of near-white stone with enormous gold and glass windows at the very top, with well-manned battlements, spiked gates, and giant crossbows sitting below.

She expected the streets to be just as impressive.

Hordes of people all dressed in colorful handmade garments, going about their day at the markets, couples eating at cafes, soldiers patrolling in glistening armor, merchants bartering over the price of leather boots and fur coats.

But the only contact with any other Viator was upon entry.

When they reached the gate, an impersonal shout came down from one of the archers stationed above.

He asked what their business was, why they rode enemy horses, and Tyla had explained everything in her best affected accent, sounding almost identical to the Viator they’d met with thus far.

Her and Raidinn’s native dialect was much closer to the English they spoke in Ealis so it was decided she’d be the spokesperson.

While Dean had practiced the cadence as a boy, he chose to be cautious, and Ingrid’s harsher American twang might’ve alerted any educated Viator that they were from Earth— something they didn’t want known until it had to be.

Tyla conjured up a story. Something close enough to their actual intentions for being there so that it sounded not only sincere, but in Maradenn’s best interest for them to pass.

The guard balked at first, kept them waiting a minute as he went through some unseen protocol, then shouted a command to his fellow soldiers to open the gate, revealing a skeleton of a city.

This, Ingrid thought, was the reality of war.

“Mourning,” Dean said to her lowly. They were a few miles into the long trek through civilian quarters and up to the king’s private castle. “That battle we came across might’ve been worse than it looked.”

“Can’t imagine that.” Tyla kept the same contemplative scowl on her face since finding the fallen child-soldier. “This looks like a royal decree.”

“Didn’t want to say so,” Raidinn agreed. “But we might be catching old Nestor at a bad time.”

Fewer fallen soldiers were wearing Maradenn colors and sigils, but that didn’t mean they’d been victorious.

The king might’ve ordered his people inside to keep the city in silent remembrance.

Mourning the defeat, or perhaps an important figure.

Someone whose body hadn’t even gone cold yet, fighting in a war that King Nestor, as Dean told it, might’ve been hesitant to fight in the first place.

A war that they were now about to ask for aid in, to the tune of thousands of world-walkers traveling through their sacred portal and directly inside their castle walls.

With this new speculation, they were in no hurry, slowing their pace.

The only sound for miles was the crunching of dirt beneath boots and hooves.

Many times, Ingrid saw guards atop watchtowers stationed throughout the city, spectating silently.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes how out of place the four of them looked.

Even Alkaleese could sense something was off, huffing and whimpering as they went. Ingrid calmed her with a stroke over her nose, then tied her up at the hitching rail once they’d come upon the king’s lavish gate.

It was an impenetrable wall of dark metal adorned with all manner of shining stones, guarded night and day by soldiers stationed out front in plain view.

Tyla again took the lead and spoke with one of the guards standing watch.

He was dressed in full regalia, a spit-shined helm with Weycus wolf fangs on the visor and chin-guard.

Six more soldiers stood equidistant apart to form a wall, dressed the same, their long spears blocking the way, and above them were at least twenty more soldiers manning large crossbows and staring directly ahead like stone mastheads, as if blinking had been outlawed.

Ingrid found herself gawking, taking in the enormous scale of it all, when Tyla’s voice cut through.

“I’m… I’m so sorry to hear.” She turned backward to her team, flashing a hopeless expression that made Ingrid blush. She’d been caught not paying attention. “My condolences to the king. And to his son’s family.”

Small, vicious scoffs came from the guards nearby.

The soldier speaking to Tyla didn’t speak for half a minute, only glared suspiciously. When he did finally speak, his voice felt like sandpaper. “The prince didn’t have a family.”

“Spies,” one of the other guards spat.

“Should we take them to the dungeons?” another offered.

The lead soldier held up a hand, silencing them. “What’s your business here?”

“To help.” Tyla recovered quickly, which Ingrid found particularly impressive considering the news.

The prince . The eerie quiet in the kingdom, the mourning, it was in honor of Nestor’s son.

“I’m sorry for your loss, though it’s been so long since I’ve heard word of the royals of Maradenn.

I suppose Nestor likes it that way, yes? ”

The guard only nodded.

“Nonetheless,” Tyla went on. “And I do apologize for the timing, but we have urgent business. Speaking to King Nestor in a timely fashion is critical. We have something…” She noticed the guard’s bored expression here, causing her to be more direct. “We have an army that can help win this war.”

The guard stilled, scowling at them with his mouth agape, crooked teeth flashing.

Ingrid had been floored by the exceptional beauty of the Viator she’d seen thus far, had assumed it was the standard for her kind, and an answer to why she’d been so noteworthy back on Earth, but this particular soldier seemed to fit more with the lonely men that came into her bar in San Bruno.

His nose was slightly crooked, his chin a little recessed, his eyes beady and plain.

Ingrid followed those eyes hopefully as they locked on to the other guards just behind him, but was disappointed to find they weren’t paying Tyla any attention, not at all taken by her insistence in helping in the war efforts.

“Don’t you want vengeance for your Prince?” Tyla stirred. “You can take our weapons if it makes you feel better. We only want to help. And as it stands now, you need it.”

Another brief pause.

More whispers from the soldiers.

“You’re right,” the guard said stoically. “In light of this new information, I’d like to formally invite you to…” He couldn’t hold a straight face any longer. “Piss off. Immediately.”

The four world-walkers said nothing for a moment. Ingrid could feel the rage bubbling inside each member of her team. A few of the guards shifted, metal clanging as they gripped their swords.

“Can I at least get a message to him?” Tyla bristled. “The king fought alongside one of our soldiers. If you simply mention the name?—”

“You want me to personally talk to the king?” the soldier interrupted. “What carriage did you fall off getting here, girl?”

Tyla didn’t back down. “I’m sure you’re very busy. I don’t mean to disturb your duties here. But if you could talk to someone. Tell them that Karis sent us. Karis Endolinn.”

The snarky guard froze. From behind him, one of the gargoyle-like watchmen broke his concentration and angled his head slightly to get a better look at Tyla. A better look at the woman who’d just invoked the name of the last known Oracle in Ealis.

“You’re asking me to believe that Karis Endolinn sent you?”

“Yes!” Tyla begged. She left out the fact that Karis was gone.

It had been decided that weighty bit of information should be left for after they asked to use Maradenn’s portal.

“I’ve known him for twenty years. He was my mentor.

My Dux Regulus . He was—” Tyla abandoned her plea mid-sentence, recoiling her head, as the tip of the guard’s spear came into focus just inches from her face.

“Let me see if I follow,” the guard said through gritted teeth. “You were sent here by Karis Endolinn, the Oracle of Hydor, who also happens to be your Dux Regulus, to speak to the king about this war?”

“Correct.”

“And the reason Karis couldn’t be here with you today?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Right. That’s what I thought.” He made a sharp, threatening jerk of his wrist. “Flee. Now. Before you soil any other great names in your attempts to trick me. Go!”

Raidinn dragged his sister backward as the soldier’s threats became more specific. They’d realigned into perfect formation, as they were when first approached, but there was a slight bend to their knees now, readying for battle. Each face was hard and intentional. They would kill if they had to.

“This is how you treat guests in Maradenn!?” Raidinn was speaking from his stomach, projecting his strength. His long brown hair wiggled as he yelled, the muscles in his enormous neck flexing. “Like dogs begging for food?! We have important information for your king! We must speak to him! Now!”

The guards didn’t move.

“I said open the gate!” Raidinn screamed out again. “NOW!”

As if the last word carried so much power that it could alter their surroundings, the soldiers slightly flinched.

Then came the metallic song of chains and levers being pulled.

The gate was opening. Even Raidinn looked surprised as the soldiers standing guard stood upright, bringing the hands that had been resting on their sheaths to the tips of their helms.

They were saluting.

“Princess Callinora,” one of them said squeakily. “We weren’t informed you were outside the gatehouse.”

Soundlessly, effortlessly, a woman in a glistening black mourning gown strode past the four world-walkers.

Ingrid couldn’t catch even a glimpse of her face.

She’d turned too late to see who the guards were addressing.

But the woman’s gait, her flowing white-grey hair, the golden bangles worn about her neck and arm, it was enough to deduce the nobility.

Callinora. Princess of Maradenn.

Ingrid hadn’t heard anything about her, or any of the royal family members, apart from the king. Nestor’s stubbornness and unwillingness to risk his army were well-known, but with that isolationist mentality, a shroud of mystery covered the rest of his family.

The guards parted in perfect harmony, bowing as the princess passed.

Her pace was slow, methodical, the black hem of her dress swaying ever so slightly.

It was a practiced strut, one cultivated due to the importance a world without technology put on first impressions, and the magnifying glass this society put on those in power.

Every movement, every gesture, every word, and every inch of their appearance was closely watched. Scrutinized.

The more Ingrid looked at her, however, the more it seemed like Callinora’s glacial pace was due to a mulling over of sorts.

Walking as if pulled back by invisible restraints, thoughts weighing her down.

Just as effortlessly as she moved, the Princess stopped at the threshold of the entrance.

Then she turned, giving a perfunctory tilt of her head toward the guards.

“I’ll take them to my father,” she said. “Let them through.”

The guard who’d given them so much trouble nearly doubled over. “Are you… are you certain, Princess? They could?—”

“I won’t say it again.”

The guards glanced at one another to make sure they’d heard right.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Seeing the opening and hardly believing it would stay ajar for long, the four of them hustled to get inside the gatehouse.

Twisted sneers tracked them all the way inside the gate, lingering until the very last inch of visibility was blocked by the bulking metal fortifications.

“Follow me,” the princess said, and led them through the beautiful green courtyard, into the keep, up an enormous spiral staircase, then down lengthy hallways until they were in the throne room, locking eyes with the King of Maradenn, monarch of the unquestioned stronghold of the south, enemy to Makkar the tyrant, and commander of the second largest legion in all of Ealis.