The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge Page 5

  “Should I be concerned?”

  He sat down next to her, shrugging. “A bit of healthy concern is normal, but do not lose sleep over it, Princess. Our fathers have been battling the sorcerers for hundreds of years. And although that is not likely to change during our lifetime, we must be ready when they come.”

  “When will that be?”

  “The Apollyon Order has been threatening to invade Crocetta for years now, but their numbers have always been too few,” he answered, his tone serious. “Until now, that is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lately there have been rumors of a significant increase in their numbers. Our sources are telling us that some of the ten kings have even fallen under their influence.”

  “How does that happen?”

  “The sorcerers wield an evil, powerful source called The Onyx. It involves calling upon supernatural beings of darkness that usually exist outside of our realm, in another dimension. They use these spirits to control the minds and bodies of the rulers of the world.”

  A shiver ran down her spine. “If they are trying to take control of the kingdoms, then they must have their eye on Crocetta too.”

  “Indeed. Many years ago, the sorcerers tried to conquer the Crocine Kingdom with their powers, but they were unsuccessful. Now, there might finally be enough of them to take over the kingdom.”

  “This isn’t making me feel any better.”

  “My apologies, Princess, but as your Chief War Counselor, it is my duty to offer you a correct assessment of the situation, however grim it may be.”

  “So what do these sorcerers look like? Long beards, pointy hats, long dresses, and walking sticks that act as magic wands, I suppose?”

  He shook his head. “Most of them appear as ordinary men. At first glance, you would not even know they are a sorcerer. But on the inside, they are merciless, pure evil. Possessed by messengers of Apollyon.”

  “As future Supreme Ruler of Carnelia, don’t you think someone should have told me about this sooner?”

  “Prince Darian does not wish to worry you needlessly,” he answered. “The sorcerers are a concern that will be dealt with eventually, but not now.”

  “And yet, the threat is always there,” she said gloomily.

  He grinned slowly. “Ah, but you have Lord Domenico, Prince Darian and I to protect you, my lovely princess.”

  “True.”

  “You are safe as long as the Fearsome Trio is near.”

  “Oh, that reminds me…” She reached down and pulled out the dagger that Darian had given to her at the edge of the Mychen Forest. “Darian wants me to learn how to fight with this. Can you teach me?”

  Taking the dagger from her and studying it closely, his brown eyes widened. “Your Highness, do you know what this is?”

  She shook her head.

  “This is an extremely rare Crimson Paladin blade. It was forged in the early days of the Fiore dynasty—perhaps even before. It must have seen battle during the Chalcedonic Wars many years ago.” He pointed to its long, razor-thin edge. “Do you see the way it tapers here at the end with the special engraving at its base? Only a nobleman could have commissioned such a weapon.”

  “Do you recognize the engraving?”

  He laughed. “As should you, Princess. It is the Fiore coat-of-arms. That could only mean that this dagger had been forged for none other than King Petrus Fiore himself.”

  “It belonged to my great-grandfather?”

  Nodding, he slid the blade back into its sheath. “It is old but still in excellent condition.” Solemnly, he placed the dagger in the palm of her hand and closed her fingers around the hilt. His voice lowered an octave as his eyes sought hers.

  “A very valuable object, Princess, and certainly a treasure worth keeping. It is a rare man indeed who would relinquish such a, uh—priceless object of beauty.” He leaned in close, stroking her hand with his finger as his voice became husky. “Some would even be willing to fight another just to possess it.”

  Feeling the weight of his stare, she avoided his eyes and drew her hand away, blushing. “Oh, I’ll never get rid of it. Especially now that I know it’s a piece of history.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So, can you teach me?”

  “Of course, Your Highness. But we shall practice with something, eh—less lethal.”

  Taking the dagger from her, he walked over to the box of practice weapons and dug around until he found a fake, wooden replica. “Use this one.”

  “Why can’t I use the Paladin one?”

  “The blade is so sharp that it could sever your finger if it but brushed the edge.” He smiled. “We would not want that now, would we, Princess?”

  “Oh, I guess not.”

  In a swift, fluid movement that reminded her of a panther, he backed away from her, lowering himself into a half-squatting position with his arms extended out from his sides. He clasped the wooden dagger in his hand, poised to strike.

  “Now, Princess, come at me as if you were attacking me.”

  She gripped the fake weapon in her fist and exhaled. With all the energy she could muster, she rushed at him, lunging at his midsection with her blade. In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed her arm and twisted her around, knocking the wooden dagger from her hand. It flew through the air, hitting a stone pillar before clattering to the floor.

  “Never open your defenses when attacking your opponent,” he shouted. “Your eyes need to be everywhere, all the time. Again!”

  Dismayed that he had beaten her so easily, she brushed the hair out of her eyes and walked over to retrieve the weapon.

  “Attack! Now!”

  She rammed him again. In a flash, he pried the dagger from her fist and held it against her ribs.

  “Oops.” She smiled sheepishly.

  “Your Highness, you are already dead!” he shouted. “The entire kingdom is mourning your death and planning your funeral! Without a monarch, the Apollyon Order now feels emboldened to attack Crocetta.”

  “I’m never gonna get this.”

  “Always strike at your opponent when he least expects it.”

  Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed her arm, twisting her around to face him. Holding her tightly against his chest in a vice-like grip, he pressed the fake dagger against her jugular, his eyes locking on hers.

  “Now what will you do, Princess?”

  “Cry uncle?”

  Gazing up into his face, she noticed that their lips were almost touching. The musky scent of his sweat surrounded her as he held her so tightly that she couldn’t move. His eyes were stern, but the intense longing in them made her uncomfortable.

  “I have a knife to your throat, Your Highness. How do you gain the upper hand before I slit it?”

  “Pray for mercy?”

  “I am a Drychen sorcerer. I do not grant mercy.” He released her. “Come, we shall do it again. You must learn to act — not react!”

  “But how?” She threw her hands into the air. “How am I supposed to defeat a sorcerer, let alone a warrior, or even some guy off the street?”

  “You must steal the advantage from your opponent. And there is just one way to do that.” He closed the distance between them, slipping a sinewy arm around her waist and pulling her against him until his face was only an inch or two from hers.

  “How?” she asked, startled by his nearness.

  “Approach with stealth.” He leaned in, whispering against her ear. “Do not let your presence be known until it is too late for him to strike.”

  She shuddered. “That’s impossible.”

  “No, not impossible. You are better off being small and smart than dominating and dumb.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Winning a fight has more to do with using your wit than using your muscles, Princess.” His lips parted into a broad smile, displaying a row of perfect, white teeth.

  She stared at him, not knowing how to answer.

  “Battles are not won or lost
based on the size or might of the army, but on the wisdom or foolishness of the men fighting them.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you are wise in your approach, you shall own the edge. Even if your opponent is twice as powerful. Even if you are outnumbered. There is always a way out, you must simply find it.”

  “Wise in your approach, own the edge…”

  “Come, Your Highness—we practice again.”

  Over the next hour, Bruno trained her to defend herself with the wooden dagger, showing the primary target region to make a lethal stab into an opponent. She listened to his instructions carefully, concentrating on perfecting her technique. When the lesson was over, he sunk into a low bow, taking her hand to kiss it.

  “I hope that my instructions today will be of use to you in the future, Princess.”

  “Thank you. I won’t forget this, interesting lesson.” She gathered her gloves and turned, nodding to him before closing the door of the Black Hall behind her.

  “Neither shall I, my lovely princess,” he whispered. “Neither shall I.”

  CHAPTER 6

  PERSPECTIVES

  Marisa entered the library for her history and philosophy lessons with Cozimo, noticing that he was engrossed in a large leather book that covered half of the table.

  “So, my dear, let us see how much you have learned from the last lesson,” he said.

  Although she knew it wasn’t proper protocol, Marisa allowed Cozimo to address her in terms of endearment whenever they were alone. In the short time that she had known him, she had developed a soft spot for the white-haired, elderly man. He was the closest thing she’d ever had to a grandfather.

  Lord Cozimo Laurentine Arroyo had lived at Crocetta Castle since the age of thirteen when he was first indentured into the service of her great-grandfather, King Petrus. Now in his mid-eighties, Cozimo had served all the members of the Fiore family including Marisa’s parents and grandparents. Long after he worked off his indenture to King Petrus, he remained at the palace, teaching and inspiring the next generation of monarchs. He was the longest-serving member of the Order of the Crimson Paladin Knights, acting as its chief advisor.

  Cozimo began the lesson by quizzing her on the final battle of the Chalcedonic Wars. Known as the Battle of Ambrogia, it was destined to be the key skirmish that would tip the balance of power back into the Fiore family’s favor.

  “Your Highness, please be so kind as to give me a brief history of Abbadon in your own words.”

  “A long time ago,” she recalled, “an arrogant soldier named Rodolfo Tiamo conquered the holy city of Ambrogia by stealing the throne from the Fiore family. With the help of a group of corrupt men, he sent the Fiores into exile on an island off the coast of Terracina.

  “As the Chalcedonic Wars raged on for many years, the Tiamo dynasty produced a long line of cruel tyrants who maintained control of the city until one of Tiamo’s descendants, Lord Berengar, made the critical error of allowing his old enemy, Petrus Fiore to escape exile. When Petrus confronted Lord Berengar and killed him in hand-to-hand combat, it was the turning point of the battle that ultimately tipped the scales back in favor of the Fiore dynasty.

  “After Petrus had successfully recovered the throne and the holy ground of Ambrogia, he was crowned king of Crocetta and Supreme Ruler of Carnelia. He annexed the city of Abbadon to keep it from falling into enemy hands.

  “As the first monarch of the modern Fiore Dynasty, he established the Order of the Crimson Paladin Knights. They swore an allegiance to the Supreme Ruler and to uphold the Carnelian Law under pain of death. They were men of the highest moral principles and held to a far higher standard, so much so that they were often referred to as The Incorruptibles.”

  She glanced up from her book. “Why was the name of Ambrogia changed to Abbadon?”

  Cozimo scratched his head. “The name Ambrogia is extremely old—it dates back to the beginnings of our civilization more than five thousand years ago. According to the ancient scriptures, it was where Garon established His holy kingdom on Carnelia, and it was the center of our world in every sense of the word.

  “In the beginning, there was an age of peace like nothing else this world has ever known. The Creator of the universe came down to the mountain to commune with man in the holy place. That is, until a certain chief priest in the temple named Aurelio came into power.

  “Selfish and proud, Aurelio’s lust for power consumed him. He secretly plotted to destroy the temple and assert himself as ruler over all Carnelia. Aurelio managed to deceive a considerable portion of the other priests who joined his cause, and they ultimately turned against Garon. War broke out among the priests, and all of the holy men who could not be forced to turn were killed off one by one.

  “When the corrupted priests used their influence to turn the people against Garon, men and women who once worshipped Him stopped following His laws and traditions. In a righteous fury, Garon withdrew himself from Ambrogia, retreating back up into the heavens. He refused to remain in communion with those who had turned their backs on Him. He cursed the city of Ambrogia, its people and their descendants for generations to come until the day when He would at last deign to send His own son, the Defender, into the world as the redeemer and last hope for all mankind.

  “The temple of Ambrogia was destroyed right down to its foundations. In its place, a castle of darkness was erected. Conquered by an endless string of selfish, depraved men, that fortress of doom has seen much blood spilled over many years. When Rodolfo first captured it all those years ago, he changed its name to Abbadon, which literally means a place of destruction. The city and castle remain cursed even to this day.”

  He paused for a moment, pouring himself a glass of water.

  As Marisa watched him take a sip from the blue crystal goblet, a chill ran down her spine. She had only spent a couple of days in the dark castle at Abbadon, but, thankfully, she had been unaware of its gruesome history at the time.

  Cozimo continued. “When the city returned to the Fiore dynasty with the help of your great-grandfather about one hundred years ago, many believed it was a sign that the coming of the Deliverer was near. One of the most notable prophecies foretold in the ancient writings had predicted:

  When the temperate flower has split the indomitable rock with a single blow, the Defender will appear in the hearts of the true believers.

  “Indeed, there was a relatively short period of peace in Abbadon during the reign of both your grandfather and your mother. Your aunt Sophie ruled for only a few years and, when she perished, her husband Gregario became the illegitimate ruler.

  “From the start of his reign, things reverted back to the way they had been. Vicious, vile men regained control of the city. Many people lost their faith, openly proclaiming that the prophecies of the Deliverer were nothing but a myth.”

  “Does anyone still believe in the prophecies?”

  “Unfortunately, my child, many have fallen away from the faith. Men and women go about their daily business, pursuing an empty life with only temporary pleasures to show for it.”

  She nodded. “Sounds a lot like where I’m from.”

  “Thankfully, there are still some faithful believers remaining. Your Prince Darian was raised in the faith and remains a believer to this day.”

  “And you?”

  His wrinkled face formed a gentle smile. “I have always believed the prophecies to be true and am certain of what is yet to come.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Garon’s very essence is pure goodness—He is utterly incapable of evil. He always keeps His promises. If He says something will happen, we can be one hundred percent certain that it shall happen.”

  “But those prophecies are so old. Are they even still relevant to those of us living in modern times?”

  He gazed at her thoughtfully. “My dear, what many in your generation fail to recognize is that prophecy is nothing more than history written in advance. Garon does not idly sit by and
watch human events as they unfold with the same limited perspective that we do. Rather, He can see everything that has ever happened and shall ever happen throughout all eternity just as if it has already taken place. Prophecy is timeless truth. It is not some trend or fashion that falls out of style down through the centuries, nor does it yield and evolve with the fickle fancies and fantasies of man.”

  “But what if someone doesn’t believe in the prophecies?”

  “A person may believe whatever he or she wishes—it’s called free will, which Garon bestows upon all men.”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Let us say, for example, that you loved Prince Darian, but that he did not love you. But then I tell you that there is a way to put a spell on him to make him love you. Would you do it?”

  She considered that for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I couldn’t spend my life with some man knowing that he never had any real say in it. It would feel like I was holding him prisoner. I would want him to love me for me, not because he was being forced into loving me.”

  “Precisely! Although Garon loves each person more than they can ever possibly imagine, He never forces anyone to love Him back. It is our choice to accept Him or not, and that choice is called free will.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Whether or not one chooses to believe the prophecies is up to that individual—it is a matter between him and Garon and is for no one else to judge. However, in life there are only absolutes. Either it is, or it is not.”

  “But is life really that black and white? There must be some shades of gray.”

  Smiling gently at her, he reached across the table and slid a jar of korrel sugar in front of her, removing its lid. Then he drank the last bit of water from his cobalt goblet and handed it to her.

  “Your Highness, please hold this in front of your eye and keep the other one closed.”

  She lifted glass up to her right eye, squeezing the left one shut.

  “Now, look down and tell me, what color is the sugar?”