Saving Kai

Chapter 9

Nikolaus heard the alarm bell from his office and looked up sharply, then lunged to his feet. With swift strides he crossed to the door and swung it open, almost crashing into Ezekiel who was literally running down the hall, pistol in hand.

Nikolaus did not ask questions, he merely joined his friend, drawing his own g*n from its holster.

The hive of activity outside seemed to be centered around the gates, and several soldiers turned to face him, faces pale as he approached.

“Somehow one of the bastards got in, my lord. Dressed as one of us. He attacked the boy’s guard, stabbed him, then forced the boy over the south wall.”

“Over the wall?” Nikolaus blinked in disbelief, horror beginning to tighten his chest.

There was nothing but the river along the south wall. A frigid, ice-choked river.

Dear gods.

He had utterly and completely failed.

* * *

Kai had imagined dying in many ways, but never had he thought he would drown.

The shock of the frigid water had taken his breath, and the heavy woolen cloak was dragging him under before he could draw in more air.

He thrashed desperately, feeling his muscles cramp within the embrace of the icy waters, the swift current dragging him along mercilessly.

So this was it…

He sank, feeling his senses float away from him, his eyes roll up in their sockets…

There was a hard yank, and then suddenly he was in the air again, gasping, arms flailing weakly, trying to grasp his rescuer in a final bid for life.

Fingers scrabbled at his throat, then the cloak fell away, its deathly weight sliding blessedly away from his body.

Ice ground into his face, but he hardly felt the pain as it sliced his cheek. It all seemed far away and unreal.

Fingers sank into his hair and pulled him up against a body, forcing him to face away from his attacker—or was this a rescuer? The cold made his very bones ache, his teeth chattering against each other uncontrollably.

A hard arm slid across his chest, holding him firmly, and he stopped struggling, laying limply in the grasp of whoever had him.

He felt movement, a rhythmic tugging, and realized that the person who held him was swimming strongly, pulling him along.

Moments later—or was it hours?—he was pulled up and out of the water. He could not stand—his legs seemed to be no longer part of him—so he was dragged across the ice-bound shore and upward to the edge of the forest that lay thick along the river.

A voice hailed them, and Kai’s eyes widened, his body fitfully spasming in an useless attempt to escape.

Gerald.

Which would mean that the man who held him was most likely Melville.

He shuddered, invisible among the shivers that wracked his form as he realized his position.

He had been taken from Nikolaus and now was returned to Melville and Gerald’s imprisonment.

A scream of horror lodged in his throat, but all that escaped his clenched chattering teeth was a low whimper.

They wrapped him in a thick blanket, then hard hands took him from Melville and hoisted him high, belly down over a rider’s legs. He heard murmurs from both men, but could not respond, his senses swimming. With a low moan of distress, his thoughts faded and he sank into cold darkness, wishing never to wake and face what lay ahead.

***

Niko felt his mount slip on the icy path, and his legs tightened as he helped the horse recover. It was madness to move so swiftly in this weather, but there was no other choice.

He held no doubts as to who had taken the boy, and there would be little time to catch them before they disappeared back to the north and out of Nikolaus’ reach. By the gods, he would not leave Kaillen in their cruel grasp.

Ezekiel had spent time with the boy, had, with time, winkled out small details of his life, and what he had endured under the rulership of his so called guardians. Niko, despite his animosity toward Kai, could not help but soften, his ever-present need to protect rising up to overwhelm prejudice.

It had become evident that Kaillen was a gentle soul, but with an inner strength that had not yet found its way to the surface. To imagine him with either Melville, who apparently had almost r***d the boy, or Gerald, who was renowned for his love of t*****e, touching that slim form made him want to rend something violently.

Nikolaus and his men were the boy’s only hope, and he was damn well not going to let Kaillen down, again. The young man had willingly consented to this plan, had endangered himself in the name of aiding Nikolaus’ cause, and he deserved all that they could do for him in return.

The clatter of hooves ahead made him draw up sharply, his grim mood easing somewhat as he saw one of his scouts returning.

“My lord. I found their trail. Four horses, heading straight as an arrow toward the capital.”

“Any sign of the boy?”

“One horse is heavily laden. Probably two riders. I would say the boy is one of them.”

Nikolaus cursed. There was no way they could catch them before they crossed the current border between the rebel held territory, and the captured lands. It was evident what they were doing.

They had gotten the boy back, and they would put him on the throne. The plan was coming to fruition.

Nikolaus’ gloved fingers tightened upon the reins, making his stallion dance in place.

It was now or never. They would have to go in before the bastards had a chance to use Kaillen to provoke dissent amongst the downtrodden populace, who might, in their wish for normalcy, accept Kaillen as their king and give up on the rebellion all together.

He turned to Ezekiel. “Call in all the reserves. Everyone. I had hoped to postpone this until we could bring in mercenaries from Darnaria in the spring, but we can’t wait.”

Ezekiel grinned, wild and mad.

“It has come then, my friend. All or nothing.”

__________________________