The Purge
T
he
four
abbots
a
dozen
paces
in
front
of
them
were
cut
down
by
swords
that
whistled
in
the
dank
air.
Hidden
from
the
flickering
sconces,
the
brother
and
sister
huddling
deeper
in
the
gloom
could
still
see
the
blood
splattering
the
granite walls.
Lords
Corr
had
known
the
priests
their
entire
lives.
Now
lost,
good
people,
dedicated
to
those
they
served,
and
their religion, which was on the brink of ruin.
Corr,
the
name
of
clarity
both
siblings
were
known
together,
stared
blankly
as
they
edged
deeper
into
the
gloom.
The
two
warriors
continued
to
hack
at
the
priest’s
bodies,
to
ensure
no
healers
like
them
could
ever
use
their
arcane
powers
to
bring
them back.
Corrise
reached
out
mentally
to
his
sister,
as
they
backed
down
the
corridor
silently.
“Be strong, Corrase. We must get away from the castle.”
He
pulled
her
back
and
turned
her
so
she
would
not
watch
the
horror
taking
place
in
the
shadows
before
them.
The
physical
touch
bridged
their
tightly
connected
minds.
Corrise
willed
up
all
the
strength
he
could
and
it
flowed
into
his
sister, fortifying her.
“If we make it to the keep’s prayer chamber we will be safe,”
she said.
“We can’t stay there indefinitely. All they’d have to do is starve us out.”
She
acknowledged
him
with
a
mental
nod.
“
To
the
new
chamber
then,”
she
said.
They
backed
into
an
alcove
and
listened.
The
insanity
could
be
heard
in
every
direction.
The
rebellion,
what
was
being
called
across
the
five
continents
as
the
Purge,
had
taken
longer
to
reach
the
Kircher
realm,
but
sanity
collapsed
around
them so suddenly the ruling class had no chance to catch a breath.
Equestrians
did
all
they
could
to
control
their
warriors
at
first,
but
the
flood
proved
unstoppable.
Everything
imploded.
The
highborn
fell
quickly,
brought
down by the warriors assigned to protect them.
The
warrior
caste
succumbed
to
a
paranoia
as
though
it
was
a
plague,
feasted
on the bloodletting with glee, it seemed.
The
mentally
superior
race,
anyone
known
to
have
strong
clarity,
was
being
wiped out.
“None
of
the
stairwells
or
halls
leading
outside
will
be
safe,”
Corrase
told
her
brother.
“Do
you
think
the
kings’
private
stairs
will
have
been
discovered?”
Corrise
asked.
“I imagine it has, otherwise they would still be alive.”
“
It’s only rumor that they’re dead,” Corrise whispered.
Corrase
looked
down
the
hall.
For
the
time
being
it
was
empty,
except
for
the
eviscerated
bodies
of
their
peers
strewn
about
like
trash.
Corrise
felt
his
sister’s
emotion begin to peak again.
“The kings’ chamber is the only option I can think of,” he said.
Though
her
nod
was
invisible
in
the
dark,
her
brother
felt
her
acknowledgment
in his mind.
She
turned
and
led
him
down
the
blackened
hall,
toward
the
less
populated
bowels
of
the
castle.
They
needed
to
find
a
safe
stairway
to
make
it
to
the
heights,
and then still traverse what would be well watched corridors.
They
made
it
up
dark
stairs
without
incident
and
turned
east.
They
passed
piles
of
bodies
at
every
turn,
hacked
highborn,
low
castes
caught
in
the
way
of
enraged warriors.
“Can there be a highborn left alive in the castle?” Corrase’s stomach twisted.
“Besides us?”
She mentally nodded
.
They
ducked
within
an
alcove
as
a
troop
of
warriors
marched
down
an
intersecting hall.
“Suppose there are any warriors left loyal to the realm?”
Corrase asked.
“Look
at
the
corpses,”
he
said.
“
I’ve
seen
no
warriors
dropped
by
another
warrior’s
blade.
I
think
they
were
all
waiting
for
an
excuse
to
turn
against
us.”
They had always hated the ruling class.
It
was
quiet
behind
them.
But
their
destination
led
another
fifty
yards
in
front
of them. Corrase took a deep breath and rushed forward, her brother on her heel.
Ten
steps
down
the
hall
a
chamber
door
opened
in
front
of
them.
Corr
froze.
A
pair of equestrians stepped into the hall and glared at the siblings.
A
day
past,
the
two
equestrians
would
have
laid
down
their
lives
to
protect
the
highborn healers without a second consideration. That was an era ago.
The male equestrian looked up and down the hall.
“Is
he
looking
for
witnesses
or
judging
if
it’s
safe
to
aid
us?”
Corrase
asked
her
brother.
“I’m
surprised
any
of
you
have
survived,”
the
man
said,
caressing
the
hilt
of
his
sword
nervously.
“My
lords,
you
must
get
into
the
mountains
and
wait
for
all
of
this insanity to pass.”
“You
speak
the
obvious,”
Corrase
hissed.
“Do
you
have
any
suggestions
how
to
get there?”
“We
can’t
protect
you.
The
warriors
are
acting
on
their
own,
as
hard
as
that
is
to believe. Sheep with blood lust.”
“Then help us get to the kings’ chamber,” Corrase demanded.
The
equestrian
bowed
his
head,
habit
dead
one
day.
His
expression
in
the
faint
light
showed
he
believed
they
had
little
chance.
He
looked
again
to
the
right,
and
led
the
way,
his
sister
a
step
behind
him.
The
heels
of
their
boots
clashed
on
the
granite like a call to warriors to investigate.
Corr gained little protection while they lost what concealment they had.
They
proceeded
less
than
twenty
steps
before
four
warriors
rushed
around
a
corner.
The
four
first
took
in
the
equestrians
impassively,
but
when
they
spied
Corr
huddled behind them, they shifted, making room to wield their swords.
The
equestrians
drew
their
swords
and
the
six
stood
without
moving
for
a
moment.
The
much
taller,
highly
skilled
equestrians
were
a
match
even
if
the
odds
were two-to-one. After a moment the warriors backed up.
Corr
followed
the
equestrians
forward.
When
the
warriors
reached
another
intersection they paused.
The
clamor
of
new
boots
echoed.
A
moment
later
ten
additional
warriors
stood
before
them.
They
didn’t
attack
though.
They
appeared
to
be
giving
the
equestrians
time to decide if they were prepared to die for the lives of highborn.
Corrase
took
her
brother’s
hand.
Through
the
bond
they
willed
forth
all
the
arcane
power
they
could.
Their
aura
grew,
brightening
the
corridor.
That
alone
wouldn’t intimidate the warriors, but they had few options.
The
equestrians
slowly
sleeved
their
swords.
Their
hands
at
their
sides,
they
strode
forward.
The
warriors
separated
to
give
them
room
to
walk
by.
The
sound
of
their boots faded into the dark.
The
warriors
turned
back
to
the
healers
and
glared.
The
grating
sound
of
metal
against
metal
echoed
against
the
granite,
swords
being
drawn.
Corr
frantically
considered what of their healing skills could help them.
They
could
easily
overpower
one
at
a
time,
if
they
were
able
to
touch
them,
but
that wasn’t going to help.
Very
powerful
highborn
could
draw
power
from
the
clouds,
strike
their
foe
with the supercharged static. Corr didn’t have that skill, but they could bluff.
They
concentrated
to
conjure
an
illuminating
orb
they
could
wield
as
though
it
were
lightning.
Manipulating
the
harmless
magic
would
take
every
ounce
of
energy
they had.
The warriors neared.
Corrase
raised
a
hand
to
project
a
point
of
threat.
Though
grimaces
replaced
grins,
the
warriors
continued
forward.
Corrise
doubled
over
from
the
exertion
of
providing
his
sister
all
the
power
of
his
soul.
Corrase
jabbed
her
hand
downward,
formed the bright specter and flung it down the corridor.
The
warriors
all
lurched.
Those
in
the
rear
unsure
of
what
took
place
perhaps,
turned and fled. The others were prompted by their flight, and followed.
Corrase
pulled
her
brother
with
her,
after
the
warriors,
to
maximize
the
bluster of the moment.
They
reached
the
end
of
the
long
hall.
The
warriors
turned
left.
Corr
raced
right, down the broad, main corridor toward the kings’ chamber.
They
made
it
to
the
ornate
entrance
and
peered
inside.
The
outer
chamber
was
empty,
though
blood
smeared
the
marble
tiles.
Many
loyal
to
the
realm
had
stood
to the end.
The
din
of
boots
behind
them
pressed
them
to
step
inside
without
worrying
if
worse
dangers
lay
within.
They
closed
the
double
doors.
The
jamb
was
intact.
The
kings, if they were taken here, were fallen by traitors.
Corr
made
their
way
through
the
sitting
room
and
office
locking
both
doors
behind them. Corrase gasped when they stepped inside the kings’ main living area.
There
wasn’t
a
stick
of
furniture
remaining
upright.
Their
kings
had
fought
to
the
end
as
well.
Blood
soaked
the
carpets,
everything.
They
both
gagged
a
moment,
before pulling emotional strength from their aura.
Dozens
of
siblings
died
here.
The
gore
sickened
them.
Something
moved
Corrase
to
stride
to
the
balcony.
They
peeked
out
the
broad
doors,
across
the
bailey
to the far battlements. The death within the castle didn’t prepare either of them.
Propped
atop
poles
where
pennants
used
to
fly,
alternated
with
torches
to
light
them,
were
the
heads
of
countless
highborn,
their
braided
hair
lopped
in
a
final
insult.
Corrase
felt
she
would
collapse.
Her
brother
took
her
hand.
The
comfort
that
passed through the touch maintained her.
“We must go
,” he urged.
They
found
the
hidden
stairway
with
some
effort.
Corrase
formed
an
illuminating
orb
to
follow
down
the
steep
steps.
Gratefully,
there
were
no
signs
of
conflict,
just
the
dank,
musty
air
they
expected.
Their
first
encouragement.
So
perhaps the exit below remained safe and unknown.
Corr
followed
the
winding
course,
past
an
alcove
landing,
on
to
the
ground
floor, and solid granite.
“What?”
they both gasped.
Corrise
reached
out
to
search
for
the
presence
of
shielding.
It
took
little
energy
to
draw
it
aside.
It
hid
a
doorway
to
their
left
and
a
stairwell
continuing
to
their
right.
“I didn’t expect that,”
Corrase said.
“So which way?” he asked.
Corrise
pointed
to
the
door.
“This
is
as
likely
to
empty
into
the
bailey
as
a
quiet
lobby.”
“Occupied
with
blood-drunk
warriors,”
he
offered.
“Where
do
you
suppose
that will take us?”
“Nowhere if we stand here blathering.”
Corrise
gave
her
a
mental
poke
for
her
caustic
remark,
which
she
ignored
as
she followed the stairs.
The
stairway
sank
deeper
into
the
earth
than
they
expected,
emptying
into
a
narrow
hall
they
couldn’t
walk
abreast.
Neither
had
a
guess
what
direction
they
walked, other than downward.
After
following
the
corridor
twenty
yards
they
could
hear
an
unnatural,
low
roar. They walked on. Their nerves pricked at their skin.
Corrise placed his hand against the granite, which was hot.
“It’s the aquifer for the baths,” he said.
Corrase
ignored
him
though,
because
she
was
discovering
their
path
had
come
to
an
end.
The
wall
circled
around
them
giving
them
room
to
stand
side-by-side,
but
there
was
no
obvious
exit.
They
examined
the
black
granite
for
the
shield
which must hide their escape.
“This is more sophisticated than the other,” Corrise said softly.
“
Obviously,
”
his sister snapped.
He
looked
at
her
in
the
dim
light.
After
a
moment
he
sensed
her
apology,
but
she
didn’t
speak
it.
He
returned
to
the
task
of
exposing
the
conjuring
that
hid
the
exit.
“The shield shouldn’t be so subtle,” Corrase murmured.
“Maybe there is no shield,” he said.
“No shield? Of course there’s a shield. Why else can’t we see the doorway?”
“Is there a door?”
Corrise
removed
his
ornate
dagger
and
tapped
against
the
granite.
It
took
little
time
to
find
an
area
that
didn’t
have
quite
the
same
resonance.
They
scratched
at
the
surface
looking
for
something
out
of
place.
A
latch
nearly
fell
into
Corrises
hand.
“Aha.”
He
pulled
but
nothing
happened,
at
first.
With
continued
heaves
a
thin
fissure
formed
in
the
wall,
perhaps
naturally
tightened
over
the
ages
of
non-use.
They
were both soaked in sweat by the time it swung open enough to squeeze through.
The
dry
air
outside
felt
like
freedom
already
won.
They
found
themselves
on
the
far
northern
side
of
the
keep,
opposite
the
village,
and
the
hills
they
needed
to
reach, where the prayer chamber had been recently constructed in secret.
They
navigated
the
bank
of
rock
around
the
base
of
the
keep
without
a
hint
of
anyone
noticing
them
from
the
ramparts
above.
They
skirted
the
village
and
tread
up
the
deep
sand
of
the
gully,
into
the
well-hidden
cavern
that
formed
the
entrance
to the chamber.
Twenty terrified faces stared.
Corr
studied
them.
To
a
one
they
were
low-level
administrators,
not
a
high
lord
among
them.
Corr
were
shocked
they
were
even
aware
of
the
new
sanctum.
One
explained
his
dying
masters
placed
the
location
of
it
in
their
minds,
before
they succumbed.
“This
is
it?”
Corrase
cried.
She
faced
her
brother,
her
fists
gripped
tightly
at
her hips. “This is what is left of our kind? What are we going to do?”
Corrise
held
the
amulet
their
mother’s
brother
passed
down
to
him.
“We
will
wait
until
this
horrid
business
is
over,
and
blend
back
into
the
fold
when
we
can.
Until the persecution ends, we will do whatever it takes to survive.”
“What? Live among the peasants in the village?” she challenged him.
“We will do whatever it takes.”
“But we are highborn,” she shouted at him, pounding her hips with her fists.
“It’s
a
new
era,”
Corrise
said
softly.
“We’ve
heard
all
were
wiped
out
in
Nacelle.
At least there are a handful of us to continue forward, someday.”
“Someday?” she shouted.
Her
energy
seemed
to
escape.
She
slumped
to
the
rock
floor,
covering
her
face
with her hands.
© R. Mac Wheeler 2017