Free The Lost Realm by J. D. Rinehart Page A

holding his sword too, as were Ghast and the other lieutenants. When Stown was halfway across the clearing, Fessan called:
    â€œFar enough, Stown! You have no business here.”
    â€œNow, that’s where we disagree.”
    â€œYou made it clear that you would only be content if you led Trident yourself. That’s why I sent you away. Your exile is permanent. There is no way back for you.”
    â€œExile.” Stown rolled the word as if tasting it. “It’s such a royal word. Something kings and queens command. What do you think, Elodie?”
    Elodie felt her cheeks flushing. Seeing this man brought back her troubled early days with Trident: being jeered at on the road to Idilliam, the endless arguing, her friend Palenie’s murder by an assassin who mistook her for Elodie . . .
    And lurking in the background, always sneering, had been Stown.
    â€œI think you should have stayed in exile,” she said coldly.
    â€œSeize him!” Fessan barked. Ghast and two others raced toward Stown, who immediately raised his hands in surrender.
    â€œNo need to do that,” said Stown. “I’m a different man now, with very different friends. Soldier friends. All the soldiers you need, in fact. Want to meet them?”
    He brought one hand down sharply. Behind him, men burst from the trees. Elodie recoiled in horror. There were hundreds of them, their faces masked by gleaming steel helms, their swords shining in the midday sun. Their armor shone too, flashing bright beneath their flowing cloaks. Their blue cloaks.
    â€œVicerins!” Elodie hissed.
    Stown threw off his own cloak. Underneath, he wore blue too.
    Samial grabbed her arm. “Elodie, you must hide!”
    But Elodie shrugged him off. Her grip tightened on her sword. “I’m not going anywhere.”
    The circle of people broke apart. All around her, Trident was in motion as green-clad soldiers grabbed swords and bows from the racks where they’d stored them. Tired as they were, Fessan’s men were still fearsome warriors. Yet Elodie knew that the Vicerin forces had the advantage of surprise.
    In the confusion, Stown had broken free from the Trident men and drawn his own weapon. He parried with a Trident soldier, sending him to the ground, then bellowed, “You stole something from Lord Vicerin! Now he wants it back!”
    Suddenly Elodie knew why they’d come.
    Me! He means me!
    â€œGet behind!” roared Fessan, dashing in front of Elodie as a pair of blue-cloaked Vicerins sprinted toward her. He stabbed his sword at the first, struck at the second.
    â€œI can fight!” she snarled, drawing her own weapon. “Let me fight!”
    â€œTake her to safety!” Fessan cried.
    Before Elodie could protest, Ghast was hustling her inside a protective ring of Trident troops.
    The clearing filled with the tumultuous sounds of battle: sword on shield, blade on flesh, grunts and shouts and the strangled cries of the dying. The Trident army fought as bravely as they had on the bridge, but Elodie could see that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Even as they cut down the Vicerin attackers, more of the enemy flooded out of the trees.
    â€œI can fight!” Elodie cried again, but Ghast seized her arm and bore her away from the battle. Two members of the escort stayed behind to fight off an onrushing band of Vicerins, and as the swords of the men clashed, Elodie glimpsed a pair of rocks rising as if by magic from the ground. They floated briefly in the air, then smashed into the skulls of the enemy soldiers, who fell senseless.
    Samial!
    Before she could see more, Ghast was pulling her through the camp and past a hospital tent, where a row of wounded Trident men were struggling to lift themselves off their stretchers. A group of Vicerin soldiers was bearing down on them. Two nurses stood in their way, hands raised. When the attackers reached them, they cut the nurses down, then worked their way