The War of Six Crowns: The Vanished Knight

Instant Karma

"You don't know me," James stated.

"Oh no... I just know your actions. You jeopardized the future of a girl you hardly know for something she had no hand in. You came after her because you know your perfect little world will implode if you have to go explain to Mummy how and why she disappeared."

James stared at the old man. "Who told you that?"

"No one you need to worry about, boy. But now it got real to you, didn't it?" Phipps's casual question sawed away at James's conscience "She is a person. Just like before."

Before... Phipps knew. James drew a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. That wasn't possible. Only his parents and Ward knew he'd caused Jenna's death. No one talked about his sister.

"No," James said, standing up. "Well, this was fun. Maybe next time I get someone killed, we can play another round of whip-the-bastard. But right now, I don't feel like talking."

Phipps called after him, but James just kept walking, putting as much distance between him and the man who thought he could see the darkest parts of James's soul.

One foot in front of the other. Soon he was in the cool darkness of the countryside. Away from people. Away from everyone.

He was done.

Done with the superior attitude and all-knowing words. If he never saw Phipps again, he'd be pretty ecstatic.

James had no idea of where to go. Nothing looked familiar in the darkness. Not even the stars. It didn't matter. He'd never put up with Phipps's crap again. Sure, he was responsible for Callan's death, but he'd learned from the previous time. He could just barely stand under his own guilt. He wouldn't make the mistake of taking everyone else's recriminations on his shoulders again.

How dare Phipps pretend to know who he was? No one knew him. James never let them.

A twig cracked nearby, bringing him to a stop. More sounds came, closer than before.

James turned and ran, but someone tackled him and he hit the ground like a pallet of bricks. A knee pressed into his back, cutting off his air and struggles to escape. Rough cords cut into his wrists. The taste of soil dominated every shallow breath he took. Dust invaded his mouth and nose, choking him. Someone tightened James's binds and yanked him from the ground. Pain flared in his shoulders, drawing a groan from him. He struggled to his feet.

Perfect. Karma again. Ready to kick him while he was down. Who was it this time? Another group of soldiers on the prowl? Or maybe some robbers Phipps hadn't told him about.

Twigs snapped; grass rustled from all directions. So many sounds. He had to be outnumbered. The night pressed against him and he felt for his digital watch. He needed its reassurance. He needed to be reminded that darkness receded. That he wasn't trapped in a frozen tomb under a foot of ice. He needed its light. He needed it more than oxygen.

It wasn't there.

A bead of sweat rolled down his back. He puffed for air, trying to control his fear of darkness. He lacked the strength to struggle against being led off the road.

Calm...

C-calm...

He searched the sky, desperate for a pinprick of light. Something to hold onto. No stars. Where were they? He'd seen them minutes before.

His breaths didn't reach his lungs. He was drowning—No. No, he wasn't. Calm.

The hairs at the back of his neck bristled, and he looked up again. Was it up, though? Or maybe down? No... He swallowed his rising scream and fought to keep a grip on his terror. Clouds could be obscuring his view. Or trees. He focused his attention on the hands grasping his shoulders and upper arms, using them to anchor him to his surroundings. His breathing eased.

The air changed. Wetter. It smelled like fog, with something extra. James tensed and grappled with his memories to place a name to the scent.

Fog. Chill in the air.

Water.

They shoved him into it. Water seeped through his shoes before he came to a stop. What was wrong with these idiots? Mud sloshed around his feet. The water grabbed his calves.

"Um...I think you lost the way. This is a lake or something." James's pride in his steady voice vanished when the men pushed him forward. Seconds later, water licked at his thighs.

"No." He strained against the hands grasping him. "No."

The men shoved him deeper into the water. He pushed back. The merciless hands bore him forward. Deeper still.

James's breath quickened to useless little huffs. "No, please. Not this way. Not this way." His pleas got him pushed even deeper. His clothes dragged at him. They would pull him down like a stone. "No, please. Please."

He sobbed, the cold water stealing his strength. His heart pounded erratically. Water grasped his neck. It rose to his chin.

"No!" he screamed, but he still got no reply. James's knees sagged beneath him. Water rushed into his nose and mouth.

Two men yanked him up. He spluttered and coughed, forgetting how to breathe. One of his captors grabbed him and swam him farther away from the shore. His killers' splashes thundered around him, covering his pleas for mercy.

They released him and the water sucked James down, trying to force entry into his lungs. He kicked at it, chest aching. The inky blackness disoriented him. He had no idea where he was going. He could hit the bottom instead of the surface.

Hands clamped around his ankles. Kept him under water.

He fought to free his feet. His muscles cramped and his lungs begged for air. Dull echoes of his heartbeat ticked away the last moments of his life.

No, he kept thinking, not like this. Not like this...

He screamed.

Bubbles carried his last air to the surface.

Oh no! Could this be the end of James? Keep reading to find out. 

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