I gulped in air frantically as I burst through the gates of the Swords' garden. It had become more unkempt and clearly hadn't been tidied since I had left.
I leaned on a post and tried to catch my breath- I had been running since I reached the border because riding a horse would be too indiscreet.
I had no doubt Alana was here. There was no way that she would just run away, and the dead guards by her tent was enough for anyone to realise what had happened, but the commanders insisted on sending a message to a professional team to get her.
I knew they wouldn't get her. My dad would kill them immediately- what he really wanted was me; he wanted me to be on his side, to work for him, and I wasn't as easy to capture as Alana was. I don't know how he guessed that having Alana as a prisoner would give me a reason to do what he says.
I jogged through the back door of the kitchen for the left wing. I conveniently knew all the doors that weren't guarded around here.
A hostile droplet of sweat trickled down my forehead as I sprinted silently towards the Great Hall to find my Dad. I had to make sure that I wouldn't get caught before that, because then I would be as helpless as Alana is.
Unless something's happened to her...
No.
They can't have done something bad to her.
She is Queen.
I walked up the steps onto the corridor that lead to the stairs up to the Great Hall. My head was spinning, partly from exhaustion, but mostly from worrying about all the possibilities of what they could've done to Alana.
Whatever they've done, they will pay.
I stumbled up the stairs to the Great Hall, where my dad always is, and tried to make myself more presentable. If my dad saw the extent that I go to for Alana, he would threaten to do something drastic to her if I didn't do what he said. I couldn't let him see me in this state.
I took a few deep breaths and pushed open the heavy oak door, which had a red flag, boldly embroidered with a sword emblem, draped over it. It swung open with ease, and I took a few, slow steps inside, trying to look as if it was a casual thing to do. I obviously hadn't been noticed until I cleared my throat, and the sound echoed throughout the hall, bouncing off the walls, which displayed hundreds of gleaming, sharpened swords.
I saw my father's head lift up, and a small grin creep onto his face. There was a triumphant twinkle in his eyes, which made his smile seem even more evil.
He's got what he wanted now.
Now he has to let Alana go.
He took large and steady paces towards me, his smile widening by each step. I walked towards him, too, my stomach literally convulsing and my heart pumping so loud I could hear it like a drum-beat in the uncomfortable silence.
"I see my plan has worked." My father spoke first.
I didn't reply to his statement, as I knew that whatever I said would go his advantage.
"You seem to be sweating." He remarked, the corners of his mouth still turing up into an evil smile.
"I see that your voice has gone."
I rolled my eyes, and he sighed.
"Well, there's no need for you to speak anyway- you just need to do as I say."
'Do what I say?!'
Is he joking?!
I will never do what he says. Not any more.
I was not as gullible as when I was three; I knew what was right now.
He can't make me do anything.
"Do as I say. Understood?" He repeated, his voice harsher this time.
I lifted my head slightly, and locked my gaze with his.
"No."
He didn't look surprised, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Morgan, you will do what I say."
"No." I tried hard to stop my voice from wavering.
There was a short silence, and he started pacing around.
"Well, let me tell you, Morgan," his voice was assertive, and slightly frightening.
"We can do this the easy way, or the difficult way." He paused, and studied my expression. "The easy way is to do as you are told."
There was no way he could get what he wanted so easily.
No way.
"And the difficult way?" I asked, edging towards the wall , so I could grab a sword if anything happened.
He nodded towards a figure in black by his throne, who nodded back, and left through the door by the throne.
What is he doing?
I stood there, staring into space, whilst trying to work out his plan and devising my own.
I knew he had one. He always does. And if it failed, he always has a back-up...
I was broken from my trail of thoughts by a loud clattering as the man in black entered again, through the door he went out of. His back was facing me, so I couldn't see what he was clutching in his arms.
My father's eyes widened a bit as he saw him come back in, and he gestured for the man in black to come down.
That was when I saw what he was clutching, or who he was clutching, to be more precise.
Alana.
My Alana.
I almost couldn't recognise her.
She had been beaten so many times there was barely a part of her that wasn't bruised or swollen, and her head hung low. She heaved every time she took a breath, and she could barely keep herself standing. I couldn't see her face properly, as strands of her tangled, bloodied hair was blocking my view.
I'm not sure I wanted to see her face, though. I would've probably broken down if I saw the sadness in her eyes.
Alana...I'm so sorry...
I stifled a gasp of horror, turned my gaze to my father and glared at him.
There was no way he would ever get away with this.
"Well, I see that she means a lot to you, Morgan dear." He seemed to find this rather amusing.
"Am I right?" He half-raised one of his eyebrows.
Yes.
Oh god, I can't tell him.
"No." Alana croaked, to the surprise of all of us.
"And finally, she speaks." The guy in black mocked. His voice was deep, and had a hint of Scottish in.
My dad didn't find this funny.
"I wasn't talking to you." He snapped. He gave a nod to the Scottish guy, and before I knew it, he struck Alana in the stomach, making her crumble. He held her up by the shoulder, and looked on to my dad, as if he was awaiting further instructions.
Alana barely made a sound. I could just about hear a weak squeal escape her mouth, but I could tell she had been tortured so much that a blow to the stomach would be nothing.
"Don't you DARE do anything more to her." I snarled.
I couldn't hold in the anger boiling inside me any more. I wasn't just going to stand here and watch Alana be beaten up.
Because of me.
My outburst was exactly what my dad was hoping for, which made the hate burn inside me even more.
"The difficult way, Morgan," he began, his tone even, "I this." He pointed to Alana.
"If you don't do what I say, she suffers."
"I won't let her." I hissed, although I had calmed down slightly.
"You won't?" He raised his eyebrow again. "Well the only way to do that is to do as I say, isn't it?"
Is it?
My father took step towards me, and mouthed something to the man in black, who took one of his hands off Alana's shoulder, and slipped out a shining dagger from his belt.
Oh no.
He immediately pulled Alana into a choke hold with his fee hand, and pressed the side of his blade against her throat.
No.
I came here to save her, not to get her killed.
Before I could fully apprehend what I was doing, I reached over to the handles of two swords and yanked them off their holder. With one in each hand, I sprinted towards the King of Swords.
He wasn't my dad any more. He was my enemy, who had been tormenting me all my life.
I didn't think too much of what might have happened to me, because fighting him was the best solution. That way he couldn't give orders to the man in black, so nothing could be done to Alana.
The King's quick reactions worked to his advantage, and he drew out his sword with his right hand and held it out in defence just as I swung mine towards him, which caused a loud clang erupt thrjough the room as the two swords smashed against each other.
The shock of his strong defence made me lose my grip, and the sword in my hand went hurtling towards the floor. It skidded across the hall, too far for anyone to reach.
"I had to make it fair fight, and it surely wouldn't have been one if you had to swords and I had one." He sounded weirdly calm.
I took this opportunity and lunged forwards to him.
Our swords clanged together again, and he drew his away to quickly thrash it back at me. I ducked and grabbed his right wrist to tried and weaken his grip on his sword.
From the corner of my eye I could see him wincing, and from that the burst of confidence gave me the strength to make another swipe towards him with my sword. The blow was deflected again, and the power caused both our swords to drop.
So no weapons now, huh? Well, I was always one for a fist fight.
I stepped back whilst clenching my fists and lowered myself. This is what I'd been training to do.
A look of worry plagued his face as he reluctantly took into a fighting stance. He knew he couldn't beat me on this.
I stayed still, waiting for him to make the first attack.
The moment he did, I dodged and reached to flick his chin back with one quick punch. It was the quickest way to hurt someone without much effort. His neck clicked as he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut to dampen the pain. He staggered back, but snapped his head back up; 'a true King does not reflect on his own pain', as he once said to me.
He made another, more complicated attack this time, and managed to hold my arms in place. I strained at the weight he was putting onto me, and, after gathering my strength together, I threw him over shoulder and slammed him on the floor.
My arms would ache like mad tomorrow. If I survived this.
The King propped himself up with his arms, with a worryingly evil glint in his eyes.
With much effort, he struggled up, but this time there was no hint of weakness in the way he stood. Instead of lowering down to a fighting stance again, he reached towards his back, and before I could react, two circular blades soared towards me. I ducked, just in time, although one scraped me on my left shoulder and left some blood oozing. They stabbed themselves into the wall, just as I realised what they were. Throwing stars. Since they belonged to him, they probably would've been sharpened to the point of being lethal if they hit anyone.
So this wasn't a fair fight.
I shouldn't have turned my head to look at the blades in the wall, becuase when I turned back, three more were coming my way.
How many did he have?!
My reflexes didn't work quick enough this time, but my magic did. A transparent, tinged blue circle of defence appeared in front of me, and absorbed the three stars before they reached me.
If he wasn't fighting fair, neither was I. And there was no way he would ever be able to beat my magic.
The thought brought a smirk to my face, which I made no effort to hide.
He backed away quite a few paces, giving me time to expand my circle. In his hand, I could see a ball of flames beginning to form and rapidly growing. I wouldn't let him destroy me with that.
He fired the flames towards me like a cannon ball and it flew aggressively in my direction. The building shook as it collided violently with the circle and dissolved inside it.
The circle had shrunk massively from the impact of the fireball and there was no way it would last all of this fight. I had to think of something else.
I could see another fireball growing in his hands, quicker this time. I panicked at the size of it, and another hostile bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I had to come up with something quick...
Water.
The fireball was aimed at me again, and this time it penetrated the defensive circle. I shot out water from my palms and held it against the flames.
The the fireball shrunk until it was smaller than a golf ball, and it dropped to the ground, burning a whole in the blood red carpet before I put it out. The smoke creeped into my lungs and I spluttered, coughing it out.
He king snorted in disgrace. "You're still weak." He smirked. "Still the same, weak little boy."
"I am not weak." I snarled.
He was trying to break me. I stayed in a fighting stance, just in case he was trying to catch me off guard.
"Still the arrogant brat who thinks he knows it all, too." His posture was too relaxed, although there was worry in his eyes and hate in his words.
"I learned from my father." It was the best reply I could think of.
"Well I'm sure your father would be very ashamed." He snapped.
"And I happen to be your son." I tried to suppress my anger.
I regretted saying that the moment the words flooded out of my mouth.
Anger filled his eyes like a flame and they almost burnt through me.
"No!" He snarled. "You will never be my son."
He paused for a second, gaining more breath, before growling,
"I. Hate. You."
It took a while for the words to sink in. The three, sharp, words that pierced through me faster than any sword or spear, faster than any bullet or dagger; the three words that shouldn't have hurt me nearly as much as it did.
And so I snapped. Hate drowned me out and controlled me. I didn't care who he was any more. What I did was the only solution.
With all the strength I had left within me, I built up my ball of electricity- almost four times as powerful as a fireball. That was the special thing that I had, that no-one else did, or ever had. It was the reason why my 'dad' tricked me to helping him all the time.
He almost froze in fear. His eyes grew bigger and bigger, until his pupils shrunk half the size.
Three.
I was shaking.
Two.
I took a deep breath. This was it.
One.
Bye, dad.
Fire.
And the crackling ball of electricity hurtled towards him.