The Tor Alian Riot

"Astalor's hoof," Cirus Crewe muttered.

The city had descended into madness. A sprawling riot engulfed the streets, a chaotic mass of screaming, thrashing bodies as men, women, and children fought with savage fury. City guards, scattered like stones in a torrent, struggled to separate the populace. The clamor of rage and agony drowned out every other sound.

"What happened?" Wells breathed, horrified by the sheer anarchy before him.

"I—I don't know," Cirus replied, his sharp gaze scanning the bloody scene. He turned quickly to Elrin. "Stay here. Help them calm the crowd. I'm taking Wells to the safety of the castle."

"Yes, Cirus," Elrin grunted, his voice lost in the din as he plunged into the mob, his sword a grim slash of steel against the squalor.

"Wells, with me," Cirus commanded.

"But I want to help!" Wells protested, his heart aching for the citizens.

A thin, weary smile touched Cirus’s lips. "That’s noble, Wells, but your life is too important to be risked in a riot. Now, come." He grasped Wells's hand and began forcing a path through the turmoil. Oblivious in their rage, people clawed and fought, but Cirus moved with relentless purpose, shoving them aside until they reached a dark, empty alleyway.

"That was more difficult than I anticipated," Cirus confessed, taking in shallow gasps of air. The screams of the riot echoed between the stone walls, a constant, ominous backdrop. "Aria," he called. The sparrowhawk, who had been perched quietly on Wells's shoulder, lifted her head. "Fly ahead. Find us a path through this chaos to the castle gates."

"Understood," Aria chirped, launching herself from Wells’s shoulder into the smoke-choked sky.

As they waited in the alley’s relative quiet, the sounds of the city tearing itself apart washed over them. Curses flew like poisoned arrows as neighbor turned upon neighbor. Wells sighed, leaning against the cool, damp stone of the alley wall.

"What's going to happen, Cirus?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"What do you mean, Wells?"

"My training," Wells said, his voice frantic. "You took me toward the Burning Plains for my safety, and we were attacked. We returned to Tor Alian for protection, and now… the entire city is in an uproar. What now?"

"I don't know, Wells." The simple, sharp reply sent a shiver down Wells's spine.

A moment later, Aria returned, landing softly on his shoulder, her breath coming fast. "There is a way through," she reported. "It will be difficult, but it's clear of the worst of it."

"Good. Lead on," Cirus ordered.

Aria took flight again, a dark speck against the bruised sky. She guided them through a labyrinthine route of back alleys, skirting the most violent clashes. As they drew nearer to the castle, the guards became more numerous and organized, forming lines and slowly containing the mayhem. Aria dropped back to Wells's shoulder as Cirus approached the gate.

"Excuse me," he said to the nearest guard, whose armor was dented and stained. "I am Cirus Crewe. I require entry to the castle."

The guard lifted his helm, revealing the sweaty, grimy face of Sir Halron. "Cirus! By Astalor's hoof, how did you get through that mess?"

"I have my ways," Cirus said airily. "Would you be so kind as to let my apprentice and me pass?"

"Yes, of course." Sir Halron's tired eyes softened as he smiled at Wells. He turned and yelled at the stone-faced guards blocking the entrance, clearing a path. Just as he pulled the massive gate open, a surge from the mob pressed forward, trying to force their way in.

Cirus spun, his ring flaring. He summoned a whip of crackling flame, nearly identical to the one Helena had wielded. He cracked it in the air, creating a sharp, explosive sound meant to frighten. It had the opposite effect.

"He's a sorcerer!" a man in the crowd shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger. "He's with the Order!"

His face grim, Cirus extinguished the flame. Seizing the moment, Sir Halron shoved him and Wells through the opening and slammed the gate shut. He leaned heavily against the thick wood, pulling off his helmet and gasping for breath.

"What is all this?" Cirus demanded, his voice a low growl. "I cannot imagine Tor Alian descending into such chaos."

"It started an hour ago," Sir Halron said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his gauntlet. "We officially declared war on the Auran Empire. The people are… not pleased. It ends more than one hundred fifty years of peace in Anolin. They're angry at the Crown, at sorcerers, at Coralans—they just need someone to blame."

Cirus shook his head, his expression one of deep sorrow. "Horrible. Halron, I will help you restore order." He glanced at Wells and Aria. "You two are to go inside the fortress and stay there. Find your friends, but do not leave the castle walls for any reason. Is that understood?"

"We want to help!" Wells insisted. "We helped you fight Helena and Anais!"

"Fighting two warlocks is a far simpler task than stopping a riot," Cirus interrupted, his tone forceful. "My word on this is final. Stay inside. Stay safe."

"But—"

"My word, Wells, is final," Cirus repeated, already turning back toward the fray.

Wells sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He walked up the winding stone path through the castle garden toward the main entrance. Behind him, the muffled shouts of Cirus and Sir Halron faded as they rejoined the chaos. A lone, fully armored guard stood sentinel before the main doors, his visor down.

"Did you hear that conversation?" Wells asked, glancing dejectedly back at the gates.

The guard nodded, the movement rattling his armor. He folded his arms, blocking the entrance.

"Well, are you going to let us pass?" Wells inquired, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

The guard shook his head.

"What?" Aria squawked in disbelief. "Did you not hear Lord Cirus's orders? That was Cirus Crewe of the Order of Sorcerers, in case you were unaware. You would be wise to obey him." Her sharp eyes scanned the guard. "You'd better do as he says, boy."

"Does your bird always talk?" came a muffled voice from within the helmet. "I haven't seen one of those in Remira."

"Vance?" Wells exclaimed.

The guard removed his helm, and Vance Darrow shook his sweat-dampened hair free, a broad grin splitting his face. "Impressive, isn't it? Where'd you get a talking bird?"

"She's not a bird," Wells mumbled, rolling his eyes as Aria launched into a detailed explanation of the superiority of the kithara species. "Yes, this is my kithara. Her name is Aria Ashwing."

"Ah, a kithara," Vance said, nodding. "Sir Alaric told me about them." He raised his voice slightly to be heard over Aria’s indignant tirade. "I must say, Aria, you have magnificent plumage."

"—and my talons are far sharper than a common— what?" Aria blinked, her rant cut short.

"You have magnificent plumage," Vance repeated with a charming smile. "It's quite striking."

Aria cooed. "Why, thank you! It's hard to believe you're a friend of Wells's. You're Vance?" He nodded. "Well, Vance, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"What are you doing back in Tor Alian?" Wells asked. "I thought you and Sir Alaric went to Corala."

"We did," Vance confirmed. "We were there for about a week before Sir Alaric decided recruiting for the Coralan Army was a lost cause. We returned two days ago. King Haelen himself tasked me with guarding the castle doors while he was in the city." He beamed with pride.

"Where are the others?" Wells asked. "I need to see them." And, he thought, find a way to slip out and help restore order.

"Aidan and Juliana are in the Great Hall," Vance said. "We don't know where Nikolai is."

"Take me to them."

"Oh, I can't desert my post," Vance replied, his expression serious. "King Haelen himself asked me."

"The guards at the main gate are stopping anyone from getting through," Wells reasoned. "It'll be fine. Don't worry."

Vance hesitated, glancing at the gates. The clamor outside had indeed lessened, suggesting the mob had been pushed back. "Alright," he conceded. "But you dare not mention this to Sir Alaric."

Wells smiled. "I won't."

"He means we won't," Aria clarified, pinching his shoulder.

Vance pushed open the heavy doors, and they stepped into a vast entry hall. "Whoa," Aria breathed, craning her neck to look at the high, vaulted ceilings. "This is not nearly as confining as most buildings you humans insist on creating."

Vance led them down a long corridor lit by flickering torches. At the far end, an archway opened into an even larger chamber with long tables and a raised dais. The room was empty save for two figures in a far corner: Aidan and Juliana, locked in a kiss.

Wells’s eyebrows shot up. "Okay," he whispered to Vance. "Didn't see that coming."

"They've been like that since I got back," Vance muttered, then cleared his throat far louder than necessary. Aidan and Juliana sprang apart, both blushing furiously. They leaped to their feet and rushed toward Wells.

"Wells!" Juliana cried, pulling him into a tight hug. "Gods, you're back! And you smell like the outdoors." She laughed, releasing him only to hug him again.

"Juliana, give the man some air," Aidan chuckled, gently pulling her away. He clapped Wells on the chest. "It's good to see you, my friend. How was the training?"

Wells introduced Aria and gave them the short version of his journey, glossing over the worst parts. As he spoke, he noticed his friends had changed. They had traded their old clothes for garments befitting their new stations. Aidan was dressed in the finery of a prince, while Juliana wore an elegant, dark velvet gown.

"I heard a little about what you two have been up to," Wells said, then blushed as he fumbled for the right words. "What you've each been doing, I mean. Not—not together. Since I left. Separately."

They all laughed. "Artfully put," Aidan said. "Sit. We have nothing else to do, so we can catch up."

"Actually," Wells whispered, his voice conspiratorial, "I think we do. We should go out there and try to bring some order to the city."

"We can't!" Juliana gasped, though a defiant spark lit her eyes. "Lady Isilde ordered me to stay inside!"

"So?" Wells countered. "Cirus told me the same thing. When have we ever listened to the adults?"

"This isn't a flooded cellar, Wells," Vance said, his voice faltering. "This is a riot. We could get seriously hurt."

"And who are we?" Aidan interrupted brightly. "Vance, we've learned a few things about fighting. Juliana's got a mean right hook. And Wells is a sorcerer. He could probably incinerate anyone who gets too close."

Wells looked away, forcing a weak laugh.

"He's right, Vance," Juliana insisted. "Besides, we won't get caught."

Vance's gaze darted between their determined faces before landing on Aria. "What do you think of all this?" he asked her.

"This building is damp and reminds me of a cave," she sniffed. "I wouldn't mind some fresh air and the chance to peck a few rioters. A dragon trained me. I fear nothing."

"See?" Aidan chuckled. "Even the bird is more fun than you!"

Vance's lips tightened into a thin line. "I can be fun," he said defensively. "You want fun? Fine. Let's go have some fun outside."

"Alright," Wells murmured, a smile finally breaking through his fear. It was good to be with his friends again.