The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  Kitlyn walked with her to the door. “As am I. We will have all day tomorrow for worry.”

  The sun hung low in the sky, the bottom edge barely touching the meadow grass in the west and making the waters of the distant Lake Orien glow like a pool of liquid flame. Kitlyn, much to the disapproval of the majority of her advisors, had left her crown safe in the castle. While she didn’t expect to be attacked, it struck her as unwise to wear a metal ring on her head in the midst of a fight—or have it go rolling away the moment she tumbled or fell over.

  She had taken inspiration from Emissary Raesa and hastily arranged for a set of light armor, mostly leather with a bit of chain mail in patches for extra protection. Past kings had ridden into battle wearing armor, but the sight of her and Oona in breeches instead of gowns had set off a flurry of whispering and gawking. Women had fought in the military for as long as she could recall, so there hadn’t been any shortage of ready-made armor in her size sitting around in Cimril.

  While hers lacked the leafy motif of the emissary’s, it offered quite a bit more protection than a flimsy cloth tunic and loose breeches. Kitlyn narrowed her eyes, thinking about the man who yanked her pants down in the middle of a swordfight to trip her up. That couldn’t happen with her present attire.

  Oona’s squirmy discomfort at the armor so reminded her of a cat forced to wear clothes that she’d spent most of the day stifling snickers. While she didn’t complain about her pants riding up or how strange she thought it to mount a saddle like a boy, her body language did all the grousing for her. If anything should happen that required them to ride faster than walking, it would be Kitlyn who turned into the awkward one. Princess Oona had taken riding lessons from age ten or so up. Every so often, she’d whined the stable master into allowing Kitlyn to participate, but by no means had that occurred with any regularity. Controlling a horse at high speed scared her as much as walking a tightrope between two of Castle Cimril’s towers.

  Once again, a group of twenty soldiers, two messengers, and a handful of attendants had accompanied them. Kitlyn had opted to ride instead of taking a coach for greater speed. Oona’s horse, Cloud, a pure white stallion with a long snowy mane, seemed ecstatic to be out of the castle stables. Kitlyn had taken an unassigned dark chestnut warhorse named Apples from the military stables. His former rider had died a year ago during the war. Kitlyn thought the animal lacked the disposition for a warhorse, being too friendly and docile.

  The pleasant day made the ride reasonably quick, the time passed with easy conversation. Raesa mostly asked about Lucernia, commenting on the relative lack of forest. Evermoor lacked meadows or open fields, being almost entirely covered in dense woodlands or swampy moors toward the southeast.

  They arrived at Crows’ Corner with perhaps an hour and a half of daylight left, having made haste throughout the day. Several dozen dark brown buildings of austere design emerged from the rolling meadow up ahead, coming into view as Kitlyn crested a shallow hill. A rickety wooden sign beside the road with two arrows stuck in it bore the town’s name. The occasional bizarre root gnarl stuck up in the grass off to the right. Kitlyn puzzled over them for a moment until she realized they’d come from Evermoor rootcallers, likely during a battle here.

  Raesa didn’t react to the signs of war, her attention fixated straight ahead.

  Soldiers, likely some of those she had sent to reinforce the town, gathered at the south end by the road to meet the approaching group. Kitlyn rode up to them and managed a not-too-clumsy dismount, jumping to the ground beside Apples. She patted him and waved over one of the attendants.

  “We have been traveling fast all day. Please see to the horses. I wish to use what little daylight we have left.”

  “Yes, highness,” said the man before taking the reins.

  Oona slid from her saddle as gracefully as a faerie gliding down from a branch. She spent a little longer talking to Cloud and rubbing his face and mane affectionately.

  “What news?” asked Kitlyn, approaching the oldest looking soldier. “And you are?”

  Some of the men eyed Raesa with thinly-veiled hostility, likely recognizing the design of her armor as being from Evermoor.

  “Edgar, highness. ’Tis been quiet. No further attacks, though the locals are spooked. There is talk of demons about.”

  That pulled Oona’s attention away from Cloud. She walked over, craning her neck to gaze around as if searching but not finding something.

  Kitlyn surveyed the spread of buildings. The center of town had a modest attempt at cobblestone streets and some more well-constructed buildings, but a loose scattering of homes and farmhouses in the surrounding meadow comprised at least half the town. “Where did the attacks occur?”

  “One moment.” Edgar sent another man off to ‘summon the three,’ then turned back to her. “The dead were all in the southeast, except for one found inside his house. A few who survived the attacks had been near enough to shelter to get inside. They claimed the spirits refused to enter.”

  Oona whispered, “I do not sense anything unnatural here.”

  “Shall we encourage the people to cease speaking of demons?” Edgar’s pleading smile looked more like a grimace.

  Kitlyn held up a hand. “Not until we know for sure.”

  The younger soldier returned with three more men in chain mail armor that appeared noticeably less well kept than the others. The black-haired man appeared to be in his early twenties, behind him a taller man with dark brown hair who approached thirty. The last soldier had the look of youth about him, perhaps not quite twenty yet.

  Edgar gestured at them. “This be Jesh, Marus, and Paul. They are the permanent guard.”

  “Only three?” asked Oona.

  “Used to be forty,” said Marus. “We lost about half to fighting, and the others not born here went home once the war ended. Crows’ Corner’s not got much worth takin’, so we don’t need too many acting as the law. ’Bout half the town’s got blades close at hand if need be, but they have better things ta do all day than walk around makin’ sure no one picks pockets.”

  “What can you tell me of the attacks?” asked Kitlyn.

  Jesh and Paul gave her odd looks, but kept quiet.

  “We lost nine men, includin’ Fann and Willam.” Marus glanced to the east.

  “Those two men had some significance politically?” Kitlyn looked in the same direction, but noticed only meadow.

  “No. Just the town drunks.” Marus chuckled. “Seems anyone out and about at night had a bad time of it. Only one poor sot, Anders, went to Tenebrea while inside.”

  Oona fidgeted at her belt, shifting her armored pants. “Perhaps he was the attack’s true target and the others may have been a diversion? Who was Anders?”

  “Just a farmer.” Paul, the youngest, scratched at his unkempt hay-blond hair. “Kept to himself. Lived alone. Wasn’t much for bein’ around others.”

  “Did he have any troubles with anyone?” asked Oona.

  “Two, yeah.” Jesh nodded. “He got a little rough with a couple of young boys for messing around in his field and ruining some crops. The boys’ fathers gave him a good ol’ punch up for it, but I don’t think they’d have gone so far as to summon something from the Pit to take him.”

  “Can we see the sites of the attacks?” asked Raesa.

  “Wot’s she doin’ ’ere?” Jesh eyed her.

  “Similar attacks are occurring in Evermoor.” Kitlyn gave him a ‘back off’ stare. “She is a diplomatic emissary.”

  The soldiers all seemed to relax at the same time, except for the three locals who continued to sneak suspicious glances at Raesa.

  “Aye, this way.” Marus waved her to follow as he walked off.

  Kitlyn assumed the almost-thirty man the one in charge of the other two, nodded, and followed him.

  They spent the next half hour or so touring areas of open meadow within the town’s boundaries. Some still had patches of dried blood in the grass that suggested grievous wounds. Wherev
er signs of violence existed, Raesa squatted and studied the ground. Kitlyn also crouched and pressed her hand to the dirt since she’d worn boots. Upon opening her thoughts up to the Earth, she tried to feel the memory of the stone as she had when tracking Oona across Evermoor.

  A brief sense of multiple small beings running around came and went. She sighed and relaxed her magic, having no interest in reading the route taken by a bunch of town children at play. At the fourth attack site, Raesa honed in on a small patch of dirt where the meadow grass had failed to cover.

  “Oh, darn,” muttered Raesa, sounding disappointed.

  “What is it?” Kitlyn walked over. “A track?”

  “Yes, but probably just one of the locals. Looks like a young boy.” She traced the outline of a bare footprint, the front quarter lost to the grass at the edge of the dirt patch. “His toes came down on the grass where most of the weight landed. I’d say this is a ten-to-twelve year old quite used to being barefoot.”

  “How can you tell that from a track?” Oona raised her eyebrows.

  “You’ve not observed how she walks?” Raesa nodded toward Kitlyn, smiling. “People used to shoes land on their heels with each stride. Otherwise, people put most of their weight on the front of the foot.”

  “Hmm. I’ve sensed children walking around at every place where someone was killed.” Kitlyn crouched to examine the track. “But I imagine there have been kids roaming the town for quite a long time. The Stone has little sense of time. I could be feeling the steps of people who’ve already grown old and died.”

  “You’re not suggesting a pack of little boys did this?” asked Jesh.

  “No,” muttered Oona. “She said the footprints are likely much older than what happened here.”

  “What did the bite marks look like?” Kitlyn continued staring at the footprint. She tried to push the grass out of the way to look where the toes should be, but the ground offered no more clues.

  “Horrible,” said Marus. “Like a butcher carving out hunks of meat the size of melons.”

  “With a dull saw,” added Jesh.

  The men shuddered.

  “A large bear, I think.” Paul gestured at the meadow. “Grass is tall enough to hide a decent sized one. Could lay out there waitin’ for the dark.”

  “A bear with wings.” Raesa glanced sideways at him. “There are no tracks from animals here.”

  Kitlyn stood up, clapping dirt from her hands. “Where is Anders’ house?”

  “Over that ways, north a bit.” Jesh raised his arm in a gesture somewhere between waving and pointing, then walked in that direction.

  Kitlyn followed, Oona trailing close. Emissary Raesa lagged a few paces behind them at a much slower gait, still studying the ground. A handful of soldiers appeared quite fascinated with her—especially whenever she stooped to examine something.

  The woman either didn’t notice them staring at her rear end or didn’t care. Kitlyn clenched her jaw. She’d take it up with a lieutenant later, not wanting to make a scene on the off chance Raesa hadn’t noticed the boorish conduct of her soldiers. Since they only stared in silence, it could wait, though she kept an eye on them.

  A few minutes later, Jesh hopped a low wooden fence onto a plot of farmland. Kitlyn vaulted it without hesitation while Oona ducked between the uppermost and middle rails. Raesa almost had long enough legs to merely step over it, though she, too, jumped. Jesh headed straight across a field of mostly-harvested wheat to a large-framed single story house made of plain wood, dark near to the point of black.

  “Strange bit of business, this.” Jesh cringed. “We found him in the chair by the hearth. No sign of a fight, though plenty o’ blood went everywhere. You, uhh, may not want to look inside. Hasn’t been cleaned up as yet.”

  “Blood does not weaken my nerve,” said Kitlyn, a twitch in her jaw. Looking at a patch of it on the floor couldn’t possibly bother her as much as staring into the eyes of a man she’d impaled on a longsword.

  Some of the soldiers chuckled. The tone of it implied they thought her ‘cute’ for trying to act tough.

  Ignoring the wordless insult, Kitlyn approached the house and examined the walls while Raesa checked the ground. While walking around the outside, Kitlyn noted numerous scratches in the wood that appeared fresh, free of dirt or grime like the dark brown muck collected in the gaps between boards. The pattern of scuffs going up to the roof, some even traversing the wall sideways, confirmed what she’d started to suspect from the combination of child-sized footprints, enormous bite wounds, and Oona’s description of dark shadows racing through Cimril.

  Nimse. She closed her eyes, thinking of those accursed creatures, and pressed her hand to the ground. In seconds, her skin crawled with a sensation like mice racing back and forth all over her in every direction. The feeling made her think back to the cave-dwelling creatures scurrying around the walls of Underholm in defiance of gravity. What are they doing out here?

  She rounded the rear corner of the house, navigating a collection of farm equipment, and made her way down the other wall, where Raesa stood staring upward.

  The tall redhead glanced over at her. “Something climbed to the roof here. There’s a small attic window with no glass. No bear could’ve fit through that, but look.” She pointed. “A smear of blood on the roof.”

  “Nimse,” said Kitlyn. “The blood must’ve been on its hands when it climbed out.”

  Raesa blinked. “Are you certain? I’ve heard of them, but only as a myth.”

  “I’m quite certain they exist as I came too close to them not long ago.”

  Oona moved around to the side of the house. “What is it?”

  The soldiers followed her, everyone eyeing the house.

  “Oy. There’s blood on the roof.” Paul pointed at it. “How’d we miss that before?”

  “Not looking up, perhaps?” asked one of the soldiers from her escort.

  Some of the men chuckled, while the three local soldiers grumbled, somewhat embarrassed.

  “The scratches all over the house.” Kitlyn pointed. “They were searching for a way in. I’d not be surprised if more dwellings here had similar markings. See that everyone secures all windows and doors at night until we determine why they are attacking.”

  “Demons,” said a fiftyish man in armor as disheveled as the three locals’, shaking his head. He nodded at Kitlyn. “It’s got to be demons. What’d we expect? Lucen has turned his back on us because the queen loves a woman. ’Tis only going to get worse.”

  Most of the soldiers turned as white as ghosts, except for Jesh, Marus, Paul, and the one who’d made the comment.

  Oona’s dark blue eyes simmered with anger.

  “Uhh, Harold,” whispered a soldier from the group who had arrived days before. “You are speaking to the queen.”

  Jesh, Marus, and Paul blinked and stared at her. In seconds, the color ran from their cheeks as well. Paul took a half step away from Harold.

  The older man’s eyes fluttered. He seemed about to faint. Most of the soldiers glanced anywhere but at Harold or Kitlyn. Raesa folded her arms with an ‘oh, this should be good’ sort of expression.

  Oona, her voice surprisingly calm, said, “This is not the work of demons. It—”

  “These are not demons.” Kitlyn rested a hand on Oona’s shoulder to apologize for cutting in while glaring at Harold. “The creatures who did this are known as Nimse. They dwell in Underholm, vast in number, and are able to scale walls and ceilings. Though they stand not much taller than a man’s stomach, their heads are as big as melons with enormous mouths full of triangular teeth.”

  “Nimse…” Raesa resumed looking around at the dirt.

  Oona stepped up on Harold, holding her right hand up, cradling her pet light ball. Its shimmering blue radiance made some of the men squint. “While you are free to have your opinions about who I love, do not use Lucen as an excuse for the bleakness in your own heart. If Lucen objected, he would take his gift back from me as he did from
the former king.”

  Kitlyn tugged at her shoulder.

  “I shall never understand your society.” Raesa leaned on her bow like a staff. “Why are your people so preoccupied with such trivial things as the quality of one’s clothing matching their social status or who complete strangers choose to give their heart to?”

  “Forgive me, highness.” Harold bowed his head. “I did not… no crown… armor…”

  “Yes, yes.” Kitlyn sighed. “I’m well aware I look like a common soldier at the moment. Shall I traipse about in the mud and fields wearing a gown that barely allows me to move? Would you expect a king to tour the countryside dressed in his finest?”

  Everyone kept quiet.

  Raesa stood. “The tracks I assumed to belong to young boys are likely Nimse. It seems these creatures are raiding both kingdoms. Wolf Glen is rather near Underholm, and had similar tracks.”

  “I did not come here to impress anyone.” Kitlyn approached the house and ran her fingers down a particularly long groove likely from a Nimse claw. “We’re here to put a stop to these attacks.”

  The moment she ceased staring at Harold, the man nearly fainted.

  Oona stepped inside the house, her light ball floating around above her head. “Little is disturbed in here. It appears to have attacked the man and… Kit.”

  She hurried in, her gaze following Oona’s pointing finger to a bizarre series of bloody prints on the wall leading to a hole at the top of a rickety staircase.

  “How did your people fail to notice that?” asked Oona.

  Marus, Jesh, and Paul entered, along with a few of the soldiers who’d come to reinforce the town.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, highness.” Marus gestured at the wall. “’Tis dark wood. Without that light of yours, we didn’t see it.”

  Kitlyn folded her arms. “I don’t think this man died for any particular reason other than they found a way inside. The only intrigue here is why the Nimse are attacking at all, not why they chose this man.” She turned to the most senior of the soldiers. “Be on alert after dark. If they return, they will do so at night. They are small and fast, but their strength comes from numbers. One at a time, they should prove no match for any of your men.”