The Triumphant Return

by N M Zoltack

  “I have been chosen to form two teams,” Edmund said loudly so all those gathered would be able to hear him. “One to help defend the castle and another to act as sentries.”

  “The castle isn’t defended enough already?” Jurian Hansen asked. He brushed his black hair back. The knight had been one of the ones to tease Edmund, but he might be one of Edmund’s closest friends now, and the knight had even warmed up to Tatum, having at first been certain that all female alchemists without question were vile vipers instead of women.

  “Considering the Vincanans will attack in three or four days, no, I think not,” Edmund said dryly, but then he shook his head at himself. That information was pertinent to their mission. He should have explained that.

  “In that case, I wish to defend the castle,” Jurian said.

  “As do I.” Simba nodded.

  Tjaart Kamua, Chima Botha, Tau Maina, the trio of guards hailing from Tiapan island, asked to be sentries, and Edmund readily agreed with all of their preferences.

  “I would like to defend the castle,” Teoma said.

  Edmund grimaced. “I thought you would be better served as a sentry.”

  Teoma grinned and held out his hands. “When have I been known to be silent?”

  A fair point.

  “Very well,” Edmund conceded.

  Sorting the knights and guards into one of the two teams proved to be an easy affair, especially since most made requests that he accepted. For the most part, the bulk of the sentries were guards. Likewise, the vast majority of the defenders of the castle were knights. Yes, guards were knights, but they were lesser knights, and everyone knew that. Could Edmund dare to hope that once the war was won that he would become a true and honest knight? Would he be elevated from the ranks of the guardsman? He hoped so. Perhaps the Fates would see fit to have him thus honored since, without a doubt, the Fates would allow Tenoch to win.

  Once the two teams were all settled, the defenders on his right, the sentries on his left, Edmund rubbed his hands together. “Shall we plan a strategy?” he asked.

  So many called out ideas or locations for the sentries to stand, but Edmund couldn’t hear everyone with them talking over each other. He also found it difficult to concentrate.

  He held up his hands. “One at a time, please!”

  The defenders went first, proposing that every arrow slit along the barbican should have an archer perched there, ready to fire. At the top of every tower should be barrels of oil they could set ablaze before tumbling down on the invaders. Simba mentioned that it was a shame they had only one curtain wall. The idea of having two, both immensely thick and capable of withstanding battering rams, was rather genius but also not feasible. They hadn’t the time for such a notion. An undertaking like that would require so many stones and the manpower… Perhaps in the future, they could consider and implement this, but until later, when there was no active threat, they would be stuck with just the one curtain wall. It would have to suffice, but the Vincanans had already breached their wall once. They had to do their best to prevent that from happening again.

  The sentries mentioned keeping barrels of fire near every arrow slit so they could shoot fiery arrows if the Vincanans should approach at night, but a fire would also aid the Vincanans, would it not?

  The discussion on this point was hotly debated, and Edmund fell silent, allowing them to settle the matter amongst themselves.

  Even as they began to finalized matters, Edmund could not help wondering why he wasn’t even happier that he was finally getting recognized as a knight. What more was it that he wished for?

  26

  Rase Ainsley

  After leaving the Snells’, Rase spent the rest of the day with his friends. It was late, incredibly late by the time he returned home. For the better part of the next few days, Rase continued to cultivate his friendships. They bought him food, and he saved most of it to bring home to his ma and sister.

  The night when he had saved nearly an entire feast for them, Rase whistled as he walked along the path to the shack of a house they called home. While he wasn’t any closer to determining how best to handle the likes of Radcliff Snell, Rase had to plan for the long-term. Allies were far more important enemies, and Rase needed far more of the first and far fewer of the second.

  Still whistling, he opened the door and strolled inside. “I’m sorry I’m so late tonight,” he said, “but you won’t mind when you eat some of this. It’s…”

  He wrinkled his nose. The intoxicating smell of the deliciously prepared and hot meal was mixing with the stench of something else altogether.

  Rase dropped the bag of food onto the ground and rushed forward. The floor was slick, and he nearly slipped and fell in his haste to reach the small rock they used as a table. Perched on top was a candle. An unlit candle. Why wasn’t it lit already? The candle hadn’t burned down to the wick yet. At least, he thought it hadn’t yet.

  His shin banged into the rock, and he winced. The candle toppled, and Rase had to fumble around to locate it. His fingers brushed against the slick floor. He couldn’t for the life of him conjure up what might have spilled.

  In the pure darkness, it took Rase several attempts, and still, the candle wasn't lit yet. His fingers refused to cooperate, he dropped the kindling. He blew too hard, and the flame died out before he could light the candle…

  And he was nervous and worried. His ma and sister hadn’t said a word. Were they even here? Had they gone to visit someone? Who and at such a late hour? It just wasn’t likely. Maybe they were sleeping that soundly, and if that were the case, he was grateful he hadn’t shouted and stirred them from their slumber.

  Finally, the candle lit, and the light blinded him. Rase glanced around, trying to see, and he spied his ma first. She lay on the ground, her face smashed against the floor. A red liquid was spilled all around her, and it took Rase's brain far too long to realize just what he was seeing.

  Blood.

  His ma was bleeding.

  Rase raised over to her, wincing slightly as hot wax dripped onto his hand. With his free hand, he rolled his ma onto her back, and he almost vomited.

  She had been cut from her neck down to her stomach, so deeply that Rase could see inside her, see her bones, see her organs. Her eyes were open, and Rase just stared at her, wishing he could know what she had last seen, needing to know who had committed such a disgusting, vicious, deplorable act against his ma.

  Wait. Where was Leanne?

  “Leanne!” Rase shouted.

  He didn’t want to leave his ma’s side, wishing he could give her some comfort even though she couldn’t feel anything anymore.

  At least that means she can’t feel pain anymore either.

  Tears poured down Rase’s face as he forced himself to stand.

  “Leanne,” he said again, his voice harsher but also softer. His strength was fading, and all he wanted to do was crumble apart. He wanted to hug his ma, but how could he now when she was all cut open like an animal?

  “Ma,” he whispered.

  Air barely entered his lungs. His vision grew dark around the edge, but he forced himself to turn his head, to turn his body, to examine every place, and finally, in the back corner, he spied Leanne’s crumpled form. There was a puddle there too, more blood, and Rase raced over to her, somehow finding the strength to move quickly. His foot slid on the blood, and he fell flat on his back, his head smacking against the ground. Dazed, he lay there a long moment. Every other time he opened his eyes after a blink, he saw only darkness.

  “Rase.”

  He sat up and groaned. His stomach remained queasy, and now his backside was slick with blood. Just that thought made him want to be sick.

  But he had heard his name, hadn’t he? Or was that just his imagination?

  “Rase?”

  “Leanne.”

  He couldn't bring himself to stand, so he crawled over to his sister.

  “Are you…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the questio
n.

  “I…”

  “Who did this?” he whispered angrily. “Who?”

  “I… I didn’t see.”

  “You didn’t see him?”

  “It was a him. I think. He was tall, but he had on a mask. I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Not a word. He… He sliced me first, and then Ma came home… She had… She went… She was trying to find someone who would give her more cotton.”

  “Cotton?”

  “She wanted to make you more clothes,” Leanne whispered. “You’ve done so much for us since Pa, before Pa, with Maxene…” She choked back a sob.

  “Where are you hurt?” Rase asked.

  “My shoulder,” she murmured. “It’s… It’s deep, but… I should live.”

  Should live. Should.

  “Was it Radcliff Snell?” Rase wondered aloud.

  “Who?” Leanne slurred the word. “Rase, I’m so tired.”

  “Sleep,” he urged, sinking to sit beside her, not caring that he was in a puddle of her blood. He guided her head onto his shoulder, and the two did not move from their positions all night. Not that Rase slept. He had fun earlier that day, had perhaps been laughing when his ma had been gutted. It was all Rase could do to be there for his sister. All he longed to do was to find the reprobate who had done that and gut him.

  Whoever had done this would pay, but only after Rase was certain Leanne would live. Life came first, but Death… Death would follow shortly thereafter.

  27

  Ulric Cooper

  The days passed by slowly, and the peasants seemed to be listening to Ulric more, which made him very happy indeed. Rosalynne had sent a messenger to him. The Vincanans were planning an attack on the castle. In case the attack occurred at night, she thought it might be best if he and his band did not venture too close to the castle for fear that they might be attacked accidentally.

  Ulric hadn’t cared for that at all. Why couldn’t he and his band be inside the castle walls so that they could help defend the place? But she had also alerted him to the fact that more ships were supposedly sailing their way. To defend their beaches, Rosalynne was turning to him and his band since so many were being pulled to the castle.

  Perhaps the Ember Sea was having a calming effect on his band. There was fish to be had, occasionally a squirrel, and none of their bellies were entirely empty, although none were completely full.

  Ulric sat on a boulder overlooking the peaceful waters. No signs of any ship approaching could be seen, and he used a rock to hone his sword. The others were scattered about, talking, swimming, ignoring each other. One was using a bone to pick his teeth.

  Once his sword was sharpened, Ulric stood, sheathed it, and tossed the rock aside.

  “Aloys,” he called. “Come with me.”

  Ulric had insisted that they never leave the party alone. They were safer when they were in pairs, safer still when they were all together.

  Aloys Carter complied, crossing over to Ulric, and they headed away from the beach.

  “Where are we going?” Aloys asked.

  “I thought the breeze carried a scent,” Ulric murmured.

  Aloys sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “I might be wrong,” Ulric admitted.

  “Just what did you smell that you want to investigate it?” Aloys wondered.

  Ulric pursed his lips and shook his head. “Nothing good,” he muttered. “I don’t want to alarm the others, but…”

  He glanced over his shoulder. A few of the others had noticed they were walking away, but they did not approach.

  “Let’s go,” Ulric said, wishing they could remain on the beach.

  Blood. The smell of blood. The servant hated that he could so easily recognize the stench now, but he could. He likewise wished he had never learned that men tended to lose their bowels when they died, but such was the life of the servant-turned-fighter.

  The wind had died down completely, but the stench grew regardless. Aloys nodded to Ulric, and they pushed aside a shrub to reveal a face Ulric recognized immediately.

  The Vincanan they had captured, his men had tortured, and he had released.

  “Who killed him?” Aloys whispered.

  “One of ours, one of theirs…” Ulric shrugged and then stilled. “Do you hear that?”

  Aloys put his hand on his hilt.

  “Go back and get the others,” Ulric murmured, hardly moving his lips.

  The fighter clearly did not wish to go, but Ulric just gestured violently behind them, and Aloys rushed away.

  His band joined him a few minutes later, and Ulric led the way. He’d heard voices and twigs snapping, and it wasn’t long at all before they spied the other group.

  Five Vincanans, easily recognizable by their armor.

  Ulric didn’t even have to gesture for them to attack. His band descended upon their enemies, and Ulric engaged one himself. Instead of going for the killing blow, Ulric bashed his hilt against the man’s temple. He dropped like a stone, still breathing but unconscious.

  “Try to take them prisoner!” Ulric called out, but he already spied three dead bodies.

  Thankfully, his band heard and listened, surrounding the last Vincanan and working together to disarm him.

  Ulric entered the circle around the conscious captive. “You have a choice,” he said. “Either you talk, or you die.”

  “Kill me already.” The man spat in his face.

  Ulric did not wipe away the wad of salvia. All he did was hold the tip of his sword against the man’s throat.

  “We know that more ships are coming,” the former servant said. “How many? How many fighters per ship? Where will they be landing?”

  “How many depends on how fast they’ve been able to build new ships. I haven’t an idea how many.” The man grinned but said no more.

  “How many fighters per ship?”

  The Vincanan scowled.

  "Twenty," came a garbled voice.

  Ulric shifted so he could see both Vincanans. The one he had knocked out was sitting up now, a half-circle of peasants keeping him there.

  “Where?” Ulric asked.

  “Maybe by a river. Maybe from the south. Maybe near the swamp.” The always-conscious Vincanan shrugged. “We aren’t exactly in a place to know these details, given how far away from home we are.”

  “You should return home,” Gomes whined.

  “These details, sparse as they were, could they possibly be accurate? Or were they merely throughout out numbers and places to spread the guards and knights too thin?

  “Thank you for the information,” Ulric said. “You have a choice now. You can switch sides and fight for Tenoch Proper and be free once the war is over or—”

  He didn’t have the chance to finish. The Vincanan closest to him yanked out a dagger and stabbed up and under his ribs. He collapsed to his knees and fell forward onto his face.

  Ulric whirled around toward the other captive, but he too had killed himself.

  He muttered a curse. He would send Aloys… No. He needed Aloys’ joyful nature here to help ensure the band remained rallied to him. Armel could tell Queen Rosalynne what they had learned this day.

  Progress? Somewhat, yes, but he had to be certain that the band would always listen to him, no matter the circumstances. For now, they were happy because they were fed, but the food Rosalynne had sent was already being rationed thinly among them. Only if they would heed him would he be able to truly help the queen, and that remained all Ulric could and would ever want.

  28

  Bjorn Ivano

  The sunlight blinded Bjorn, and he groaned. He was so very tired. Why?

  In part because he had been chasing after a rider on horseback for days.

  In part because he had hardly slept during that chase.

  And lastly, in part because he and Olympia had stayed up so late talking.

  When she wasn’t concerned about the crown and her birth
right, Olympia was actually a delight to talk to. She was witty and warm, and despite her living almost entirely all of her life on Xalac, she knew more than most. The stories she told might not be accurate history, but they remained entertaining anyhow.

  With a start, he realized she was awake already and was staring out the window.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “It is a morning,” she said dryly.

  “Why is there no covering for the window?” he grumbled.

  “You’re lucky I allowed you to sleep in my bed,” she said haughtily.

  He grinned and opened his mouth.

  She held up her hand. “Do not.”

  “Do not what?” he protested.

  “Whatever you were just thinking, keep it to yourself. I do not wish to hear it.”

  No, she probably did not.

  Bjorn stood, crossed over to the window, and peered out. In the near distance, he could see the Olacic Mountains.

  “We should go to Olac,” he said.

  When the princess did not respond, he turned toward her. She was frowning.

  “Olac is southwest, is it not?” she asked with confidence, certain in her geography, and right she was. “Atlan is southeast. Why would we go to Olac? It is out of the way!”

  “Yes, but I believe you will find secret followers there.”

  "Do you now?" she asked wryly. "And have you ever been to Olac before?"

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ve seen their pyramid. It’s not as impressive as the one in Maloyan, of course.”

  “Of course,” she repeated in a tone that suggested she thought him partial. “And do you know any of these secret followers by name?”

  He said nothing.

  "Have you spoken to them? No? Bjorn, come now. I do not want to waste any more time."

  “I understand that, but—”

  “The war could cause there to be no land left for me to rule over,” she continued, acting as if he had not spoken.