by N M Zoltack
“I’m just saying,” the young peasant protested.
“Rogues,” Aloys suggested.
Ulric groaned. “not you too.”
“You all talk too much,” the Vincana Ulric fought said.
Their blade tangled, and Ulric stepped forward and slammed his shoulder into the Vincanan’s shoulder. Their blades did not disentangle even as the foe staggered back, and Armel stabbed his sword into the Vincanan’s neck. The peasant gave Ulric a mostly toothless smile and focused his attention elsewhere.
Ulric grunted. Already, a Vincanan stepped up to take the place of the previous man, even stepped on him to reach Ulric. Had they no respect for the dead?
“What about Forbidden Doom?” Gomes proposed.
“More like Foolish Doom,” Ulric muttered, wishing he could pause to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“I heard that,” Gomes snapped.
“If you don’t pay attention—”
“I—”
Ulric winced. He longed to glance over, but he couldn’t. This Vincanan was giving him a hard time, and it took a great deal of effort not to die. In the end, he was wounded, but the Vincanan had suffered the mortal blow.
Beyond worried since the young peasant had stopped talking for far too long, Ulric risked a glance over. Sure enough, Gomes had fallen. He was breathing yet, but that wound…
The so-called leader of the band fell to his knees. “Gomes…”
“Forbidden Doom.” Gomes gave a weak smile, his teeth stained with blood. “You know, because we’re their doom.”
“Yes, yes,” Ulric promised. “Gomes…”
But it was too late. The light in his eyes from when Ulric said yes now dimmed, and the peasant breathed his last.
With a wild roar, Ulric didn’t even stand upright, not until after his sword buried deeply into the belly of the Vincanan responsible. He had to force the man onto his back and step on him to yank it back out again.
Gomes wasn't the only one to fall, not even the first, but a rage overtook Ulric now. He felt the effects of the potion all over again, as if he had drunk a second one. A man with a mission, Ulric did his best to face as many of the Vincanans as he could, stepping in when a Forbidden Doom member looked to be on the losing side. Far too quickly, that was all he was doing, engaging in other battles instead of finding a foe for himself to face alone.
If he could, he would protect all of his people, his Forbidden Dooms.
If he survived, that is.
76
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
There were two plateaus near the convergence of River Zim and Arlingway River, and Rosalynne and several guards stood on the one closer to the castle. From this high up, Rosalynne could observe the battle, not that she wished to witness the carnage, but this battle… She knew this battle would be different. The war might not end tonight, but the future would surely be changed by the outcome of this display of might.
The horses falling, that they were even targets, stole Rosalynne’s breath away. She picked up Tabes. Of late, the dog would not leave her side, and she did not mind that in the slightest, so long as he stayed away from the edge of the plateau. If he fell, he would be hurt and not killed, but he would also land on the battlefield.
A short fall unlike the one down those horrid steps her brother had been pushed after being attacked. Rosalynne squeezed the dog tighter to her chest until he yelped.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she murmured as she pet him, but was she addressing the dog or her brother?
Rosalynne’s eyes watered as she realized she was looking among the fighters for a teen in dark hair. Her sister. Vivian. How could she be down there? Why hadn’t Rosalynne forbade it?
Because she hadn’t the strength and gentleness to allow Noll to be himself. She had been too easy frustrated by his shortcomings that she hadn’t even recognized her own flaws, and she did not wish to do the same with Vivian.
There. Vivian was attacking with what looked like grace and skill, not that Rosalynne could follow every move of the blade, nor did she understand the art of sword fighting. But Vivian faced many opponents, and they all fell before her.
Her sister was a killer.
No. Her sister was a defender of the realm.
Even without a shield, Vivian was a knight.
“She has to survive,” Rosalynne murmured. “She has to be knighted.”
Try as she might, Rosalynne could not locate Ulric or Edmund for that matter. So many others were down there, fighting for her, men she had knighted, men she knew, even peasants. Anyone who wished to fight was down there.
Including Bernard Belinelli. The twenty-four-year-old from Cilla had begged to watch over Rosalynne by fighting, and she hadn’t the heart to tell him no, although she desperately hoped and wished for him to survive the conflict.
“Do not worry,” Wilfrid said. “We will win. The Fates will side with us.”
“Well, the Fates of Life and Peace are on our side,” Thorley said. The guard had originally been Rosalynne’s until she had asked him to watch over Sabine.
“True,” Wilfrid agreed. “Chaos and Death can be on theirs.”
“Do you not see?” Rosalynne muttered. “There is only Chaos down there.”
And it was the truth. The uniformed lines of the legionaries had collapsed, and individual battles were happening everywhere. They had to step over or jump around the dead bodies of fallen warriors and horses.
“I just want this day to be over,” Rosalynne whispered.
“With a victory,” Thorley assured her.
How could they be so calm? Her heart was on the battlefield, not in the castle. The castle was merely a stone building. If it should fall, so be it. A castle could be rebuilt, but the people were all that mattered.
Even as she knew this, Rosalynne was grateful she had not worn the crown this day. Although it weighed hardly anything, it overburdened her. Without the crown, she felt as if a heavy mantle still abused and strained her. For so very long, Vivian had whined and complained that she would never be queen. Rosalynne almost wished she could handle over the crown.
But, no. She was the queen, and she would rule. It seemed to her they were all pawns in a game controlled by the Fates. Perhaps Vivian had always been destined to become a warrior, as strange as that sounded. A warrior princess. Ulric had always been meant for more than being a servant. His life had been tragic so far, but he had acquitted himself so well that Rosalynne was proud to count him a loyal friend. As for Edmund, hadn’t he been the son of shoemakers? He had come a long way already.
All of them had their roles to play, and once their parts were no longer needed, they died.
Please, let none of my family or friends die.
A selfish prayer and yet she knew better than to pray that not one of her warriors should fall. Death was necessary, as terrible and uncaring as it was.
Did that mean her father had been right to kill Bates, then, if death was necessary? No, not at all. The babe should have had the chance to grow, to learn how to walk and talk, to smile and coo and brighten the lives of those around him. Jealousy was a cruel, vicious monster, and Rosalynne was grateful that he was dead, as terrible as that sounded.
Because if her father still lived… If Rosalynne had learned about what he had done…
Rosalynne just might have made an exception and had her father executed for his crime against royalty. Yes, Bates had not been his, but Aldith had been queen. The babe would have been a prince regardless, and her father had killed a royal.
Instead, he had eaten himself to death. Somehow, that was also fitting as her father had turned to food as comfort in his later years, and in the end, the food hadn’t comforted him at all.
77
Princess Vivian Rivera
The weight of the armor had been far too heavy and restrictive for Vivian, and she removed all of it before agreeing to have the chest plate at the very least. That piece did not constrict her movements, and she knew if she
wore no armor at all and she died, Rosalynne would never forgive her. Not that she would have to listen to her sister complain and gripe about not being listened to, or would she? Would Vivian be able to see and hear her loved ones once she died? Or was there nothing but oblivion?
It didn’t do to contemplate death as she climbed onto her horse for the start of the battle. She hadn’t been one of the archers, and even though she tried to warn them that the arrows would be useless against the Vincanans with their shields, even she was impressed that a few of the arrows actually did hit their targets.
The rundown on horseback had been incredible. The thought to leap from the horse's back as soon as she reached the enemy had crossed her mind, but when the time came, she remained mounted and hacked and slew Vincanans. She might not have killed every single one that her sword had licked, but she had certainly slowed them down. They would not be quite as fierce against their foes, her allies.
Eventually, a spear claimed her horse, and she threw her sword like a javelin and claimed the guilty Vincanan’s life. With a grim smile, she yanked free her sword and fought hard, using the Vincanan’s techniques against them. How easy was it to know what move they would do next and to counter with a skill that would end in their death each and every time.
Whenever she spied a Valkyrie, Vivian turned and ducked, not wishing to chance being recognized. The sight of Horatia Ramagi on the ground gave her pause, though, and she risked a moment to see if the Valkyrie breathed or not.
She did. Horatia remained alive.
Should she end her? Killing an unconscious person seemed so very wrong, more immoral than striking down an unarmed person, and that was when guilt began to sink in. Some of the wounded and dead on her side were from Valkyries. Perhaps Vivian should not be avoiding them but engaging them. What did it matter if the Vincanans finally learned who she was?
She was Princess Vivian Rivera, not Cateline Locke, and she would die to protect Tenoch Proper, to protect just Tenoch, to protect the people, her family, her friends.
But if she were to die, she would rather her foe know exactly who she was.
With the chaos of the battle all around her, she yanked out the necklace her sister had given her years before, a stone-encrusted golden piece, each stone the same shade of blue as her eyes, all sapphires.
The heavy necklace floated and slammed against her chest plate time and again as she fought off several more Vincanans. Once she killed another, she could hear footsteps behind her, and she whirled around, her blade catching her foe’s just in time.
“Who are you?” Marcellus asked.
“Vivian Rivera. We danced, do you remember?”
“I remember something rather different. I recall a dark-haired, blue-eyed raw but talented fighter sparring against Aurelia Lupus, only that female had the name of Cateline.”
Vivian couldn’t help smiling wide. “I was Cateline,” she admitted, “but I never stopped being Vivian. It may come as a surprise to you, but I never intended to go to Vincana. I never intended to be trained. I never… My brother had been murdered, and I fled and ended up far from home and somehow ended up on one of your ships. I hid away and was brought down south. I offer no apologies for my deception.”
“You did what you need to in order to survive.”
Did he sound impressed? She couldn’t be sure, but they were enemies. Mortal enemies.
As if he could read his thoughts, he lowered the tip of his sword to the ground, leaving himself vulnerable… somewhat. Unless she moved with the speed of a dragon, he would have time to bring his blade up to counter her blow.
“Does it not bother you that you’re fighting against those who trained you?” he asked.
She swallowed hard.
“No, because you haven’t, have you? I noticed you ignoring the Valkyries.”
She wrinkled her nose and scoffed. “Watching me instead of fighting alongside your people who are spilling their blood and dying for you.”
“I’ve killed two-and-twenty of your guards and knights so far,” he said mildly.
Her chest grew tight.
“You’ve learned from the best, although you haven’t trained your entire life for fighting as I have. I fear this match will not end well for you.”
Vivian’s heart raced as she brought up her sword. She forced herself to breathe normally. “I promise to be quick.”
“‘Your arrogance will get you killed.’ Isn’t that what Aurelia told you?”
She said nothing.
“And to think you were almost elevated to the rank of Valkyrie.” He shook his head sadly, but his features remained a mask as they had all throughout this talk. She could not read what he was thinking, and it irked her beyond measure. “No one from Tenoch should—”
“There had been a few Valkyries from Tenoch back in the day,” she said hotly.
“And yet, no lady knights nowadays. Is that what you fancy yourself to be now? A lady knight, the first lady knight of Tenoch? Do not forget who trained you. You are not just Tenoch.”
“I am only Tenoch.”
She balanced on the balls of her feet and then launched her attack. The two fought long and hard, both sweating, neither coming close to laying a blow on the other. Marcellus was far too fast for her to counter with a strike of her own to end him as she had with the others, but at least she could recognize his attacks and block them all. Yet, he was attacking her always. Without her being able to launch a counterattack, she would never be able to win. He would wear her down to the point of killing her with a blow she hadn’t the strength to defend.
Just then, massive clouds rolled in, plunging the land into darkness. A blade whispered behind her, and Marcellus’ hand gripped her wrist, yanking her out of the way. Had he saved her? Why?
Soon enough, the clouds departed, and only then did Marcellus release her. He glowered at the Valkyrie who had almost killed her from behind, and Vivian had to respect him slightly. He wanted to kill Vivian himself. Either that, or he wanted her to die with honor.
Darkness descended over them again, and the two looked up to watch a terribly massive winged beast fly overhead.
Was that… No. It was impossible. It couldn’t be…
Could it?
Epilogue
Olympia Li
The skies, there was something different about them, the air too. It felt charged, and her hair… She patted the top of her head. Her hair was sticking upright. She attempted to smooth her locks down, but they persisted on standing upright. She must be a sight to see.
Bjorn stood beside her, and he gripped her hand, squeezing far too hard, and yet, she did not complain. In fact, she was squeezing back just as tightly.
Something clearly was not right.
The ground began to tremor and shake, slowly at first and then growing in intensity. She grabbed onto Bjorn’s arm to steady herself.
He glanced at her, and she half-expected him to be smirking, to give her a wide smile, to wink, to try to seduce her in some fashion because she was clinging to him, but, no. His piercing eyes appeared to reflect his wonder and fright just as hers surely did.
Another tremor rippled over the ground, causing a few cracks to appear. A third brought Olympia to her knees. She was too shocked to cry out.
Somehow, Bjorn remained on his feet, and he helped her to stand upright, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her close to him, backing them away from the rift that was growing deeper and wider.
Any other time, she would slap him or shove him away, but at this moment, she was too confused and worried to deal with any kind of emotions she might or might not be feeling toward the champion from Maloyan. Just who was the true Bjorn? The haughty man who would sell her out on the chance of impressing a queen? Or the one who had stood by her side? He had been so happy after she nursed him back to health, almost a different man entirely, and then he had slid back some, returning to his seducing ways, which always made her wonder if he was still using her. Which Bjorn was
the true one?
For right now, he was nothing more than a frightened man and she a frightened woman.
“Do you think this is the result of alchemy?” she asked, but the wind had picked up, swirling around them, thick, black clouds rolling forward to blot out and cover every speck of the sky.
“What?” he shouted.
“Do you think this is the result of alchemy?” she repeated, shouting this time.
“I don’t think so,” he said grimly. “This is… This is something that’s never occurred before.”
Her free hand went to her throat and then slid up to cover her mouth. When they had arrived at this location, they could see the battle commencing far below their overhang, but now, the dark clouds covered the ground in a blanket of blackness that could not be seen through.
Bjorn tugged her backward, away from the ledge. The ground trembled even more fiercely than the earlier quakes, and she fell onto Bjorn. Immediately, his arms wrapped around her, and they rolled away from the crack that had grown to the point of being a chasm.
She pushed herself free from Bjorn and crawled over to the ledge, ignoring the man’s shouts for her to stop being so foolish and stupid. Reddish orange glowed on the walls of the chasm, and then a burst of fire flared, reaching high into the sky. Olympia barely had time to fall back so the flame didn’t singe her.
Bjorn grabbed her arm, jerking her back as she scrambled to her feet.
Another burst of fire and then, a massive winged beast emerged from the chasm.
A dragon.
A fire-breathing dragon.
One of the three had returned to life.
How? How was that possible? Why had the dragon returned now?
She watched, mouth agape as the dragon flew, stretching out his wings, cartwheeling and tumbling in the sky.
And then, the dragon headed straight for the battlefield.
Either the dragon had returned to rule over them, or the dragon had come to judge them.