by LJ Rivers
“Having fun, sis?” a voice called behind me, followed by the whooshing of arrows.
Rowan’s right arm moved like a windmill, nocking and loosing arrows faster than I would have thought possible. The same went for three of his Dodger friends. In less than ten seconds, all the black-clad archers were dropped.
And again they were replaced.
On the left side of the firing squad, three Sorcerers spread out, all holding fire in their hands. I glanced at the archers, who were more than busy fighting off my brother and his street gang. One archer had just nocked an arrow, but before he could aim it, a Dodger appeared behind him, thrusting his curved blade through the soldier’s chest.
I decided to risk retrieving my force field for a while, to save energy. It could very well be a factor during the course of the night.
The three Sorcerers sent their fire my way. I welcomed it, literally with open arms. As if I were embracing a dear friend, I beckoned the fire into my palms, absorbing and merging it with my own. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and it worked. I could feel my internal battery getting a boost. How much of it, I wasn’t sure, but now I had a way of recharging.
Time to find out how powerful my foes were.
They stood ten feet apart. The two on the left had drawn their swords, while the third pointed a spear at me.
All three rushed forwards. “For Auberon!” they howled in unison.
With my hands out in front, cupping my palms like a crown, I aimed at the Sorcerers, who were closing in on me fast.
I waited until they were only fifteen feet away. “His daughter sends her regards,” I said, and released my inferno.
The two-feet-wide fireball barged into the middle Sorcerer’s chest. With an ear-shattering boom that almost knocked me out of my saddle, the fireball exploded up and outward, vaporising all three of them. An orange pillar of fire, ten feet tall, rose a few steps in front of me.
With a clank, a sword fell to the ground and came to rest by a pile of ashes.
I gawked. This was more than I had expected.
Rhiannon kept her Trafalgar Square calmness.
“No time to rest, Ru,” a familiar voice said behind me to my right.
Without hesitation, I commanded my unicorn back in motion. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Brendan fending off one soldier after another. His shield, which I was glad he had opted for, took a few hits of fireballs, all of which looked like wet matches compared to mine.
I drew my new blade and steered Rhiannon straight into the fray. This time, I didn’t want to risk her getting hurt, so I enveloped us in another force field.
I swung my blade left and right, trying to do as much damage as possible. Most of the time, though, I struck nothing but air. When I did connect, it was metal on metal. I was sitting so high up that I only knocked the helmet off a couple of my father’s soldiers.
Crap!
I knew what I had to do, but didn’t like the idea one bit. Steering Rhiannon to the right, I guided us away from the fighting.
I leaned forward. “Stay here, girl, you hear?”
She gave a short neigh.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I swung my legs over on one side and looked down. Ten feet, maybe even twelve. As I jumped, I pushed a force field cushion under my feet and landed softly as in a stack of hay. Sword in hand, I sprinted back to the chaos, ready to put all my training with Brendan to good use.
My boyfriend and his swordsmen had made an impressive impact on the left flank, and were forcing our enemy back, inch by inch, foot by foot. Brendan was dancing, charging and retreating, parrying and thrusting. His opponents looked clumsy and slow in comparison, and Brendan’s swordsmen weren’t far off from their leader, dropping enemies as if shearing grass.
It was almost graceful, if not for the screaming and wailing, the blood and maimed limbs. If not for all the wasted lives.
“Get the princess!” someone yelled. “That’s her!”
As Brendan and his soldiers carved a path through our enemies’ lines, more soldiers came around the sides. All focused on the grand prize one of them had called out. Me.
“Stand back,” I shouted, setting the grass between us ablaze, “or you will die.” Worth a shot.
They ignored my feeble warning and shot through the flames, eight black-clad soldiers in all. Or six, as two of them had caught fire and were dashing off towards the riverbank.
I took my defensive stance, imprinted in my muscle memory, and pointed my blade at the frontrunner. He raised his axe and swung it diagonally at me. When it pummelled against my force field, he lost his grip, and the axe bounced twenty feet in the air. The astonished soldier stared after it. When it landed in the burning grass, the tip of my sword had already gone through his heart and back again.
But there were still five more of them, and they didn’t seem to go by the old one-at-a-time tactic. How much magic did I have left in me? The enemy moved in a semi-circle towards me, carefully closing in. I wondered what kind of magic they might have at their disposal.
It became abundantly clear when I directed my sword at one of them. I moved just as slow as them. Glacially slow.
Crap on top of crap!
Time turners!
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I had thought the five soldiers—or at least one of them—was the Time Turner, but then again, it made little sense that we were all moving at the same lumbering speed. Whenever I had experienced the slowing down of time before, I had been inside a bubble with the Time Turner themselves. Like with Blackie, the crime lord of The Forge in London. Both he and I had moved normally, and everything outside the bubble stood more or less still. Now, it was the other way around.
The answer dawned on me. I wasn’t in the bubble at all, nor were the five soldiers pointing their weapons my way.
“Your magic will run out, Princess.”
A woman strolled towards me, between two of the statue-like soldiers. She was wearing the same black cloak and attire as them, with my father’s flaming staff sigil on her chest. Her sun-kissed brown hair was braided over her right shoulder, reaching all the way down to her belt. She reached out and tapped the surface of my force field with her sword.
“And when it does, I’ll be ready.” Her voice was icy calm. “I am Clodagh of Eastshore, by the way. I think it’s only fair you know who ends your life.” She motioned with her hand at the fighting behind her. “The longer you wait, Princess, the more people will die. On both sides.”
I wanted to scream. To alert Brendan or Rowan. Or anyone. My lips wouldn’t part, however, and my tongue was stuck in my mouth.
“Have no fear, daughter of Auberon. My blade is sharp, and I will swing it hard and true. The only one dragging out the time of your demise is yourself.” A wry smile played on her lips. “I should warn you, though, that I will hold your head up for your soldiers to behold. Your blood will pour down my arm, and I shall shout the name of the true king of Gwyn Fanon. Believe me, your army will lay down their swords and spears.”
There was no doubt in my mind she was right. I would run out of magical energy, and then my force field would drop. If that only meant we would have a fair sword fight, I might stand a chance. My moves would still be bound by her time magic. Clodagh of Eastshore could simply swing her blade undisturbed by me, severing my head from my body.
And there was nothing I could do to stop her.
Clodagh came closer, her nose touching the force field. “Your eyes tell me you see it now,” she said. “You’re afraid, which is to be expected.”
Behind her, my army was looking strong, pushing the enemy back. A black and grey wolf sunk its teeth in the throat of an archer, while two foxes were ripping the arms off another. An eagle alighted atop one of Auberon’s Shifters, a black bear. The bear swiped its claws at the eagle, but couldn’t stop the bird from gouging its eyes out. A Fae came swooping down. She shouted something, and the eagle flew away just in time for the Fae to slash her cu
rved blade across the bear’s neck.
The Eastshore Time Turner followed my gaze.
“You think that will help? Sure, we will lose a few more soldiers, all of whom will be missed. As for tonight, their names will be sung in the taverns. I will raise my cup of ale and call out—”
A darkness shaded my view for a split second. When it had passed, Clodagh of Eastshore had dropped to the ground. Her head was gone, which also meant time was running normally again. Which in turn meant the five soldiers were, too.
I could feel my magic weakening. Swords and spears hacked away at my force field. The soldiers bared their teeth in angry, desperate grimaces as they slashed at it again and again.
The darkness, I thought. Could I use the shadows to escape? How much magic was left in me?
The left side of my force field turned red. The soldier, he couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, slid down the slippery surface. An arrow had pierced his head, the tip scratching a thin line in the soldier’s blood on the force field.
Another arrow struck the black-clad man next to him, spraying more blood. On me.
I had lost control of my force field.
“Get down, sis!” Rowan shouted.
I dropped to my knees. A crushing sound emanated from my right kneecap, and I fell over on my side. I stared straight into the dead eyes of soldier number three, his life cut short by another of Rowan’s arrows.
“Fae!” my brother yelled. “Get a Fae over here, now!”
“I’m here, sire,” said a girl’s voice from above.
“Heal the queen.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
A white-haired girl touched down next to me. “Not by the looks of it, Highness,” she said. “Let me help you.”
I started to stand, but a numbing pain shot out from my knee. Glancing down at it, I could tell why Rowan had cried so desperately for help. Blood seeped through the dark fabric of my trousers, dripping down on the withered grass. I thought I had landed on something hard, like a rock or something. The ten-inch bolt sticking out from my kneecap told a different story.
“Hang on,” Rowan said. “This will hurt, but only for a moment or two.”
“Bite on this,” the Fae said, and stuffed a piece of leather between my teeth.
“Wh—ngg?”
Everything vanished.
My father looked at the man standing on the other side of his desk. In his hand, Auberon held a feather quill. It scratched over the rugged parchment, leaving a trail of black ink in its wake. The words were blurry, as if I was watching them through a veil of white silk. Narudd? Nedull?
“Take this to Commander Gemma,” Auberon said.
“At once, Your Grace.”
What did the note say? I knew the words, but they wouldn’t form in my mind. And where was I?
“Where am I?” I croaked.
“She’s coming back,” a girl said.
“Well done. Go back to your unit.” My brother’s voice was close to my ear. “Let’s get you back on your feet, sister.”
He slid his strong arms under my armpits and lifted me up to stand. I opened my eyes. Gone was my father, the desk, and the note. What had it read?
“How are you feeling?” Rowan asked.
I looked at him, trying to focus. “Fine, I think. She healed me?”
He nodded. “Not the strongest of Fae, I’m afraid, though your knee should be somewhat back to normal. Try standing on that foot alone.”
I lifted my left foot. “It hurts, but not much. Just a hum.”
“I told Kisane to do just enough to put it back together. That crossbow bolt smashed it hard.”
“Good idea. She needs to preserve the rest of her energy.”
Rowan smiled. “That’s not what I meant, little sister. She gave you the rest of her magic.”
I sensed it. What had been an empty battery moments earlier felt stronger now. Kisane, the snowy white Fae, had shared her most precious treasure with me. Her magic.
“I have to thank her later,” I said.
“Later is the operative word. I would love to stay and talk, but this is far from over.”
“Go!”
He did.
The words came to me, as clear as if I held my father’s note in my hands.
Have the Nadredd ready north of the gate. When Ruby’s army is near enough, I will give the signal.
I knew where he was. It was not his desk. It was mine. My quill. In my war council room, behind the throne hall. Auberon was still in Avalen, as expected, and I had watched him from above. There were three narrow slits high up on the walls of the war room.
“You little rascal,” I said to myself. “How in the Lady’s name did you get up there?”
Kit, my Faeguard, must have climbed the stone wall, some hundred or more feet from the ground up, only to show me part of my father’s plan.
Nadredd!
I had no more time to ponder the issue. The task at hand was, as my brother had said, far from over. In the grass, next to where Kisane had performed her magical surgery on my knee, lay my sword. I snatched it and looked for Rhiannon. My gaze fell on the six black-clad soldiers a few yards away. Rowan had killed five of them with his arrows. But who had decapitated Clodagh, the Time Turner?
In the distance, flying over the Twin Hills, I saw who. The only ones that could attack a Time Turner, as they defied all concepts of time. Griffins. Three of them soared in the dark sky, before dipping down towards the Culach Pass.
My army had forced Auberon’s men and women back to the pass. The clamouring echoed off the mountain walls, amplifying the terrifying sounds of war. Of death.
The white unicorn came trotting towards me.
“There you are, gorgeous. Ready to go back to work?”
She didn’t actually nod, but in my head, I kind of thought she wanted to. There was a spark of understanding in her eyes.
“Now, I just have to find a way to—”
The twelve-foot-tall unicorn kneeled. She placed her head flat on the ground, her sapphire spiral horn digging into the brownish turf.
“You really are magical, aren’t you?”
I had no problem climbing onto her broad neck and sliding back into the saddle. When Rhiannon got back up, I was already holding her reins in my left hand, while resting my right on the hilt of my sword.
We rode towards the north entrance of the pass, zigzagging between hundreds, if not thousands of dead bodies. There were wolves, foxes, bears and eagles strewn among the corpses. Although most were carrying the flaming staff, I saw many of my sigil, the golden M. Too many.
They say war is hell, and as I listened to the wailing and moaning of injured and dying Magicals, I could subscribe immediately. Adding to the bone-chilling noise was the sickening stench. I had seen death up close several times in the past, but nowhere near this scale. The metallic odour of blood mixed with the foul, rotting smells of other matter I preferred not to think about.
When we were a couple of hundred yards from the entrance, another unicorn emerged from the narrow pass. Sir Galahad waved at me.
I made Rhiannon slow to a halt and raised my hand to greet the knight.
“My Queen!” he said as he rode up next to me. “My heart sings at the sight of you unscathed.”
Almost. “And I’m glad to say the same, Sir Galahad. What’s the situation?”
“We have driven the enemy back through the pass. About three thousand of them have been cut down by our steel and arrows.”
“How many have we lost?”
“About a third, My Queen.”
A thousand lives lost. I swallowed. “Thank you, Sir Galahad. Where is the enemy now?”
“Fleeing east over the Avalen Plains.”
“We have scored the first point, then. But the game has just begun.”
The knight squared his shoulders. “You speak the truth, My Queen.”
“Where are my commanders?”
“Gathered by the south entrance
, awaiting your orders.”
“Lead the way, Sir Galahad.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
If the scenes on the plain were gruesome, there was no such word to describe what faced us in the Culach Pass. The path was already narrow, which had clearly played to our side’s advantage in the chaos. Now it was clogged with bodies, two- and four-legged. Some had been trampled to death, some had lost one or more limbs—or their head. I didn’t think I’d ever escape the countless pairs of eyes, frozen in terror. Most of the corpses had deep, dark red gashes on their backs. The implications made my skin crawl. My army had chased my father’s soldiers, chopping slice after slice from the tail of the wounded snake twisting and turning its way through the gorge.
Whoever came up with the phrase ‘No guts, no glory’ should have been forced to see this. In here, there were no Fae healing the wounded. The only sounds were the gentle clopping of two unicorns tiptoeing to find the scarce patches of dry and open paths, and the flapping of crows’ wings as an increasing number of the black-feathered scavengers came to feast. In here, there were no cries of pain, no moaning or wailing from the injured.
Because there were no injured.
On the map, the distance between the north and south entrance had been marked as half a mile—about one Earth mile. According to my hourglass, we rode for half an hour before we heard voices. At first, it was only a low echo, but rose as we got closer.
Cheering and singing.
I felt sick.
On a ledge, some eighty feet above us, a torch flickered in the gentle breeze. “The queen is coming!” A girl’s voice. “Queen Ruby is coming!”
The flames flew off the ledge and came straight at me. As they neared, the bearer of the torch came into view, her grin white as snow in the flickering light.
“Cynthia?”
“My Queen,” she replied. “My heart sings at the sight of you!” The Fae archeress hovered in front of me, backing up as Rhiannon continued at a slow gait. “We drove them off. Tails between their legs and all.”