Sword and Sorcery of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

  She had imagined every moment of this day, but somehow the reality slipped by like sand through a timer. Suddenly they sat at the head table in the Great Hall, and food was being lain before her. Her stomach rumbled loudly enough that Aiden sniggered,

  “Hungry, love?” He whispered, and she shushed him.

  “Honored guests, it is my privilege to present to you Princess Avondale and Prince Aiden of the new union of Central Europia,” her father’s voice was trembling, but the crowd applauded anyway. He motioned to Aiden, “I believe the happy couple have something to say to us all.” Aiden murmured his thanks and stood,

  “Today, I married my best friend,” Aiden told the assemblage. “I have known you my entire life, Avondale, and we have had more adventures and happy memories in eighteen years than I ever dreamed were possible.” He grinned, looking at her, “though I’m sure your people will miss you, sorry about that by the way,” he addressed the crowd who laughed gently, “mine shall be enriched by your presence. I wanted to say how proud I am that we are to lead this new and great nation together one day, and to tell you all that I appreciate the sacrifice you make in giving to me the jewel of your wonderful kingdom.”

  Avondale smiled and squeezed his hand as he sat, she looked around, electing not to stand; her knees were trembling, and the lack of food had made her light-headed.

  “Forgive me for sitting,” she said with a laugh, “but these shoes cripple me.” The hall echoes with laughter, mostly female; they knew her pain. “I don’t know what to say, truly, and though I had a speech prepared it has fled…” she swallowed a lump, “I am so humbled… so truly honored by the acceptance that the kingdom of Archibald has shown me, and the love that my own people have shown my new husband. I will miss my home, for certain, but this is the beginning of a new age of peace and prosperity for all of us. I know it.”

  Once the sumptuous meal was done Avondale stood, excused herself and made her way around the room to greet guests and stretch her legs. Person after person greeted her, touched her, hugged her, until she came to a stop in the gardens. Looking from side to side, she walked suddenly into the night. How much she needed the silence.

  The firefly garden was empty, or so she had thought; the tall, dark haired man who stood in its center was familiar, and yet a stranger. He talked under his breath, and as she hesitated on the edge of leaving him to whomever he spoke to she nudged a bucket, causing a clatter. He turned; there was no-one with him,

  “My Lady Avondale,” he said.

  “Drakho.” Avondale said with relief; the Vlad of Bledd was a taciturn man, but polite and not likely to bother her with small talk. “Forgive me for interrupting your peace.”

  “Not at all,” he smiled, face a little flushed. Drink, perhaps, “you look well, you have my congratulations.” He bowed, and she flushed; he was never twice the same. She always felt on unsteady footing when she spoke with him, and it was improper, she realized, to be alone here.

  “My thanks,” she said, “and thank you for the fine horses.”

  “Not at all,” he said, and his eyes flicked over her almost hungrily, “I forgot… it is fortuitous to see you here… I forgot,” he seemed to suddenly regain his wits, “to give this to your maid.” He held out a small box, “A small present for the woman who has been nothing but kind to me… despite the… lower status of my kingdom.” Avondale sighed,

  “Drakho, there was no need,” she murmured and took the box. A beautiful, flashing necklace of rubies and obsidian met her eye, “oh… it is lovely.” He bowed,

  “I will leave you to your silence, my lady.” He said, and kissed her hand before striding away.

  Avondale re-entered the party with a clear mind after a few minutes of silence, and loitered behind an ice-sculpture, looking at the necklace. It was a lovely gesture, but a very personal gift. She puzzled over how to explain its sudden appearance without sounding improper,

  “It’s as though I am watching my own child go off,” Master Greendale said, startling Avondale from her reverie. She closed the box quickly and tucked the necklace into her skirts,

  “Oh, Master Greendale,” she smiled and hugged him, “I am hiding,” she said sheepishly, “everyone is so kind-”

  “But they never leave you alone?” He said, laughing when she nodded, “it was the same after my wedding. Well-wishers never realizes how tiring their kindnesses can be.” She nodded and ran her slim hands through her hair,

  “Soon I’ll be in a new home.” She said, “I… I am frightened, I think.”

  “You shouldn’t be.” He said, and patted her shoulder, “You’re going to be the lifeblood of that kingdom just as you are here.”

  “Thank you.” She said, tears welling as she gripped his broad hand,

  “I’ll leave you to your sanctuary.” He rumbled, “Write us?” She nodded and watched him go with a wan smile.

  When she thought of him the next day, in the carriage to Archibalds royal castle, she wondered if she should have said something else. If it would have been better to talk longer, but what could she have said? How did one say goodbye to a second father? She an Aiden had not yet had their wedding night; so long the party had run over that it was time to travel before they felt the weight of the long day. She dozed intermittently in the carriage, dreams muddled and full of familiar faces in strange places. Galadriel stitched quietly on the other side of the carriage, humming quietly to herself.

  “Are you all right, love? You are terribly quiet.” Aiden’s voice called her back to the waking world,

  “Forgive me, love.” She said, “I am tired, and I… well, I have been thinking. About many things.” She bit her lip,

  “I do not understand, m’lady.” He leaned forward slightly on his white stallion, not quite finding the ideal position to gaze at her appropriately. She felt like shaking him with his insistence on maintaining the customary formality between them. Aiden was flanked by several of the knights from his home kingdom, and it was hard to maintain any sort of personal discussion with them within earshot. Finally, she sighed.

  “Aiden, this is the first time I have ever lived away from home, and I am going to a kingdom that is strange to me.” She licked suddenly dry lips. “What if they do not approve of me?” Aiden tried to stifle a laugh, particularly when she glared a warning at him. He cleared his throat.

  “My love, I assure you that the people of Archibald will adore you as you are adored in Avondale.” He said eventually. She couldn’t find the words to tell him that she missed Greendale.

  He leaned in, trying to kiss her, but the horse tensed suddenly, trying to keep its rider steady. Aiden gripped onto the edge of the carriage window, trying to maintain his balance and decorum when he felt the stare of several of the local laborers on him. Smiling an apology at his bride, he straightened, trying to look every inch the impressive prince. Avondale stifled a chuckle, but her eyes were still sparkling with delight.

  Later, once they were safely ensconced in a giant room overseeing the entire Archibald kingdom in all its sunlit glory, Avondale was resting against a bench near a huge bay window. She looked wistfully at the setting sun, not noticing Aiden approach, his hands tucked in behind his back with a shy smile on his face. Aiden cleared his throat.

  “Avondale?”

  She jumped slightly, smiling when she saw him. She tipped her chin up, accepting his tender kiss gratefully.

  “Hello, Aiden,” she said, her voice just a little husky with want. Aiden recognized the tone, his gaze becoming dark with passion, but he swallowed it down, wanting to see her reaction at the gift he was bringing her.

  “I have brought you something,” he told her, his voice warm.

  She grinned, sitting up with excitement.

  “What is it?” She always loved it when Aiden had chosen gifts for her; he had impeccable taste and while she did not want for anything, she was always impressed by the thoughtfulness that he had shown.

  He sat next to her, still smiling as he presen
ted her with a beautifully festooned box.

  “Open it. It will be perfect for the carnival that is being held in honor of our recent nuptials.” She arched a slender, elegant brow at him questioningly. Carefully tearing open the package, Avondale gasped when she saw the beautiful ruby-shaded dress that he had selected for her. “Oh, Aiden…you truly are a wonder.” His smile grew when she held the dress up to her curvaceous frame. “You will look lovely,” he murmured, leaning close to her. His hand slid over her thigh and cupped her buttocks, pulling her on top of him as he kissed her deeply. “We still have time for…entertainment,” he said a little breathlessly, and Avondale found herself grinning.

  “Well, it is technically our wedding night.” She purred, and he nodded, grinning eagerly, “you want to play, Aiden?”

  That was all the invitation he needed.

  ***

  Jon stared at the setting sun with a strange heaviness in his heart,

  “Are you alright love?” Fiona slid up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He drew in a breath,

  “Yes.” He said, “I’m fine, my love, but…” he sighed, “I know I have been retired for weeks now, I know… but this feels different. As though I’ve lost a child of my own.” She nodded against his back,

  “Well, you shall simply have to distract yourself with raising our child, my love, and that shall ease the pain.” She said, and Jon froze, every limb infused with the sudden and electric understanding. He whirled to meet her; Fiona grinned widely, hands placed on her belly.

  “You mean?” He swallowed, throat producing a dry clicking sound. She nodded, and he let out a bark of delighted laughter before lifting her into his arms, spinning her in the light of the dying day.

  CHAPTER VIII

  The messenger’s hooves turned up sod with every step; the rainfall had been torrential, and the hungry farmland sucked up every inch of water to the point of saturation. His mount steamed and huffed in the early morning chill; if he saw the king quickly he might make it across the border once more before nightfall. The forests of Aledale were dense, but the pathways through their hearts were the quickest between cities; to reach the sleepy hamlets the country roads were a must. Thankfully for him he was headed to the castle, and the open farmlands he had come to were a sure sign he was close at last. He touched the satchel absent-mindedly and looked around with furrowed brows. The farmhouses were dark, the yards empty. Something was afoot, but he couldn’t say what. He steered his horse to the nearest fence and dismounted. It huffed nervously and shifted,

  “Easy, boy.” He said softly, “It’s alright.”

  He poked his head into the house and blanched. There was blood on the walls, the floor, the furniture was strewn about as if thrown.

  “Hello?” He stepped into the inky gloom and fingered the hilt of his dagger. “Anyone alive in here?” No answer came, but a shape in the corner made him lower his head. When he approached he realized it was a woman. She was so small, lying in a crumpled heap of torn clothing and bloody flesh. Dead. He covered her with a sheet from the bed and made his way back to his horse; the kings men would see her buried, and her man found. If he was responsible, he would pay, and if not… well, he should still be told.

  He set off at a canter for the castle, breathing a sigh of relief when the walls came into view. But as he neared, a sickly dread began to take hold in his stomach; the road was empty, the air was still, and the silence was deafening. Something was hanging from the walls, swaying gently in the breeze.

  A body, swollen and discolored, it swung from side to side as if pushed by a malicious hand. The messenger paused and took stock of it all; the silence, the smell, the empty roads and lack of wood smoke. Something was very wrong, and he needed to learn more if he could; King Ridgehand would want to know more.

  He gripped his reigns and swallowed, eyes wide.

  “Easy,” he whispered to the whinnying stallion beneath him, mouth dry, “it’s alright.” He urged his steed on, clattering across the fallen drawbridge; the chains hung limp from the sides of the bridge, their links twisted as if by some great force. Market stalls were burnt out wrecks; children were slumped over crates and women…God, the women… He shook his head involuntarily, trying desperately not to think of his own young wife in such a condition. He would surely want to rend the beasts who had done this limb from limb. Finally, he cried out,

  “If anyone is alive here, I am a messenger from King Ridgehand.”

  He heard a faint cry, realizing it was from a young woman several meters away. She was pregnant and tied by her feet, and hanging upside down. Several dead bodies were strewn near where she was suspended. He trotted to her and, studying the ropes, very gently lowered her to the ground and untied her. She was barely coherent when he knelt beside her. It was clear that her condition was grave; her face was bloodied and her arm was bent at a strange angle. A large jagged gash angled down from her neck to her chest and her breath appeared to rattle from deep within as she stared blindly up at him. She was mouthing words at him, her voice scarcely above a whisper, so he leaned closer to her, his fingers absently stroking her hair as he tried to comfort her.

  “What happened?” He asked, voice thick. She tried to speak, but blood bubbled from between her pale, pretty lips. He pulled his cloak off and covered her as gently as he could. She moaned and her stomach cramped under his arm. The child, “My God.” He whispered and hugged her tightly, “Peace, young mother,” he whispered, “you will be alright.” She smiled distantly, a trickle of blood escaping from her mouth as she shook her child. She gurgled and touched her stomach, “I will see it safe.” He said before she coughed, splattering his face with blood. With a gasp, her back arched, an unholy scream breaking from her throat before a final breath rattled in her chest and she was gone. The messenger stared at her, the dead bodies throughout the castle and the castle’s surroundings only amplifying his sense of desolation.

  The messenger bit his lip and unsheathed his dagger. The child. He closed his eyes and steeled himself.

  When he remounted his horse it was with the squalling child whimpering weakly in his arms. It was a horror, to be sure, but who had committed it? He held the child close and made for the border as fast as his mount could carry them. His fear grew in the moments after he reported to King Ridgehand of what had greeted him when he had approached Aleadale. He never wanted to see such a look on his king’s face again, but he was somehow strangely gratified to hear the order for several of the kingdom’s finest royal guardians to go investigate what had happened and to show proper respect for those that had fallen in Aleadale. He rocked the child gently and wondered what could be done with her. When he entered his home with the girl his wife looked surprised, and then frightened. Her fear was replaced with grief as he recounted the story, and eventually she took the girl from him.

  “Would you like a new mother and father, my love?” She whispered, “Tollen, we have to keep her.” She said, “I would not trust the orphanages with a dog.”

  “Just my thoughts, my love.” He said and wrapped his arm around her, “Just my thoughts.”

  ***

  The Royal Guardians stuck together as they padded into the empty city. Their new commander, Bran, took the lead, as a good leader should, and kept his face emotionless and blank though his knuckles quickly became white on the hilt of his sword.

  “Who would do such a thing?” One of the younger guards, Shannon, said his face blanched,

  “Not who, lad, what.” Said a grizzled older guard, “My guess would be a demon. More than one, perhaps.” A few others nodded in agreement. They began to stack the dead for a pyre of sorts.

  “Where are all the men?” Shannon said numbly as they hoisted a pretty redhead onto the pyre. Her flesh was almost blue, now, but still smooth. She would have been a stunning specimen when she was alive.

  CHAPTER IX

  Drakho sighed as Crinna squawked away like an old maid. He had no idea of what it took to get where they wanted
to go,

  “Women and children, Drakho!” He snarled, “Your father would-”

  He slammed a fist down into the oaken table, his gaze ablaze with fury.

  “Do you want the kingdom of Bledd to rule all?” he bellowed. Crinna fell silent, as did other members of the council. They stared at the Changed with cautious eyes, but said nothing,

  “Not at the cost of our souls.” Crinna said and turned on his heel, Drakho shook his head,

  “Let him go.” He said when the nearest guard stalked towards his receding back, “We don’t need cowards like him.” He called after Crinna.

  His senior staff looked nervously among themselves, not quite believing the thirst for violence and bloodshed that their king was enjoying of late. None of them were willing, however, to speak out against him; the last time that had happened, the men had paid dearly, and nothing had been left of them. They had no wish for that to happen to themselves, so they fell silent. Neither were they entirely surprised that their king was full of anger. Drakho towered over most of his men, and the Knights of Bledd knew better than most not to do anything that might cause anger in their supreme ruler. His dark curls swept over his shoulders, his crown glinting as the flames that sparkled from torches hit it. Under his armor, his muscles flexed menacingly, and his senior staff could see the dark glare that flamed from their Majesty’s brooding gaze, they could sense the anger that radiated from him in waves.