Andalon Arises

by T B Phillips

  Charro’s features suddenly dropped, revealing his darker side, “That wasn’t a request, Mrs. Pogue.” Frowning at his wine glass he added, “Is this Estonian? What vintage is this?”

  “It is, My Lord. I believe it is a 752.”

  “It will have to do. What a pity there isn’t a bottle of 754 left in the north. I would sell half my lands for a case. That way I could sip contentedly as I sit upon my balcony and watch the northern continent burn.” Discussing the wine had restored his usual cheery demeanor.

  “I will dig around in the cellar and try to find a bottle.”

  “Don’t bother, if there was a drop of 754 on this property, I would know it. Now, about your girls. I’m serious about you taking the evening off. These parties usually turn rowdy and somewhat…” He paused to find the word then added, “provocative. I would hate for any of my guests to assume that you or your daughters are on the menu.”

  “Thank you, My Lord.” Mattie suddenly felt very foolish for challenging her employer. As good as he had been to her, she should have realized that he was just being overly protective. “I’ll gather Liza and Alexa at once and retire.”

  He suddenly looked around the room, his eyes betraying a hidden concern. In a shaky voice he asked, “Have you seen Jon and Petr?”

  “They left with Miss Pritchett about thirty minutes ago. I’m sure they’ll return soon.”

  He felt at his chest, pulling out a necklace with a large key attached. He began to fidget, rubbing the key and turning it over in his hands. Odd, Mattie thought, I’ve never seen him so nervous. She followed his darting eyes, first to the main entrance to the hall and then to a large hearth nearby. She wondered, what has him suddenly so afraid? And then the doors burst open and chaos rushed in.

  The tents outside were ablaze, backlighting mercenaries rushing about with swords drawn and drenched with blood. Every head in the great hall had turned, just in time to witness a man falling to his knees with an axe buried deep in his back. His face landed hard on the floor and the nobles gasped with fear.

  Mattie spun around to address Charro, but he had already moved away. He had the key out, desperately trying and failing to place it into a hidden slot by the mantle. His hands shook so badly that he dropped it twice, stooping down to pick it up each time. He resembled a deranged peacock as his colorful robes flapped behind him. A scream drew her eyes back to the entry.

  Liza was frozen in place, staring out at five large men storming the room. Each was clad in northern furs with wild beards and faces covered in blood. They roared menacingly, sending the party goers into a panic as they turned over tables. The nobles scrambled away in terror as everyone fled the berserkers. Everyone except Liza.

  Mattie shouted for her daughter, “Liza!” But the girl couldn’t hear her mother’s cries. Her feet were frozen in place.

  Another cry came from the servant’s door, “Mother!”

  Mattie tore her eyes from her eldest and watched as Alexa entered the hall carrying a large platter of stuffed eggs. Three of the raiders continued their dash toward Liza, while two made a charge toward her sister. She would have to choose only one to aid.

  As a mother she had only ever felt this helpless once, and memories of that morning in The Cove haunted her daily. She was unable to prevent strong hands from forcing her and the girls into a wagon to be sold like livestock. But her greatest failure had been when the men had arrived. She should have fought them off, screamed for the girls to flee as their father had taught them. But she had cowed. She had offered up hers and Alec’s life savings and then penned the very note that had prevented him from searching.

  At the kidnapper’s prompting she had written, Alec, I am tired of living in The Cove. This kind of life is not what I had wanted for our daughters and I’ve taken them away. You are married to your career and I refuse to be second behind that kind of mistress. Don’t try to find us. Mattie. As a mother she would once again prove worthless, unable to protect her sweet babies. She was about to watch them lose their maidenhood and probably even their lives.

  Her body moved before she even realized that she could. Her hand reached down, drawing a sharp blade from Lord Valencia’s place setting. Her feet stepped forward one after the other until she felt herself running toward Alexa. She was the closest. Her arm raised the blade, ready to plunge it into the soft neck of the first berserker she could reach. Her eyes darted, first at her youngest and then at Liza. The men were upon her flailing body, ripping at her dress and fighting over which would take the spoils first.

  Someone caught Mattie Pogue from behind and a voice pleaded, “No! There’s no saving them! Come with me and I will keep you safe.”

  Glancing back toward Liza, she could see that the bodice had been ripped free from her chest and the corset cut clean through. Her sweet daughter’s white breasts were exposed to the animals who drooled and bit at her skin. Fight them, she pleaded in her mind, fight them off! The knife came down with vengeance, stabbing into the flesh of the man behind her and digging deep into his thigh. Suddenly free, she rushed toward Alexa’s assailants with the knife raised above her head.

  Liza’s screams intensified, turning into moans that a mother should never hear from her daughter. There was nothing she could do for her, but the knife came down, just as one of the men had forced Alexa onto the table and ripped the laces at her back. The blade found the soft part of his neck. She pulled the knife free. The raider’s right hand gripped his throat, slipping off the gush of crimson that foamed with his final breaths.

  The second man, unfazed by the sudden death of his partner, raised his axe and swung wildly. The heavy piece of steel hummed as it fell, racing forward to steal Mattie’s life. She stumbled backward, slipping on the wet floor and toppling into the table behind her. The weapon missed slightly, cutting deep into the solid oak next to her head. He grunted as he wrenched it free, raising it high and screaming as it came back down. Mattie knew that she had once again failed as a mother.

  Marita heard the screams echoing down the hall. They were close and a battle raged on the other side of a heavy door. She pressed forward, eager to drive off the northern raiders. Captain Pogue placed a hand on her shoulder, urging caution.

  “They’re only men,” she argued. “They aren’t Falconers or even those nasty Jaguar things,” she protested.”

  “Still, I don’t want to lose you.” The scream of a young woman rang out, wrenching the girl’s heart. Too similar, she thought, it isn’t her, but I can save this one.

  She jerked away and sprinted into the great hall. Alec tried his best to keep up, but his injured leg slowed his pace. She burst through the servant’s entrance just in time to watch a woman stab a steak knife into the neck of a raider. His partner swung his axe, burying it into the table beside her beautiful face. As he pulled it free, Marita wrapped a noose of air around his throat and swung the other end around a rafter above. She didn’t have time to finish the job, only to keep him out of reach of the woman. He swung his axe wildly above his head, unable to cut the invisible cord.

  Amid the panic she could see noblemen and women trying to flee the hall, running in circles and tripping over or trampling each other in their haste. Crazed berserkers continued to rush in, eager to claim their spoils and bathe in blood. She and Alec would stop them, but first she had to find that certain young woman.

  Near the entrance, three men pushed and shoved as they fought over a particularly pretty girl roughly the same age as her mother had been. One of the brutes had his weight atop her, trying to pry her legs as she fought back. She had done a good job of it so far, but was losing strength of both body and will. In a futile attempt, she bit the man’s arm, causing him to roar with laughter.

  And then Marita no longer saw the young woman. The cries and moans now belonged to her own young and beautiful mother, Floret. When these same men had come to Atarax, Marita had been powerless. She had la
y under the bed, unable to pry her eyes from her mother’s, as the men worked their evil, taking turns until they had exhausted her spirit. Her mother had kept their attention well, keeping their heads turned and their minds on her to protect her little girl.

  Marita had cried at the sight, but her tears had been silent, rolling down her face and pooling on the floor as she clamped her hands over her mouth. Just before her mother had given up the fight, she had raised her head for the last time, locking eyes with Marita with a final smile as if to say, “It’s going to be fine.” Then, with one last gesture of reassurance, Floret used all of her strength to raise a single thumb into the air so that her daughter would know that she had died strong in the end. It had been her dying act.

  The girl on the table in the great hall was losing strength. Marita wiped a tear and charged headlong toward the three brutes. She pushed with all of her might and a blast of wind sent them flying backward against the stone wall. She drew the swords she had won from the manor house guards, and glided with her shoes a foot above the floor, surfing along with both swords outstretched. The wind carried her toward them at a deafening speed, so quickly that two of the men barely had time to lift their heads from the brick. She lopped them off in a single coordinated strike.

  The third man had witnessed the flying girl and a puddle of piss formed between his feet. He dropped his axe, folded his hands, and prayed to his gods to save him from the demon hovering before him. Marita felt the air envelop her entire body as she loomed with hair blowing gently in the breeze. I should have tied it back, was her single thought before she sent him down the river to join his friends.

  Steel clashing against steel rang out, suddenly returning her back to the moment. Behind her Alec was fighting against four berserkers. He was slowed by his injury, but flowed with the grace of the breeze. He felled two of the men just as three more rushed to aid their comrades. Marita lowered herself slowly to the ground and then rushed to aid him.

  Charro Valencia lay on the ground, holding his wounded leg. He had received cuts and scratches in his life, but privilege had protected him from serious injuries such as this. He swooned at the sight of his own blood. Father was wrong, he laughed with just a hint of hysteria, there’s nothing blue inside of us to make us noble. He looked around at the room, littered with noblemen and women and painted crimson with their death. Inside we only have the red of commoners. What really sets us apart?

  He had been too busy focusing on his own wound that he had failed to see the girl enter. But the gust of wind had shaken him from his trance, and he marveled as she flew atop an invisible breeze. How old is this girl? Twelve summers? Thirteen? After she had dispatched the three berserkers, she turned to face a man in his early forties.

  Charro knew right away that the man was Captain Alec Pogue, the husband of Mattie and father to her two girls. They favor him, he noticed. He had finally come for his family, a man of action and violence, but passionately filled with tender love. Despite that he was in his early forties, the swordsman fought like a young man, fast and agile. He deserved his wife and family.

  It only took about ten minutes for him and the little girl to kill every marauder who entered the hall. When they had finished, the man scooped his wife into his arms, hugging her tight as if he’d never let go of her again. Liza and Alexa, upon seeing their father, rushed over and joined in the family embrace. The other girl, the ferociously special girl, stared at the exchange with longing and timidity. It was clear to Charro that she wished to join in.

  Finally, Mattie stepped back and smiled sweetly, fully aware that this little child had saved her life as well as those of her daughters. “dearie,” she asked, “what is your name?”

  “My name is Marita, Mrs. Pogue.”

  Mattie smiled a mother’s love toward the girl, walking toward her as gently as one would creep up on a rabbit. “Where are your parents, Marita?”

  “Right here. You are all that I have now. You and Captain Pogue have adopted me.”

  Mrs. Pogue turned to her husband, “Is this true, Alec?”

  He nodded, “Yes, Dear. I am bonded to her like a father, and I hope that you will love her as much as I do.”

  Mattie held out her arms in an offered embrace and Marita rushed in. “I owe you my life and my love, sweet Marita. Thank you.”

  The girl pulled back and smiled up at her new mother. Then she raised a single thumb into the air toward Alec before wrapping Mattie into another hug.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Skander stared as his longboats exploded into kindling. He locked eyes on the lead vessel attacking his armada. The magnificent creation boldly reflected the roaring flames of the city. His mouth watered as he coveted his brother’s enhanced firepower, laughing maniacally as cannons fired in rapid succession. What’s his will be mine, he tittered. He raised his hands into the air and welcomed the attack.

  Artur approached, pointing at the flagship. “They’re making for the beach, sire.”

  “Let them come. Signal the others and form a shield wall along that street. We’ll stop their advance.” He strained his eyes, focused on a form in the water. “Give me your spyglass, Artur!” His first mate complied, handing over the copper instrument. While his crew disembarked and rowed to the shoreline, Braen casually strolled across the water toward Skander. “It’s true,” he marveled, “he shares my powers. My brother’s a fool and believes we can duel this out in single combat.”

  He returned the eyeglass to a dumbfounded Artur, then stared down at the water lapping the pier. He willed the surface to take on a solid state and a ten-foot circle of firm ice formed before his eyes. With a smile he walked toward his brother, the pathway keeping stride beneath him. The two men met in the middle.

  “Brother,” Braen began, “It doesn’t have to end this way.”

  “How is that?” Skander let out a chuckle. “With you dead?”

  “No, Brother. With us killing each other.” He gestured around. “We’re surrounded by water and can pound at each other until sunset. All we’ll accomplish is the total destruction of the city.” He pointed at the burning buildings. “And you’ve already ensured that fate.”

  Skander knelt and placed his hand in the water. He felt the molecules form into a frozen spear which he drew out and held like a javelin. “So, it will be hand to hand combat then?” He hurled the ice formation, watching his brother flinch out of the way. As the target moved, he flung his axe with his left hand. Braen grunted as the blade stuck in his back and Skander rushed in with knife and sword drawn.

  Eusari watched from the pier as the two brothers fought in the harbor. Skander had the early advantage and lunged at his wounded brother. Braen deflected the advance and swung his axe hard enough to send the other man crashing backward on the ice, hitting hard enough to knock out his breath. She watched in horror as he reached and pulled his brother’s axe from his shoulder blades.

  By then, Skander had recovered his feet and the two became a wild flurry of steel, brutally swinging at the other with devilish desire to hack them into pieces. She had seen her lover rage like this before, and the berserker blood howled inside him as he backed his younger brother toward the edge of the ice. When the smaller man ducked, Braen nearly tumbled off the platform, momentum overtaking his rage.

  “Kill him!” The scream came from Malfeasance and Eusari stared in shock at the blonde woman atop the deck. She was clad in white furs and wrapped in Braen’s battle banner. “Kill him and retake your throne beside me, My Love!”

  All hope that Braen had rejected the northern queen’s advances sailed away in that moment, filling the leather-clad woman with sadness and loss. She watched as Hester held the banner over her head and let the wind wave the image of the Kraken for all to see.

  The sudden appearance of his wife in support of Braen sent the usurper into a rage. He ran toward his brother’s ship with blades shimmering from the light
ing above. When Braen tried to follow, a great white shark leaped from the water, jaws snapping as it crashed onto the ice. The platform cleaved in half and the older Braston fell, nearly slipping off the edge.

  Ahead the two armies stood ready, but neither side advanced. Their eyes were locked on the two princes, battling the outcome in the bay. Eusari watched as two figures moved atop the ship berthed closest to Malfeasance. One of the newcomers pointed toward Braen while the other swung across the water, landing behind Hester and ducking behind some crates.

  By then the northern king had reached the ship. The captain of She Wolf gasped as his icy platform slowly raised from the water, positioning himself to step aboard. Her eyes turned toward Braen who was no longer running toward the ship. Instead a dark shape had formed beneath him and a creature emerged. He stepped onto the Kraken, riding its back as it glided toward his ship and his brother.

  Eusari saw the sniper take aim and she raced along the shore toward Malfeasance. Two shots rang out. Skander turned at the first and fell at the second.

  Braen felt the bullet tear through his skin and burrow deep into his chest. He could barely breathe, his lung punctured straight through. Gasping, he felt the beast fall away beneath him, dropping him in a heap on the deck. The connection between him and Kraken weakened as the monster fled back to its home in the briny depths, abandoning its master. He rolled over and stared at the body of his brother also sprawled out on the deck. The bullet had taken the northern usurper through the right eye, killing him immediately.

  He crawled toward Skander, reaching for his hand and slipping on the bloody deck. I love you brother, he thought without concern for the snipers still in hiding, no one understood your sickness, but I. Braen tried to speak but sputtered blood and froth into his beard as he fell across his brother’s chest, holding him in a loving embrace. Tears raced down his cheeks as he mourned the last of his family. With a bloody finger he closed the open eye.