“Dear Empress,” the false witch said. “I have brought you this as a token of my love for you.”
Bycoda, thinking no harm, held out her hand to receive the gift, and as she did so, Yemeril pressed the brooch down on her hand so that the pin on the clasp pierced Bycoda’s finger.
“Oh Empress, forgive my careless action,” Yemeril cried, as if all had happened by mischance.
Bycoda held up her hand, and saw but a drop of blood on her finger, but then she felt her heart lurch, and a blackness rose up before her eyes. In sudden understanding, she knew that she had been deceived by Yemeril and Teir-Varek, and that she would now die by the witch’s treacherous hand. Yet, with her last breath, Bycoda cursed her murderers and swore that both would gain only death in return for their betrayal of her kindness and trust.
As Bycoda died, a wave of grief swept over the Empire. Brave soldiers threw down their weapons and wept. The trees in the garden lost their blossom and a cold wind ripped through the eternal summer of the court. Across the land, all were overwhelmed by a feeling of loss, and sorrow consumed them, although as yet, none knew the cause.
Once the cruel murder was done, Yemeril took the key from around the dead Empress’s neck and stole the talisman. Then Teir-Varek set fire about the palace and the evil pair fled, heading back to their home. However, standing between them and the Barroden Mountains was the great city of Uzhenec, led by Bycoda’s loyal captain, Curnad. He had been warned in a prophetic dream not to attend the gathering in Tiracholon and to be alert for the murderers. So he remained in the city, ever vigilant, and would not let them pass.
When she heard of his defiance, Yemeril took the talisman in her right hand and summoned a dragon to destroy the city. Fire and death rained down from the monster’s jaws, until Uzhenec, once the fairest of cities, lay half in ruins, but still Curnad would not surrender. He took his sword and shield and summoned his strongest magic to his defence, and for six hours he fought the beast until he slew it and struck off its head. At this, the entire city hailed him as their hero and gave him the title Dragon Slayer.
When she saw her attack had failed, Yemeril was despairing, but Teir-Varek said, “My love, have I not shown you that guile may often win where crude force fails? Now we will try a new plan.”
“What will you do?”
“Remember, I am not bound to this form and may appear however I choose.” At these words, the demon’s shape began to shift, and in a few minutes she had the likeness of one of Curnad’s most trusted soldiers. In this form, the demon walked boldly through the streets of Uzhenec until she found the heroic Dragon Slayer, supervising the city’s defences.
Feigning an excuse, she led Curnad to a secret place and then basely stabbed him in the back and hid his body. Once this was done, the shape-shifter again switched form, most deceitfully, into the likeness of her victim. Pretending to be the murdered Curnad, she secured her control of Uzhenec and summoned Yemeril into the city.
Scarcely could the two restrain their glee at the success of their plan. The good folk who had stood against them now did their bidding. For alas, the people of Uzhenec did not know that the one they called the Dragon Slayer was none other than a false demon. Yet many folk wondered that the witch Yemeril was now an honoured guest in Uzhenec, and that Curnad, who had been so bold and cheerful, now skulked around the city with never a smile for any he had once called friend.
Meanwhile in Tiracholon, great had been the lamentation when the death of their beloved Empress had been discovered. To see the tears and wailing that filled the palace would have broken the hardest heart. Never had there been such an outpouring of sorrow.
But at last, Mavec, the most loyal and valiant of all Bycoda’s captains, stood and addressed them thus: “The loss we have suffered is beyond bearing, and our woe shall know no end. We should take no shame in our tears. Yet it seems to me that we would have great shame if the foul assassins who have murdered our dear Empress should live to enjoy the benefits of their crime. Therefore I swear to hunt them down, to the ends of the earth and beyond. And never shall I turn aside from this task until their bodies lie dead before me.”
At these words, the assembled captains roused themselves from their weeping and joined the hero in his oath. And so Mavec led Bycoda’s army in their quest for revenge. Across the plains they went, and so bitter was their grief, and so savage their anger, that they ran for three days and three nights, without pausing for sleep or food, until they surrounded the city of Uzhenec, where Yemeril and Teir-Varek were resting, unaware of the forces coming against them.
When the two murderers awoke the next day, they saw the city surrounded by a ring of fair banners fluttering in the wind. The dawn sunlight reflected off the ranks of keen-edged swords and sharp spears. The faces of the soldiers were stern and fearless, seeking only to avenge their dead Empress. So strong and noble an army had not been assembled before in the history of the world.
At this sight, Teir-Varek took great fear and deserted her lover. Again she changed her shape, this time turning herself into a magpie, and then she flew off with the talisman. The witch, Yemeril, was thus alone and abandoned, and had no hope but to throw herself on the mercy of her enemies. Bound in iron chains, she went before them, and confessed to all that she had done.
When they heard her story, many of Bycoda’s loyal captains were stirred to fury and would have killed her on the spot, but Mavec stayed their hands.
“You have been most wicked,” he said to her. “And your life is certainly forfeit. But yet your death may be either slow or quick. So tell me this, where is the tree under which you first encountered Teir-Varek? For, by my magic, I know that the demon will return to her home. Furthermore, I know that unless both the tree and the demon’s mortal body are destroyed, then Teir-Varek cannot be utterly banished from this plane of existence, but will ever return to cause strife in the world.”
At these words, Yemeril’s face turned pale, and she said, “I shall willingly show you where the tree is, that you may destroy my former lover, for in truth she has deserted me and my heart has broken from the pain of it.”
So the army set off again across the plains, until they reached the foothills of the Barroden Mountains. Then Teir-Varek moved against them, but ever the demon preferred trickery to honest fight. She poisoned their food and water, so that nine soldiers out of every ten died. Yet the survivors were not in the least swayed from their revenge; rather did it inflame them to fulfil their oath and rid the world of the evil demon.
And so at last, with Yemeril’s guidance, the old twisted yew came in sight, and standing beneath it was the demon, surrounded by her hell-spawned allies. When Teir-Varek saw that her former lover had led the army to her, she gave a great cry of rage. Then did Teir-Varek take the talisman in her right hand and raise it high in the air and summon the dragons to her defence. And it is told that the first to die was Yemeril, killed on her vengeful lover’s command.
Then was the battle fully engaged. Swinging his great war-axe, Mavec led the assault on the demon’s lair. Great was the fight, and many a mighty deed was done, and many a brave soldier fell. Always in the forefront of battle was Mavec, yet no harm came to him, as if his life were charmed. He fought his way through blood and fire to the yew, and with a single great blow, struck off the demon’s right arm, so that the talisman fell to the ground.
Now the dragons were freed from the demon’s will, and in a frenzy they turned on both sides of the conflict. The largest dragon of all swept down and unleashed a river of fire, consuming Teir-Varek, Mavec, and the yew in a single pillar of flame, destroying them all utterly. Thus was Bycoda’s murder avenged. The demon, Teir-Varek, was banished for all time from this world, and Yemeril, who had struck down the good Empress, lay dead by her lover’s hand.
Yet, the triumph was not joyous. Many good warriors died in the battle that day. It would take a year to recount the noble deeds of the fallen. Of Bycoda’s captains only two lived to see nightfall. The
valiant Yernag returned to Tiracholon, and tried to hold back the onset of chaos, but he died within the year, defending the tomb of his beloved Empress. The soothsayer Dunort also survived, but her grief and horror at what she had seen turned her mind, and she spent the end of her days as a wild thing upon the plains, and none might speak with her.
With the battle over, and the army in ruins, the dragons now had the run of the land. They took great delight in tearing down all signs of Bycoda’s Empire. The cities and castles they razed to the ground, so that scarcely one brick remained on another to show where once the fair cities of Uzhenec, Krewco, or any of the others had stood. We who have come after can only wonder at the glory we have lost.
But of the talisman, the reason for this sad tale, a story of hope is told. In the last seconds of his life, Mavec saw the dragon descending and understood that he was about to die. For himself, he knew he could die with honour and his Empress’ death avenged, but he foresaw a bleak future for the lands, with no way to defeat the dragons. At his feet, he noticed the talisman lying on the ground, still in the demon’s severed hand. So at the instant of his death, Mavec took the talisman and thrust it into a rabbit hole, that it might not perish in the dragon fire.
And so it is foretold, that one day the talisman will return to the lands. One day a traveller will find the burnt stump of an old yew tree, and by its roots a rabbit hole. And in there, where Mavec placed it, will lie the talisman. Then shall a new hero arise, and the dragons will be banished from the land and once again a time of peace and plenty will be ours.
About the Author
Jane Fletcher’s novels have won a GCLS award and been short-listed for the Gaylactic Spectrum and Lambda awards. She is author of two fantasy/romance series: the Lyremouth Chronicles—The Exile and the Sorcerer, The Traitor and The Chalice and The Empress and The Acolyte, and the Celaeno series—The Walls of Westernfort, The Temple at Landfall and Rangers at Roadsend. In her next writing project she will be returning to the Celaeno Series with Dynasty of Rogues.
Her love of fantasy began at the age of seven when she encountered Greek Mythology. This was compounded by a childhood spent clambering over every example of ancient masonry she could find (medieval castles, megalithic monuments, Roman villas). Her resolute ambition was to become an archaeologist when she grew up, so it was something of a surprise when she became a software engineer instead.
Born in Greenwich, London in 1956, she now lives in southwest England where she keeps herself busy writing both computer software and fiction, although generally not at the same time.
Visit Jane’s website at www.janefletcher.co.uk
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