by Jenny McKane
She gazed out a window. Hansa was slowly circling the house, her tail long and low. Her ears were down, and her yellow eyes were scanning the house. Avalon could hear the wolf whimpering in distress, and in the distance, she could see two figures lying on the ground. It was Brunn and Niko.
They were both dead.
She sank to her knees slowly, not seeing anything.
***
Disella adjusted her seating in the saddle, leaning over the horse.
“You look good,” she said into its ear. “Almost exactly the same as her horse.”
It had not taken much to transform the horse into a replica of Sidsel. A simple spell that she learned when she was still an apprentice.
She gazed down at her clothing. Not to her taste, but she knew it was almost identical to the garb the Rebel Queen wore. She obviously wanted to be a part of her people, thought Disella scornfully. Not one for elaborate gowns or luxurious cloaks to denote her rank. Except for one thing.
Disella touched the circlet of gold on her head. The Rebel Queen wore it often apparently. This was a good copy, procured from a blacksmith on the journey here. No one would look closely at it anyway. All that they would see was their queen, riding on her horse. The fine details helped the overall picture; that was all.
She gazed back at the house, watching the wolf circling it. Should she kill it, like she had killed the men?
She sighed. It couldn’t get in to the house anyway, so why bother? It was obviously a loyal creature and wouldn’t leave its mistress. It would probably sit and pine for her until it wasted away. She felt a small stab of pleasure at the thought of Avalon watching her beloved wolf die slowly, unable to leave the house to tend to it. It would tear the queen apart.
The spell was binding. The Rebel Queen and her consorts would never leave the house. It was their prison—forever.
She spurred the horse onwards, thinking of Everard Varr. It had been easy. As soon as the spell had been cast, he had started remembering. She had questioned him, wanting to know all he knew about Avalon. Her mannerisms. How she talked and what her opinions on subjects were. Anything and everything that would help her impersonate the queen.
It had been amusing to watch his face as he spoke of her, as his love for her was slowly reawakened. Well, at least he would get to be with his love for eternity. There was a happy ending for him, after all.
Disella tossed back her hair and adjusted the circlet. She smiled slowly. Then she turned and started cantering towards the nearest village.
She had work to do and no time to delay.
Chapter Eleven
The wind swirled around the house. Avalon stared out the window, seeing the tops of the trees which surrounded it bend precariously. Would one of the branches suddenly snap, careering to the ground? She felt her eyes being drawn to them, watching patiently.
She sighed, studying the leaves. There was little else to do but stare out the windows of this house. This prison. They had been incarcerated here for two days now. Two days, in which they had tried desperately to open the doors and smash the windows. Skyresh had even found an axe and attempted to break one of the walls. The axe had simply ricocheted back, causing him to recoil in alarm. It had landed on the floor with a thud. They had all stared at it, disbelieving. Even the walls could not be breached.
She had tried to invoke the Goddess to find a way to break the spell. She had lit the protection candle and hung the amulet around her neck, but it seemed impossible. She had tried any number of chants and spells that she had learned, and she had even combined some of them, but as soon as the Goddess started to appear before her, it was as if a wall suddenly came smashing down. The aura that accompanied the Goddess would flicker to nothing, and she would be in darkness.
The spell that the sorceress had woven was too powerful.
Avalon turned around, searching the room. Where were the others?
She could hear far off knocking on walls. She sighed. That would be Skyresh. He had scoured every inch of the house, searching for a way out, feverishly searching even the smallest cupboard, and then he started all over again. She strained her ears, listening. He was upstairs at the moment, painstakingly going over the top bedrooms. She bit her lip. He would send himself mad if he kept doing it. But what else was there to do?
Perhaps boredom would send them all mad. She had tried reading books that were here to distract herself, but she could barely concentrate.
There was also the small matter that they would eventually run out of food. The pantry in the kitchen was well stocked, but it didn’t matter how much food was there. It would get eaten eventually and then what?
They wouldn’t go mad, she thought. They would starve to death before then. Or kill each other in frustration.
She thought of Everard and the way Skyresh was with him. There were many times that she had to intercede between them; Skyresh had been about to kill him that first day when they had found him in the cupboard, and he still wanted to. She didn’t know how long she would be able to restrain him.
She stood up, stretching. Where was Everard?
She padded around the house, but all that she could hear was Skyresh upstairs, knocking incessantly on walls. Otherwise, the house was as still and silent as the grave. A sobering analogy, she thought grimly. If they didn’t find a way out of this house soon, it would become a grave for them all.
Eventually, she found him. He was sitting in a little room downstairs, which had a few armchairs in it. From this room, there was a sweeping view over the mountains. In normal circumstances, it would be a lovely place to come and contemplate the beauty and majesty of the landscape, but these were far from normal circumstances.
Everard was staring out the window, but his gaze was vacant.
Walking slowly forward, she sat down in the chair next to him. He acknowledged her with a small smile then turned back to the window.
“It’s beautiful,” she said slowly. “The Long Cold is here, Everard, and the mountains are getting so much snow.” She paused, staring at him. “It has been so long since you have seen them, hasn’t it?”
He nodded but didn’t look at her. “I almost remembered them, coming here,” he whispered. “On my journey north. I stopped, staring at them, and a strange longing overwhelmed me. It was bittersweet.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Everard,” she whispered. “It seemed the only way. You were so traumatized from the memory of being in the lair with the creatures for so long. Even though Mother Oda and I had reversed the spell and made you young again, you couldn’t forget it. You were tormented.”
He glanced at her quickly. “I understand, Avalon,” he whispered. “I really do. You were trying to save me in a different way. Just like we had been saving each other for so long.”
She reached out and squeezed his arm, resting on the side of the chair. “It was a difficult decision,” she said. “I have never been sure that I did the correct thing. Did I have the right to do it? Play god, and wipe your memory…not just of the bad things, but the good, as well? I have felt guilty, Everard. Very guilty. And, of course, I have missed you.”
“Avalon,” he said slowly, turning towards her. “It’s alright. Don’t feel guilty. I am the one who should feel guilty. I have been hating you and trying my best to destroy you and all the rebels.”
“Well,” she said with a small laugh, “it looks as if it has worked, this time. Unless we find a way out of here, we are all going to die, and no one will ever know that this is where we are.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his dark eyes swimming with tears. “For my unwitting role in this trap. If I could change it, I would.”
“I know,” she said, patting his arm.
She stared out at the mountains through the window. Would the others have worked out by now that something was wrong? Escolen had given them this address; he had discovered it through his spy network. It would only be a matter of time before he sent a search party here, looking for t
hem.
She frowned suddenly. Or would he?
Everard had told her that the sorceress named Disella looked uncannily like her. Everard had said that they could almost be identical twins. She shivered violently, thinking of her vision.
The sorceress was obviously whom she had seen.
And she understood, now, why the Goddess had said that this woman would deceive someone that Avalon had once called friend. Mother Asta had been correct. It was Everard.
“Everard,” she said slowly. “The sorceress. You said she looks like me. Did she ask anything about me?”
He stared at her. “She wanted to know everything.”
She shivered, again. “I think I know what she is planning to do, Everard.” She took a long, shuddering breath. “And if she succeeds, she could undo everything we have worked so hard to accomplish in the years since the defeat of Vyheim Castle.”
He sat up, straighter, staring at her. “What is her plan?”
“She is planning to impersonate me,” she whispered. “The people will think that she is me. If she is clever – and I have no doubt from what you have told me about her that she is very clever – she will win them over and then sabotage me.”
Everard’s eyes widened. “You mean she will turn the people against you?”
Avalon nodded.
“I should have realized,” he whispered, shaking his head. “After I started to remember you, it confused me as to how she was so like you. She has made herself resemble you deliberately.”
“Yes,” Avalon whispered. “I have seen it before. The Black Witch could change her appearance. She appeared to us as Aysus, the Storyteller, and she was in the form of an old servant when I first went into the Tower. This new sorceress has obviously studied hard and learned the magic to change forms.”
“What are we going to do?”
Avalon sighed in frustration. “I wish that I knew! My spells and chants are not working against her. I was thinking that our people will start to search for us soon, but now I am not so sure. If this sorceress convinces even them that she is me, then they won’t.”
She stopped, staring at a sudden movement outside the window. It was Hansa, pacing the grounds. The wolf turned her head and locked eyes with Avalon. Hansa was distressed; Avalon could tell by the dilated pupils in her yellow eyes, and she was panting rapidly.
Sidsel, her beloved horse, was distressed, too. She and the other horses were roaming the grounds, having gotten free from their tethers. If only…
She sat up straight. “Everard, I am going to try to communicate with my animals. Perhaps I can pass a message onto them, and they can try to get back to our camp and tell the others.”
“I thought you said that they haven’t been speaking to you?”
“No, they haven’t been,” she said, sighing. “I assume the sorceress has blocked our communication with her spell, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t keep trying.” She stood up. “I am going to go somewhere so that I can be alone.”
“Good luck,” he whispered.
She smiled down at him. “Thank you. I am going to need it.”
She walked away. Everard watched her leave then turned and stared out the window again.
***
Disella cantered into the village on her horse, smiling down at the people who had stopped to gaze up at her.
“My queen,” they said, gesturing to her.
She acknowledged their greeting with a small nod of her head but didn’t stop. Inside, she felt a small stab of pleasure. It was so easy! Not one of them was looking at her in a quizzical way, as if they suspected in the slightest that she was not Avalon, the Rebel Queen.
This was going to play out exactly as Agnor had anticipated.
Disella tossed back her hair. If only she had been fully trained and ready, the rebels would not have achieved as much as they had, but it had been a long and arduous process to become as powerful as she was now.
It was true what Agnor had said. Even the largest army could not withstand sabotage within its ranks. Once the leadership was gone then the rest of the rebellion would topple like a house of cards.
She cantered into the village square, her lip curling automatically in distaste at the statue of the Goddess in the center. It was sacrilege, what they had done. She had heard that the villages had all destroyed their statues of Agnor and erected the Goddess in his place. Well, that would not last long.
She dismounted and walked into the town hall, a bright smile plastered on her face.
“Queen Avalon,” said a woman, rushing to greet her. “We are honored! Welcome to Sandfell. We didn’t realize that you were planning to visit us. We would have arranged a welcome feast.”
Disella waved her hand dismissively. “No need for that, but I do want to speak to your mayor, if he is available.”
The woman nodded. “Come this way.”
The woman led Disella into a small room, where a man sat at a desk, staring at papers spread out around him. On seeing who had entered, he stood up abruptly.
“My queen,” he gasped, gesturing to her. “I wasn’t expecting you. I thought that you were still at your camp.”
Disella shook her head. “No, I have been travelling the villages.” She stopped suddenly, and tears filled her eyes. “My companions were all killed in a raid.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Your companions? Who killed them?”
Disella wiped a tear away. “We were attacked,” she whispered. “It wasn’t the Jarle, I am sure of it! It appeared to be a splinter Stromel gang, who do not agree with my methods. They ambushed us, and Skyresh, my general, and others were all killed.”
The man gasped in horror. “Surely not! Your people love you and would never undermine the cause. I don’t understand.”
Disella sank onto a chair, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. “It is true. The people who attacked us were from a neighboring village. I recognized them.” She gulped painfully, staring up at the man. “I am so sorry! I am distressed and have forgotten your name.”
“Eskil, my queen,” he whispered, staring down at her. “This is indeed grievous! Are you certain that this gang were from a neighboring village? Which one?”
Disella nodded. “Yes, Eskil, quite certain. I was pursued by them, and I rode like the wind to get here! They were intending to kill me. I only just escaped.”
Eskil kept staring at her, shaking his head. He didn’t know how to react. The mere thought that any Stromel would attack their beloved queen and her closest people was simply beyond him. He couldn’t believe it, and yet, here she was, claiming that it was true.
“What do you wish me to do, my queen?” he asked slowly. “My house is at your disposal—if you would like to rest after your ordeal.”
“I do not need to rest, Eskil,” Disella said, staring at him. “What I need is those people dealt with—quickly. They killed my general and others in my inner council! I want you to get a posse of men together and ride with me to that village and deal with them.”
“Deal with them?” asked Eskil. “Of course, my queen! We will arrest them immediately, if you can find and identify who were the culprits.”
Disella shook her head, slowly. “No, Eskil. I don’t want them arrested. I want them strung up from the nearest trees. I want to make an example of them, of what happens to people who do this!”
Eskil gulped. He started to sweat. “You want me to gather some men and…execute the culprits without a trial?”
Disella nodded, standing up. “That is exactly what I want, Eskil. They deserve nothing else! They didn’t give my men a chance, did they? And don’t forget, I only just barely managed to escape. They were all set to kill your queen!”
Eskil gulped again. “If that is your wish, my queen. I will gather a group of men now. Are you intending to come with us?”
“Yes, of course,” said Disella. “I want to see them swinging from the trees!”
Eskil gaped at her. He had never seen the queen so vehement;
usually, she was so calm and controlled. She had visited their village only once, but everyone had remarked on it. She had even sat in on a trial and had given her measured opinion. Queen Avalon believed in justice and rehabilitation where possible. He barely recognized her now, baying for blood.
She wanted him to get a lynch mob together. He understood how upset she was; she had just escaped death and had watched some of her closest men die. She would be particularly upset by Skyresh Sakr’s death. He swallowed painfully. It upset him, too. The rebel leader, who was now their queen’s right-hand man, was beloved in the Far North. The people would be outraged by what had happened.
But he still believed that the people would want a fair trial, and he would have thought that the queen would want that, too. She had advocated for proper process, but now she wanted him to quickly get a lynch mob together and hang a group of people from the nearest trees!
“My queen,” he said carefully. “I understand how upset you are. Your blood is boiling from what has been done. However, amongst your people, it is the proper way for those charged with crimes to stand trial and for a jury to give a verdict of execution.”
Disella walked up to him, until her face was barely inches away from his. “Are you saying that you won’t do it, Eskil? Because if you won’t give the order, I will go out into the streets now and gather a force myself. The people will follow me, and you will look a fool.”
Eskil’s blood ran cold. He simply didn’t know what to do. If he acted on the queen’s orders and executed this gang without trial, the ramifications could be severe. The people could turn on him. And yet, if he didn’t do it, the queen herself would be very unhappy and perhaps ensure that his life would be miserable.
It was an unsolvable dilemma.
“Eskil,” said Disella softly. “I am your queen. Never forget that. The people will thank you for acting so swiftly in my honor.”
That did it. Eskil considered himself an honorable man and a patriot. His own father had been killed in the rebellion, and he had cheered long and loud when their queen had beaten the Jarle in the Far North.