Queen of Hearts (The Risen King)

by Samantha Warren

  *~*~*

  SEVEN

  *~*~*

  Eden glanced back at Arthur before drawing her sword. He was on his feet and called to Rogan for his sword and armor as he ran toward the door. The others were surging to their feet behind him, each reaching for their own weapons if they had them handy, calling for them if they didn't. They flooded out into the hall, their shouts echoing around the castle as they ran toward the courtyard. Arthur paused beside Eden before he left the room.

  “Secure her.” He pointed his sword toward Guinevere as he looked toward the knights on either side of her.

  “Yes, m'lord,” they said, even as Guinevere rose to her feet in protest.

  “But Arthur--“

  He held up his hand to cut her off and pushed through the door so he wouldn't have to listen to her.

  Aiofe stood next to Zela out in the hall. Her fingers itched for her bow and she held her hand out with relief when she saw Lilia bounding down the stairs. The bow settled perfectly in her hand as Lilia slipped a quiver of arrows over Aiofe's shoulder. They were not the bone-white arrows Aiofe expected. Instead, they were a deep burnt orange.

  “What are these?” Aiofe asked as she nodded cocked her head toward the arrows.

  “Enchanted, m'lady.” She spun on her heel and raced back up the stairs to join the other servants who were gathering on the roof.

  Aiofe pulled one from the quiver and examined it as she and Zela trotted toward the door to the courtyard. The burnt orange swirled with blacks and olive greens, seemingly of its own accord. The feathers were a black and silver with spots that danced and jumped from feather to feather.

  “They'll return to you,” Zela said as they trotted down the steps, following the surge of warriors toward the stairs on the wall. “When you fire one, the feathers will help steer it toward its mark. Do not take that as an excuse to be careless, though. They can only do so much, minor adjustments here and there. They rely on you to do most of the work. And when the quiver is running low, call for them and they will return.”

  Gasps echoed down from the wall above as the first of the knights reached the top. Aiofe waited at the bottom, fear pumping through her veins as she watched the reactions above her. “What do I say?”

  “You'll know when the time comes. They are linked to the bow. The bow will tell you. Now focus.”

  They ascended the stairs behind Bors and Calis. As the knights reached the top, they parted and let the women through. Aiofe stepped forward and looked at the area surrounding the castle. The wide field that seemed to go on forever was filling with faeries of the greatest assortment Aiofe had ever seen. Blood whelps stood next to sprites, red caps scampered around banewolves, trolls and imps and bogies brandished weapons and shouted at the knights.

  Two trolls were stomping across the field, shaking the ground as they made a beeline for the gates. They reached the big stone and wood barrier and began pounding against the doors with all their might. They doors were reinforced with nearly unbreakable magic, but that didn't make the occupants inside feel much safer as the trolls were joined by faeries of all sizes and shapes.

  “Is that Seloreth?” Drakka leaned against the wall and cupped her hands to her eyes. Her brother walked up to her and she pointed at a faery in the middle of the crowd. Deklen followed her finger and his jaw dropped. The white skin and black hair were unmistakable.

  “It is. He is not one I ever imagined would turn on us. Especially not for the likes of Leanansidhe.”

  “I do not think he had a choice in the matter. He died in the last battle against Leanansidhe's forces. I watched the arrow pierce his chest.” Drakka snapped her fingers at Calis. “Your scope, knight.”

  The faery handed her a short tube. She grabbed either end and pulled, lengthening it out so she could look through the fatter end. “Look,” she said as she handed the scope to her brother. The general of the North pressed the tube to his eye. “I don't believe it.” The man's skin was not white. It was gray and pieces of it were rotting off. His black eyes were dull and stared straight ahead. His armor was ripped and burned in spots. He held himself at an angle, his head and hips cocked to the side, very unbecoming of a royal knight.

  “What? What's wrong?” Aiofe, shorter than either of them, had her hands on the wall and was pushing herself up on to her tiptoes to survey the surging crowd below. Scattered throughout the wicked creatures were other faces, more human faces. Aiofe recognized one, a faery she had passed on her way to meet Arthur for the first time. She had watched him fall in battle. Her eyes narrowed as she looked away from him to Deklen. “What's going on?”

  Deklen ignored her and instead handed the scope to Zela. The blond general took it and scanned the crowd. “It's as we feared. She has corrupted them.”

  “A lot of them.” Eden stood on the other side of Zela. She didn't need the scope to see all the faces in the crowd that she recognized. “The battle was a ruse. A play for bodies. We more than doubled the size of her army. How far does it go?”

  No one answered. They all watched as more and more of the abominations poured out of the woods and surrounded the castle. Tristan raised his bow and aimed at one of the closer faeries. The woman had blond hair and the distinctive features of a Southern faery, but her skin had a pale cast to it instead of the normal bronze color and her mouth hung open in a groan. The arrow sliced through the air and sank into her shoulder as she moved forward. She stumbled back a step and stopped. Her head cocked to the side as she looked at the arrow. The warriors on the wall watched in horror as she raised her hand and wrapped her fingers around the shaft. With a jerk, she pulled the arrow from her flesh and stared at it. Then she raised her eyes to the wall. They scanned the crowd until they settled on a faery guard in the front. She raised her arm and launched the arrow with the strength of a troll. It whistled through the air, shedding the blood and gore from the woman. It hit the guard in the middle of his chest, slicing through the armor he wore like it was nothing. He stared at the arrow for half a second before collapsing in an unmoving heap.

  “Everyone back!“ Arthur shouted as a hail of arrows soared toward them from below. Archers from below, both alive and dead, sent arrow after arrow onto the wall. Faeries fell left and right as the knights and other warriors hid beneath their shields.

  Arthur had found his way to Aiofe and pulled her under his shield with him. “Are you all right?” he asked as an arrow hit the walkway beside them. It sizzled and hissed as the tip ate through the stone.

  “I'll let you know when this is over,” growled Aiofe. She pulled her bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow.

  “Now!“ Eden called as the hail of arrows came to a stop.

  The protectors of the castle surged to their feet and raced toward the wall. Those that had bows raised them and sent a volley toward the faeries on the ground. Some fell, most didn't.

  “Down!“ Zela sank to her knees behind the wall after sending a volley of lightning toward one of the undead creatures. It sizzled and screamed as the electricity danced over its skin. “We need help.”

  The thick stone wall shuddered as the pressure against it grew greater. Thousands of faeries were pressing against it, pounding their fists or heads against the stone.

  Eden pulled a small golden case from her pocket and snapped it open. It was the size of a pocket watch, but with mirrors on either side. A face appeared in one of the mirrors. “Sister, what's wrong?” Etain's concern was palatable even through the magical connection.

  “Castle Daor is under attack. We need assistance with all due haste.”

  “Attack? By whom?”

  Eden risked her hand and raised the case so it was over the wall. “Oh.” Etain's voice echoed down from the little box. “I see.”

  The general of the East pulled the communicator back down and looked at it. “Hurry, please.”

  “On my way.”

  The other generals were having similar conversations with those under their command. Soon, the combined fo
rces of the entire faery army would be converging on the little castle on the edge of the land of the North.

  “Will they arrive in time?” Aiofe asked as the wall beneath them jerked dangerously.

  “Patience, dear one.” Eden didn't look at Aiofe as she spoke. Her eyes were on the sky. “Just be patient.”

  Deklen called for another volley of arrows, but it was just as useless as the first. Though dozens of faeries fell below, they were quickly replaced by more. The roar of the crowd was so loud that Aiofe's head was starting to hurt.

  “We can't wait much longer,” Arthur called over the noise. “We have to do something.”

  “Just hold on,” Eden said. The heir to the East was the third oldest of the royal children, behind Deklen and Drakka, and her cool demeanor told her age. She kept her eyes turned upward, searching the horizon. Then her hand raised and she pointed. “There.”

  A black blob appeared over the trees, arcing toward the castle. As it drew closer, the blob separated into seven shapes. Six of them were massive dragons, spread out into a V behind the rider in the front. Red and white dragons were interspersed in a pattern. They were led by a gryphon, the most noble beast any of the knights had seen. Etain was astride the gryphon and he raised his hand. His shouts could not be heard over the noise from below, but as his hand fell, the dragons unleashed their power. Fire and ice poured from their mouths, simultaneously freezing and burning their foes.

  As the dragons released their fury, screams could also be heard from the North and West. Zela raced away around the wall to check on her forces coming from the South.

  “To the gates,” Arthur called, raising his sword as he strode toward the steps. Knights and warriors fell in behind him. Aiofe ran to keep up, falling in beside him. He gave her a sideways glance. “Go back to the wall.”

  She scoffed. “Like hell I will.”

  He stopped and gripped her shoulders with both hands. “Please, Aiofe. Go back.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Get your hands off me or I'll stab you in the throat.”

  Arthur's jaw dropped, as did his hands. He tried to work out a way to respond, but he had nothing.

  “Open the gates,” Aiofe said as she glared at him.

  “Aiofe...”

  “Open them.”

  Arthur wanted to plead with her, but there wasn't time. The wood behind them was cracking even as they spoke. “Open the gates!“ he called to the big stone guardians on top of the wall.

  The creatures sprang to life. With a roar, they leapt off the wall and disappeared behind it. The doors shuddered and began to creak inward. As they split, the scene beyond was revealed. The guardians ripped and tore at the attackers near the door with all their might, but there was so many of them, they were quickly covered in bodies as faeries of all sorts scrambled on top of them.

  Arthur hesitated a moment, but then he raised his sword. “Protect the castle!“ he cried as he raced forward. Aiofe raised her bow and ran beside him, plunging into the fray.

  *~*~*

  EIGHT

  *~*~*

  “You can't do this,” Guinevere cried as the guards wrapped their hands around her upper arms and pulled her out into the hall. It had emptied of faeries and knights and she tried to turn toward the front door. “Please, I can help.”

  One of the guards snorted. “And what can you do?”

  She opened her mouth repeatedly, but nothing came out.

  “Exactly. You're safer in here so you might as well just deal with it.” He opened the door to the servants' quarters and jerked her to the side. The other guard walked through and headed down into the depths of the castle. “Go,” the man behind her said as he bobbed his head down the steps.

  “But--“

  His eyes narrowed and he fixed her with a glare. “You have one chance. Walk down those steps of your own accord, Miss Guinevere. We do not have time to deal with your insolence, and I will do what I have to to make sure you are secured as the king commanded.”

  Guinevere straightened her shoulders and pouted at him. “Fine,” she said as she tossed her head into the air. “Be that way.” She stomped down the stairs, practically shoving the other guard out of the way as they reached the door. She spun in the opening and faced the two guards with her head held high. “I'm going to tell Arthur how you treated me. He will not tolerate this level of disrespect. I am his wife, the queen.”

  The guards gave each other a glance before breaking out into laughter. “If you say so, Miss Guinevere.” The guard who had preceded her down the stairs took her arm again. “In.” He pushed her inside and shut the door behind her.

  Guinevere heard a click and started pounding at the door. “Let me out, you ungrateful buffoons! I am Queen Guinevere. I do not deserve to be treated this way. I am royalty, damn you. Royalty!“ She beat on the door with her fists, shouting as she glanced around the room. It was simple and unadorned. A small, neat bed sat in one corner, with a single low dresser with three drawers at the foot of it. A chamber pot sat in the other corner. Aside from those three items, the room was barren stone.

  Guinevere beat on the door a few more times for good measure before allowing her voice to taper off. She pressed her ear to the wood and waited. Silence met her. “Good,” she whispered. “Stupid oafs.”

  With a wave of her hand, she placed a seal of silence over the door. It was a simple, but effective spell. No sound would be going in or out. She walked to the chamber pot and looked inside. It was empty, a small favor. Curling her nose in disgust, she picked it up. She held it away from her nose and touched it with as little skin as possible as she walked over to the dresser and set it on top.

  “Ugh, I hope that thing was washed,” she mumbled as she wiped her hands on her skirt and reached into her boot. A knife appeared from its place of concealment and she positioned her hands over the pot. “Here we go.”

  She drew the blade over her left hand and drops of blood fell from her palm into the pot. “I call on thee, Leanansidhe. Queen of Darkness, Queen of Light. Come to me, Leanansidhe. Listen to my plight.”

  Smoke swirled in the pot and boiled out over the top. It writhed and twisted, forming itself into a shape. “I always hated that call. It's so...” The smokey figure waved a hand. “Pedestrian.”

  Guinevere bowed her head. “Mother, I have news.”

  Leanansidhe's ephemeral form cocked an eyebrow. “Of course you do. Why else would you call?”

  The faery's daughter narrowed her eyes at her mother, but ignored the remark. “Your army has arrived. The knights are out there, getting ready to fight.”

  “And?”

  Guinevere straightened. “And what?”

  “Have they called for reinforcements? I need to know when the battle has actually begun, child. I don't care if the knights are getting ready. I need to know when they call the rest of the realm to their aid, when they are deep in battle. I cannot perform my duty if you do not perform yours.”

  Guinevere pursed her lips. “Fine. I'll call you again soon.” She waved her hand and the form dispersed. “Ungrateful woman. After all I've done for her she still treats me like a stupid child.”

  She tucked the knife back into her boot and let out a growl. Then she walked to the door and waved her hand, effectively dropping the spell of silence. “Hello?” she called through the wood. “Can one of you help me? I think I've hurt myself.”

  The door opened. “What did you do?”

  Her face a mask of pain and confusion, Guinevere held up her left palm. “I seem to have cut myself.”

  The guard focused on it, moving his face in closer. “How did you manage that?”

  “Easy,” she said as she tapped him on the forehead with her fingers. He crumpled to the ground at her feet. “With a knife.”

  The other guard spun toward her with his hand on his sword. She reached out and pressed a finger to his temple. He crumpled, too. “Stupid men.”

  With several grunts and a lot of curses, Guinevere managed
to drag the guards into the room and shut the door behind her. She locked it and placed a spell over it before she crept toward the stairs to listen for the telltale sounds of battle. There were lots of shouts and commands, but not the sweet clang of metal on metal she expected.

  Padding up the stairs, she peered around the corner of the door. Not a faery or knight was in sight, so she tiptoed up the stairs, past the floor where the knights slept, to the top of the castle. A door on the right lay open and a young faery woman puttered inside the small room. She spun as Guinevere approached.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in a small, timid voice.

  Guinevere smiled. “I seem to be lost. I was trying to find a window and got myself all spun around. Do you think you could help me?”

  The girl eyed her with suspicion. “You're Guinevere, the King's former wife.”

  Guin's lip curled and she bit down on her tongue to fight back a nasty remark. Instead, she forced her face to relax and smiled at the girl. “I am. And I'm just so concerned about Arthur and his knights. I really wish to know what's going on. Help me, please?” She put her hand on the girl's bare arm and let her smile grow as the tips of her fingers buzzed with magic.

  The young faery's lip quivered for a moment, but then her eyes glazed over and she got a droopy grin on her face. “Okay, yes. I will help you. We can go up to the roof. That is the best place to view a battle around the castle.”

  The faery led her out the door to the main landing. She pulled back a curtain to reveal a thin, winding set of stairs that led up. She turned to Guinevere with a triumphant smile.

  “Excellent,” Guin praised the girl. “By the way, what's your name, child?”

  “Lilia, my lady. I am Lady Aiofe's handmaiden.”

  “Oh, really? That's very useful information. Useful indeed.” She reached up and brushed a lock of hair from Lilia's face. “Lilia, my dear, why don't you go in and have a rest. When you wake up, all of this will be but a strange dream that you can't quite remember.” She smiled and tapped the girl on the forehead.