by C D Beaudin
Revera straightens up, sighing in frustration. “No need.” She gestures to Kepp, who walks forward. “This is Kepp, he will be your guard.”
The elf bows, hesitantly. “I am...” He glances at Revera, who gives him a slight nod to continue. He sighs. “At your service.” He straightens, and Tamon, seeming pleased, lies down on the bed.
“Well, Kepp. Go get my socks. My feet are cold.”
Kepp grits his teeth, and Revera stifles a laugh. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The sun is setting, streams of color paint across the sky. Above them the oncoming night advances, higher than the blue of the last minutes of day. The cold atmosphere of the Meran winter on the other side of the mountains sweeps through as they march through Nomarah. With night closing in on them, the army hurries to pitch tents and cook supper for their different ranks and assigned groups.
The group sits around a flickering fire, the snapping of the flames blending in with the many other fires crackling and hissing, and the sounds of night in the wilderness. Awyn wraps herself with a blanket. Her irritating armor off, she relaxes in a loose, white tunic, and the same pants and boots. Her curly hair flows freely, gently blowing in the soft wind.
“Life will change after this battle is over,” Dreema starts. “Some will die, some will live. And if we win, Awyn will have to dedicate the early years of her reign to a war with what seems like has no end.” He’s across the fire, sitting on a log, and looks at Awyn. “My Princess. You have no need to join us in this battle. You can wait in hiding. You know of where I speak.”
Awyn does know where he speaks of. Kaniel’s hut. But she cannot. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? A woman waiting for the men to return. Or for them to be slain by the enemy.” She looks around the fire at all the male faces she’s spent so much time with over the last month or so. “I cannot wait. When this battle starts, do not think of me as a woman, but as a fellow warrior. I will not be that fragile young girl that nursed you in that hut, Aradon. I will not be that shadow that came to your new home, Eldowyn. I will be strong. I will be new. Do not think of me as Awyn, but as one of you.”
The group is silent. Aradon’s and Eldowyn’s expressions say they know she won’t consent to Dreema’s suggestion.
“Very well.” The wizard sighs.
She settles down to sleep, and memories flood her dreams—turning what was her past into a nightmare.
Awyn runs down the hall, the golden ceiling above her. She can see the doors of the palace, open for her to exit, for her escape. A face of desperate hope replaces her dead one, and she can smell the fresh air.
Then the hallway starts to warp, the white walls turning black. The ground falls, and she runs on an empty void of blackness. The doors shut, and it’s only her in the blackness. She turns, seeing Tamon, a sword in his hand, crimson blood dripping from it, the red pooling at his feet. A menacing, evil, twisted laugh comes from him, the bellow haunting.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she yells across the black void.
The laughter stops.
“Because you are an offspring of lies!”
With that word, the ground beneath her begins to tremble, and she falls into the void. Her screams silence when darkness envelops her.
She shoots up in a cold sweat. She squeezes her eyes shut. Breathe. Just breathe. You are okay. You will be okay.
Awyn looks around the camp. Some soldiers lay silently as they sleep, while more snores lift from the many men. A short way from her, Hagard overpowers them all with his monstrous snore. She breathes heavily, trying to calm herself. The moon above is bright, the half shape indicating the middle of the month.
She feels the soft wind against her face and neck. Her hair flutters as a gust comes and goes. A few feet away from her, Aradon lies with a blanket over him. On the other side, Eldowyn’s as silent as the night sky. Dreema lies on the other side of the dead fire, his staff held tight against his chest.
The night is calm, other than the fact they will be fighting to the death in less than a week. It’s…intimidating. No, terrifying. Funny, Awyn used to think nothing could scare her anymore. But the fact that a war is brewing, and that a spirit she thought was just a myth is trying to destroy her, well, that would scare just about anyone.
She stands and walks through the clusters of sleeping warriors. Her bare feet touch the soft, red ground, the cold grass tickling her toes. A few tents are risen for the generals, the chief, and his son. Saine’s sleeping away from most of the men. His bow is still clutched in his hand, an arrow in the other one. He’s paranoid. Can’t blame him really. This is a dangerous world.
She walks past him, and the army is now behind her. The fields of Nomarah and the Meran Mountains collide here. The fields seeming to never end, and the mountains are taller than one can see. Where the stars and the mountains meet, she wants to go there. If this were the sea, she would think of getting a boat to sail off into the beyond.
“Midnight stroll?” She turns at the familiar voice, and Aradon walks up beside her.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks, looking out onto the silver-tinted, never-ending green plains of Nomarah.
“I would say so.” He looks down at her. “Do you think we will march in victory?”
She looks up at him. “I dare not imagine such hope. Instead I focus on other things. Like keeping alive.”
“That’s good.” He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are calm.
“What is war like?” she asks.
He turns away from her. “I wish you would not find out. It’s too gruesome, too painful.” Without another word, he solemnly walks back to where he was sleeping.
She sighs, taking one last glance at the moon before she follows him back.
Several days pass, and the army comes along a familiar, and for some, a not so familiar sight.
The Dark Woods.
The trees are as black as a raven’s wings. The leaves are gray, and when they blow in the wind, they turn to dust. The ground, a reddish color. But the sounds from inside are what terrifies the army.
Screeches of Dalorin, the screams of their victims echoing through the forest, can be heard from even outside the trees. A hoot of an owl haunts, the sound breathy and loud. The crunch of a branch.
Toccama, perhaps seeing the fear in his men, rides to the front of the army, turning to them. “I know you are afraid. I know you’d rather go home now, than face this enemy before us. But we have a duty to this girl. To her dead father! We will avenge him. We will give this girl her kingdom back!” He takes a breath. “I know we are few. I know the Meran army is much larger than ours but Tamon is a negligent king. We will defeat them like stone crushing sand!” He points his sword to the forest. “And this enemy here? We will cut through it, for we are brave. We are strong! We are Tanea!
The army starts chanting. “Tanea! Tanea! Tanea!” Over and over again, until Toccama turns, and starts riding into the forest. The first rank follows, and then the rest of the army.
Despite the motivating speech, Awyn can see the nervousness of the soldiers around her, even the chief and Errek. Saine is ahead of the whole group on his black horse, navigating the way. Awyn isn’t even sure she would remember how to get through here. She trots up to Saine, her horse only a few feet from his.
“Saine, they’re all terrified,” she whispers. “They all believe they’re going to die, I can hear that much.”
“What do you expect me to do?” he says.
She pauses, not too sure what she was trying to accomplish by telling him the state of the troops.
He lets out a quiet, short laugh. “It’s all right. You are afraid, aren’t you? You were caught by one of these creatures, right?” he asks, but he seems to already know her answer.
“It was weeks ago. But it feels as recent as sleeping.” She remembers the cold wash over her, the ice piercing into her heart, sending cold, painful chills throughout her entire body. Her eyes iced over, her skin was freezing. Turning to shadow…it was te
rrifying.
“Being a fellow Dalorin victim, I can sympathize.”
Awyn looks at him in surprise.
He gives her an understanding smile. “I was eleven, but it feels like yesterday.”
Saine had jumped onto a rock. Going onto his knees, he’d hidden on the slanted side of the rock. He’d spied a deer, and held up his bow, letting the arrow fly, hitting the deer in the heart. It landed on its side, dead. “Father, did you see?” He’d turned, leaning on the rock.
His father had emerged from the trees, two thumbs up. “Your first deer. Good job, my boy!”
Saine had smiled as his father Rosh messed up his shaggy blond hair. Saine had turned to the deer, standing straighter, proud of his accomplishment.
“Most boys would be at least fourteen before they could make that shot,” his father had stated proudly as he grabbed the arrow from the deer and tied the ankles together.
“Will mother cook it tonight for supper?” Saine had asked, taking the arrow from his father, wiping the blood off, and putting it back in his sheath. He’d slid the bow into its leather holder.
“I’m sure she will think of something to cook with it.” He’d hauled the rope over his shoulder and dragged the deer along as they walked through the woods.
Saine had jumped into a clear stream, the cold water rushing through his pants. Suddenly he was submerged in the water. When he came up, his father was laughing.
“Hey!” He’d splashed, wetting his father’s short brown hair.
The older man had gasped at the freezing cold water.
“Okay, I surrender.” His father had thrown the deer over the stream and walked onto the bank.
Saine had followed.
When they arrived at their simple house in the woods, Saine had run inside, straight to his mother, Waya, who was wiping off the kitchen table. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders, her bangs over her eyes. She’d rubbed her forehead as she looked up and embraced him as he ran into her arms.
“Mother, I got a deer!” He’d pointed out the door.
She walked to the entrance of their house and saw the deer on the grass. “Great job, Saine! I knew it was only a matter of time.” She’d patted him on the back before she remembered he was sopping wet. Wiping her hand on her white apron, she’d turned back inside. “Take off your shirt and go put on a dry one.”
He’d taken off his red breezy tunic, running into his bedroom, then quickly came back into the kitchen.
His father had walked up to his wife, putting his arms around her waist and the faded blue dress she wore. “He’s doing really well.”
She’d smiled. “Well, he is my son.”
They’d chuckled. “True,” he’d said with a smile.
He’d kissed her, but she had pulled away coyly. “No, no, no, you need to skin that deer. I’m going to prepare some vegetables.” She’d walked through the door, leaving his father.
His mother had cut carrots while a pot of water boiled in the living room fireplace. Saine had replaced his wet red shirt with a blue one. “Can I go out and play with Morga?” he’d asked.
“Yes, but don’t stray far from the house, remember.”
He’d nodded, and run out the door, past his father who was skinning the deer. “Morga!” Saine had yelled, and a black dog ran up to him. “Morga!” The dog had jumped into his arms, knocking him over, licking his face. “Okay! Okay!” The dog jumped off him, tail wagging and tongue hanging. But then Morga had started to whine. “What’s wrong?” Saine asked.
He’d heard a loud screech, then a scream, and turned in surprise, only to see a shadow head straight for him. Saine had shouted and started running back toward his house.
“Help!” he’d yelled, but then he stiffened and fell—frozen in his body. His vision had started to blacken, but he could hear his parents rush to him, their worried voices filling his mind. Then darkness took him.
Saine’s face furrows at the no doubt painful memory as they ride in silence. Awyn doesn’t feel bad for him, only understands what he is feeling. “Well, I definitely know how that feels,” she says. She isn’t going to pry and ask how he was healed. “I guess we are more alike than I thought.” She smiles, and so does he.
“I guess so.”
The moment is spoiled by screams. Horses within the army neigh and skitter this way and that. Dalorin.
Their screeches fill the woods, screams echoing. Everywhere, soldiers start panicking and running, some deserting, running toward the exit they came from. But they are picked off one by one.
One heads straight for Awyn, but she is knocked off her horse by Saine before it can get to her. She rubs her head, wincing, but the pain subsides as the Dalorin comes back for her. She scrambles to her feet and starts running. Her horse gallops after her. Saine follows, leaning over to catch Awyn’s arm. He grabs hold of it, hauling her behind him onto the back of his horse, and she sighs in relief.
“Thank you,” she breathes into his ear. She looks back, and Toccama takes control of his horse.
“Don’t panic. Don’t panic. We’ll be fine if we keep moving,” he yells, but then moves his horse along toward Dreema. “Can you do something?” he whispers to the wizard.
Dreema nods. He lifts his staff in the air, and rings of white light pulse through the air as he mutters something.
“We will be safe for a while,” the wizard states.
Toccama turns to the army behind him. “We are safe now!” He moves forward. “Move out!”
Everyone follows hesitantly. Awyn—back on Blancar—and Saine, urge their horses on to a gallop as the army approaches. Looking behind her, Aradon, Eldowyn, and Dreema ride alongside the chief and Errek. The whole army gallops, a surge of energy through the soldiers. They want to get out of here and get the battle over with, Awyn thinks.
Aradon watches the Dark Woods stretch out far ahead. The night is upon them, but they don’t dare stop to sleep or eat. The trees let no light in from the moon or stars. A cold breeze sweeps through the dark forest. Eyes adjusted, Aradon can see somewhat, but the darkness is immense, and the barren trees are thicker here.
His horse is skittish, all the horses are. The Dalorin’s screams and screeches sound throughout the forest, no one can tell if they are close or far.
Suddenly, the horse in front of him stops, and he halts to a quick stop too. It’s Awyn. He trots up beside her, she’s staring at something.
“Awyn what—?” He follows her gaze and in front of him is Kaniel’s hut. But joy isn’t in her eyes. In fact, her eyes glisten with tears. She points to the chimney. No smoke. And the door is open.
Aradon swallows, and dismounts, taking a shaky breath. He leaves his Everbreed standing and walks up to the hut. He opens the door farther, the creaking making an ominous noise.
“Kaniel?” he calls out. No answer. He walks in, seeing the messy hut just the same as they’d left it, only…two cups of unfinished tea sit on the table. He walks over to the bed. Kaniel isn’t here. He’s gone.
For a moment, he just thinks he either didn’t leave Thasoe or he’s out looking for them, but then, he sees something that changes his mind. A single red leaf. Crimson. Silver material.
Revera.
He walks out of the hut, anger burning his cheeks red. As he mounts his horse, Awyn looks at him. “Where is he?” she asks.
Aradon hands her the leaf, and anger fills her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Saine asks.
Awyn grips the leaf tightly, her jaw tightening in fury. She kicks her horse, and gallops through the rest of the short stretch of woods, and onto the field where she can see the mountain city. Aradon and the first rank joins her. The White City shines in the moonlight even with all the moss covering the stone. But it’s not that that stops them.
It’s the massive army in front of them. And a man on horseback is walking up to her. Awyn’s jaw visibly tightens. “Hello, General.”
“Well,” the man starts. “Welcome home.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Awyn recognizes the man on his white horse. Her father’s most loyal servant, General Borez. His short black hair is hidden under a silver helmet, but his black beard is as prominent as the fading night above them.
“Princess, I suggest you surrender now, so that I can bring you to the king without any more bloodshed than there has to be.” His voice is calm, but he is known to be manipulative with his enemies.
“When did you become my enemy, Borez? What happened to your loyalty to my family?” Awyn questions, using the cool tone of a monarch in her voice.
The general lifts his chin. “I am being loyal to your family. I am serving your uncle wholeheartedly.”
“Then what about Revera? You know Tamon is just a candle to her. And his wick is almost spent.” She urges her horse along, walking beside Borez. “Don’t do this. Not to me,” she pleads with him.
For a moment, she can see a hint of doubt, but the spark expires, and his face furrows. “Best be moving on to the other side. I can already smell the stench of death in the air,” he says.
Awyn turns back and rides up alongside Toccama. “We are going to finish them. I saw how weak their army is. Thin, hungry, tired. They have no wanting to be here. They do not want to fight for Tamon.”
Her eyes narrow as she looks back on the army behind her. I don’t want to kill any of you. But this is my responsibility. My duty.
The war drums beat.
The clash of swords fills the cold air. The smell of blood stings Awyn’s nostrils. Her armor is covered in her victims’ blood, and she watches as they fall to the ground. She takes a punch to the face and retaliates by slashing into the man’s stomach.
She breathes heavily. As she wipes her blood from her mouth, smearing it on her hand, she looks around her. Everywhere, the Tanean soldiers face two to one. Men fall, cut down in their paths, blood staining the snow and few patches of grass. The night above her fades lighter as the first minutes of gray morning arrive.