Or so she thought.
Smirking over her chalice, Elizabeth yet sat in her chair in the far corner. She stole a sip of the fragrant beverage in her hand. “Are you certain?”
Wynn twitched. “Without a doubt.”
The girl’s grin grew larger, appearing similar to her eldest brother’s… though far less winning. “Be ready, then, pretty prophet.” With that, she stood and vacated the room without offering another glance.
Wynn had half a mind to follow, to discover what she planned, what the SCSS planned… but that was precisely what Elizabeth wished. Wynn almost regretted not pretending to go along with their plans for the sake of learning what they meant to do, but the memory of those repulsive sprites vying for her put her to rights.
Like a bolt, it occurred to her what Phillip’s having won the champion’s title meant. The entire purpose of the tournament had been to discover who would defend the south from what was to come… That person was now Phillip. Like a lamb led to the slaughter, he had unwittingly presented himself as an enemy to the SCSS… and his own sorceress sister.
Oh, why had she not informed him of his sister’s secret? She could not fool herself; she’d been afforded a number of occasions to relay it. But she had let Elizabeth’s threats affect her too deeply. Well, no more would this be the case. Those she cared for now faced the danger from which she had wished to protect them. She must make her move and soon.
- T W E N T Y – E I G H T –
The Plot Unfurls
PHILLIP COULD SCARCELY ACCEPT the fact he’d won. And in doing so, he had bested Brodrick, the one to whom he’d been sorely compared for so long. The only avenue by which he could come to terms with it was that it was the bewildering favor of the Great One. There was no other way. Perhaps the Great One had even presented Wynn as a friend so he could begin to believe in himself. And to think all he had desired was not to make a dunce of himself. Now, everything had changed… and nothing.
For a short time, his parents had valued him. Their eyes had sparkled as they recognized him as something to take pride in, someone who would not muddle what he would one day inherit. Those sparkling eyes… had terrified him. To see it gone from them was more blessed even than having his brother back.
Brodrick assured he was there to remain and would not leave him with the bulk of the family expectations again. Phillip believed him… mostly because he wanted to, but also because his brother had changed. He was yet the flighty, amiable, slightly self-centered man he’d been. But he was also the one who looked upon his younger brother as if he had worth that went beyond what honor he could bring to the family. He was proud of Phillip for utterly selfless reasons.
Not only did Brodrick not mind he’d been bested by his younger brother, he delighted in it. The elder maintained he’d won more than enough tournaments and it was time Phillip took over… that was, if he wished. He had stated this with a wink, as if he knew precisely what Phillip truly desired. But how could he understand the workings of Phillip’s heart after having been away so long? Phillip hardly knew his own heart… though he knew it better than he liked to admit.
It amazed him that his brother had returned at all, especially from the sounds of what his life had been like in Bashtii, all the wealth he could ask for with the freedom to do precisely as he pleased. That he should abandon such a life was… well, it was proof of his transformation. Phillip had always looked up to him, but it was easier to respect him now.
Wynn had seemed to like Brodrick, though Phillip had not been afforded a moment to speak with her since he’d won the tournament. She had left late the evening before, but as he had been pulled this way and that by the congratulators, he’d been unable to spend time with the one person he actually wanted. After all, she was the true reason for the day’s celebration. Moreover, she was his dearest friend.
Though he knew she was pleased with his success, she did not appear any prouder of him than before. It was as if she’d picked up where the prophet had left off. She saw value in him that he himself could not. That she, of all people, had seen it had been enough to fill him with the assurance he needed. In addition to the training, he was certain that had been the bolstering he needed to do well in the competition.
Throwing on his cloak, he made ready to visit her. They had made no plans, but now his brother was back, his family would have no use for him. Thus, he was at leisure to do as he pleased and that was to do as he always did: visit the cabin that was more home to him than any place in the world.
Upon opening the door, he was met by Terrance.
“Quickly!” the dwarf shouted as he started for the stables. “You must come with me!”
“Where are we going?” Phillip called incredulously.
“I’ve heard people from several villages talking. They mean to confront Lord Valdren about Sir Rupert… and I do not mean peaceably. They’ve battle in their eyes. You must get word to him, for I could not gain entrance to warn him.”
* * *
Wynn’s nightmares did not bode well. She had attempted to wake herself over and over, but every time she awoke to discover she yet dreamed. In the dreams, she’d been haunted by both sorcerers and daemons. But most horrifying of all had been watching Phillip die… over and again in various, heartrending ways. She awoke once more, gripping her sheets, praying this time she had truly awoken, that she had returned to her own reasonable world. Sweaty and teary-eyed, she looked to her Carers.
“You’ve been freed at last,” Laleidiannan said. “We’ve been trying for hours. You were greatly cursed this night. There has been much warfare in our realm.”
“Who has done this?” Wynn asked as she wiped exhausted tears from her eyes.
“Who do you think?” Fancii asked.
The SCSS. “But surely they have attempted to curse me before now?”
“Indeed, but never with such vigor. Moreover, you had the prophet alert day and night, available to intercede on your behalf when needed. You would surely be dead this night if not for us.” She gestured to herself and Laleidiannan as well as to the Guardians who stood over Wynn on either side of the bed, appearing as if they truly had been in battle all the evening long.
But why should the Secret Circle of Southern Sorcerers have come after her with such vigor on this particular evening? She threw off her coverlet. She must warn Phillip what his sister was as soon as possible. If they were after her, what might they have planned for the southern champion? She dearly regretted having let the matter slide the evening before, but he had not had a moment’s peace from his congratulators. Now, she must tell him all and together they would find a way to stop their enemy’s plot.
“A storm is brewing,” Laleidiannan informed.
“Is it? How near?”
The Carers turned their heads a moment as if listening for something in the atmosphere.
“Mmm, not far,” Fancii muttered.
The intensity in their expression filled her with apprehension. She stood to peer out the window but saw nothing of it. Even so, she knew better than to doubt them. Whether or not she saw the signs, it was out there, somewhere.
“I will see what this is about,” she said, marching for the door.
The ladylike creatures nodded and the vigilant Guardians followed after. Making her way through the house, she noted most of the creatures appeared as cheery as usual, conveying they either did not sense what the Carers spoke of or it was simply none of their affair. Yet, there were those who looked to her with solemnity and offered a nod of understanding. She could not be certain what it all meant, but it furthered her trepidation.
Stepping outside, she found the towering Watchers standing stoically at attention, looking to the sky. Closing her eyes, she took a breath and stole the moment to intentionally connect with the Great One’s spiritual ream. Opening them, she discovered the world anew. The sky, formerly bright and shining but a moment before, was deepened in hue as clouds moved swiftly overhead. The colors of all below were muted, but
it was the dense, murky atmosphere that tipped her off to the understanding this was no ordinary storm brewing. Rather, it was something of another nature… something she had not yet encountered. Whatever it was succeeded in affecting the weather of the physical realm. But why she’d not seen it before, she could not say. Something had blinded her, perhaps placed upon her by the sorcerers’ curses.
Starting down the path, she was met by a fluttering wave of bright green orbs and melodic-winged sprites. They proceeded to cling to her body as if offering protection. She thought to brush them away but feared offending them. As she went, the butterfly-like creatures stirred their wings to a tune that spoke of what was to come. It alluded to a momentous confrontation.
Stopping before Juniper, she considered taking him along but thought better of it. She knew not what to expect this day and preferred to keep her treasured gelding out of harm’s way. He whinnied after her as she continued on, calling for her to take him along, but she commanded him to remain. He obeyed, but his eyes spoke volumes of inner turmoil… an emotion she had not thought an animal could rightly experience.
Slowly, she made her way through the Enchanted Wood, glancing here and there for signs of the angelic creatures, but there was a stark lack of the usual dancing and frolicking she’d come to expect. Instead, the mysterious beings stood silently, watching as she passed.
At last, she was before Delias, dryad of the wood. The music ceased. It had not been her intention to come to this place, but she understood her feet had meant to take her there from the moment she’d passed through the door.
“Greetings, prophet,” Delias said.
Wynn nodded. “Do you know what transpires?”
Delias’ branches shook and Wynn understood this to be like the shaking of the head. “I may be able to find out for you.” The dryad’s branches continued to quiver, casting leaves into the air. Wynn could not make out what the oak intended until it was shooting toward the sky, trunk expanding until it was a great tower in the sky.
Waving about in a wind that ripped through its branches, the guardian stood tall, scrutinizing the landscape. “There,” Delias’ voice boomed down like thunder.
Before Wynn knew it, the trunk was shrinking until the dryad’s face was before her once more.
“You must go to the golden field before Valdren Castle,” Delias said solemnly.
Her stomach turned. What could be happening there? As the tents ought to have cleared out by then, it should be unoccupied. “What is it?”
“I could not altogether tell. There is some disturbance. The Great One… invites you to attend.”
The small creatures who’d been clinging to her scattered and fluttered about, going where, she did not know. Biting her lip, she regretted having left Juniper behind. In order to arrive as swiftly as possible, she must see if she could fly. There would have been little hope of this had she not met the Great One the day before.
Bending at the knees, she leaped… and found she rose weightlessly until she’d broken into open sky. The sensation was both petrifying and exhilarating. The ripping of the wind through her hair and clothing was real enough, and though she was not so fearful as she had been upon the dragon, she could not help feeling a little ill. Nevertheless, she flew so hastily, it felt mere moments before she was gliding down to a secluded place near the field.
She just made out the wild frenzy surrounding a figure in the center of the expanse. Dashing toward the chaos, her stomach dropped when she made out Phillip’s form as part of a ring of defenders surrounding Lord Valdren. To her surprise, Terrance was among them. From what she could tell, they were striving to protect the lord from a crowd of mere villagers, maddeningly desperate to get their claws into him. Her concern doubled as she made out the drawn weapons of the defenders while few of the villagers carried anything close to battle-worthy. If this commotion should take a turn for the worse, it would be a bloodbath. Even so, the blades were the only defense against the enraged mob.
She attempted to press through the crowd to inquire of her friends what the trouble was, to offer assistance, but failed. But through the shouting of the throng, she learned their purpose. It seemed many had endured the wrath of Lord Valdren’s son, Sir Rupert, in varying degrees. She, of course, had a very good idea of what their trouble was, having encountered him herself. In fact, her confrontations had been quite trivial in comparison to the grievances she heard. Their cry was if Lord Valdren could not control his own son, protect them from him, they no longer desired him as overlord. From what she could tell, this talk had been transpiring for some time.
She had, indeed, heard many stories of Rupert’s ill behavior toward a number of the servants who came from the villages, but she had not realized it was severe enough to spark a small-scale rebellion. She even caught insults flung at Phillip, cursing him for not standing with them as their champion.
There began to be threats of assassinating Lord Valdren along with any who stood in their way. With each passing moment, what should have been a mild commotion grew bleaker. More villagers arrived to join their brothers and sisters on the field. And these arrived with weapons not only for themselves.
In a grievous turn of events, there appeared a large group stomping over the far hill, while from the gates of Valdren Castle came every knight and soldier in defense of Lord Valdren. Her stomach twisted fiercely as she realized what might have played out as a horrifying though swift skirmish was transforming into a massacre. Not only were the villagers yet outnumbered, they were outskilled.
But how had this affair come so far? She recalled her meetings with Lord Valdren, the kind, feeling man she had met but three times, the last instance at the celebration for Phillip. He had approached her then and inquired how she’d been faring since the loss of the prophet. He had been thoughtful when he did not have to be. It was his nature.
As the wheels in her mind turned, she realized this gathering of the southern region for the Champion’s Tournament had provided the very means by which the main aggregators had rallied these people to physically pursue Lord Valdren. Yet, it had to stem from more than that. This, she knew, had been stimulated by the sorcerers. This was their revenge on Lord Valdren, their way of ridding themselves of an adversary. Somehow, with their curses, they’d turned half the southern villages against a good man… and they had done so through his own son.
Like a bolt of lightning, it came to her who their vessel had been, the one who would prove the undoing of their enemy. She could almost pity Rupert; he had not stood a chance. They had attempted to make use of his elder brother, but his character had saved him. Rupert’s weak one had not. Nevertheless, it was not likely he would have become such a monster if not for their having selected him as a lodestone to garner hatred for his father.
Tossed this way and that by the growing ruckus, she watched as each line of reinforcements drew nearer. They meant to meet in the center of the field where Lord Valdren, his knights and her best friends stood in the crossfire. Something must be done. Should battle ensue, must she take a side? If so, which? Peering down to her hip, she withdrew the crimson blade only to stand staring at it, uncertain how it should be used.
A voice broke into her spirit, almost as if audibly spoken. From the very mouth of the Great One came the words, “Let down your sword.”
This bewildered her. Why had he led her to the weapon if not for the good of his people in perilous situations such as this? Though relieved she was not expected to harm anyone, this must be stopped. What was she to do?
There was roaring and clashing of weapons. The melee had commenced. She looked to Phillip and he met her with misery. Both sides of this encounter were his people. But now it was growing clear that what the prophet had forewarned was emerging, what was the appointed Champion of the Southern Region to do?
At a sudden gust of wind, she turned face to the sky. Curling, ferocious clouds trundled overhead. A torrent of rain pelted all below. Undoubtedly, it was no ordinary tempest and the dro
ps that descended no commonplace precipitation. But even as she observed this, she knew there was yet more she did not see: something her own mind refused to perceive—had been refusing to accept from the moment she’d arrived. Pressing her lids shut, she refocused herself to hone deeper into the spiritual atmosphere. Opening them, she discovered the far more tumultuous battle that ensued.
- T W E N T Y – N I N E -
Veil Between Realms
SOME WHO HAD AT first appeared as mere townspeople and soldiers were morphing into grotesque creatures before her eyes. She was struck with terror not because of their girth (though some were quite large), but for their sheer repulsiveness in its profoundest measure. They were vile, iniquity oozing from their pores as mucus. Strings of saliva dangled from their mouths while their teeth were sharp as daggers. These were used as a weapon not only against the people (which resulted in stunning effects in the natural realm) but also the angelic creatures she now realized were present and waging war against this unseen enemy. She had seen daemon sprites in a small number of varying appearances… but these were of a whole other sort. They were bloodthirsty, feral.
Noting how enthusiastically they snickered, she perceived this was a moment for which they’d prepared well in advance. For years, they in their unseen form had been digging fang and claw into the villagers, whispering thoughts and schemes in an effort to rile them against Lord Valdren. The south had been a fine frenzy for these creatures before the lord had arrived and worked to bring peace, kindliness and honor to the region. These abhorrent entities wanted the vicinity back and they would use not only the sorcerers but the common people to do so. And there were so many of them, not only battling the creatures of Paradise, but perched upon the backs of those from each side of the skirmish.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 36