“Eveline!” cried Galean heeding his dragon on into the night, following the fiery light on his right. Nuyay cried aloud as he passed the villages and towns beneath him, causing those who heard him to run outside and watch him pass, a blaze of red against a darkened night sky.
Chapter XIX
Attack of the Dunaman
“Can you fight?” Mathilda turned to Celestine, confident that her horse would guide them in between the thick, ancient trees, ahead of the others. Celestine lifted her golden eyes, her hair billowing about her wildly, her dress stuck to her body, and her leather satchel bouncing off Galean’s dagger.
“Yes, but believe me when I say I am only a beginner,” she replied loudly, the sound of hoofs following the group.
“That is enough,” replied Mathilda kicking her horse onwards, “You should prepare yourself for a fight your grace.”
“Please I am Celestine,” frowned Eveline, dropping her right hand under her satchel and finding the dagger.
“Celestine, stay close to me, I will protect you,” commanded Mathilda, her eyes searching the forest around them finally resting on Morad who rode to her side, sword drawn.
“We need to split!” he yelled, his horn laying at his chest.
“We need to get Aabe and Anvin to safety, I will take Anvin you must take Aabe,” ordered Mathilda, “you must lead the assassins away from Calnuthe!” she bellowed turning her horse sharply, causing Celestine to grab onto Mathilda’s waist tightly; she had much to learn she realised as she leaned into Mathilda, how Morad and Mathilda could guide their horses through a forest and talk was beyond her.
“Meet at Droti?” Morad yelled, directing Aabe with a gloved hand to follow him.
“Droti!” cried Mathilda turning away from Morad, leading Celestine and Evalean toward Calnuthe. Evalean was close behind them, and to Celestine’s horror she was sitting back to front her bow at the ready.
“Is that really safe?” Celestine shouted at Mathilda.
“She has been riding since she was two, it’s safe,” smiled Mathilda now guiding her horse towards what look to Celestine to be a small hamlet of round houses. The village was dark but for a fire in the centre. Mathilda, her stallion at full speed, charged through the village, sword raised in the air.
“Attack!” she cried out loud, “Attack!”
Evalean dropped her bow to the side and lifted her horn blowing it wildly as they made their way out of the hamlet, turning left again. The villagers got up and made ready, the men finding their swords and bows and the women taking their young into the darks of the forest away from the oncoming violence.
“Will they be alright?” cried Celestine looking over her shoulder at the village; men were carrying wooden fences, spiked with blades to the front of the village, digging them into the soil.
“Best warriors in the East!” announced Mathilda proudly. “The Taer army could learn a few things from the Meerin warriors!”
“Mathilda!” Evalean shouted from behind. “I will lead them away.”
“No!” commanded Mathilda sharply, turning to her friend, “you are only one person, you cannot take on a dozen assassins, and you must stay with me and ready the people of Calnuthe!”
“Are you sure?” Evalean replied, now level with Mathilda, her horn bouncing off her leather armour.
“Yes, we have a fifteen, twenty minute head start, enough time to ready the people and get Anvin out.”
Celestine could hear battle cries behind her and feared for the village they had left behind, fearing most of all for the women and children.
“They have safe houses in the trees,” Mathilda answered as if seeing into her mind.
“That’s smart,” Celestine answered pathetically, she was always underestimating people and their abilities.
“Yes” laughed Mathilda, “no one messes with the Dunaman people.”
“You must forgive my ignorance,” Celestine moaned leaning into Mathilda’s ear. I have just lost my husband, she cried inwardly.
“We will soon sort that out,” Mathilda smiled. “Ah here we are.”
“Pardon?” cried Celestine, unable to look beyond Mathilda’s back for fear of vomiting.
“We are at the meeting place of the Dunaman, the High Priests home,” announced Mathilda slowing her horse down as they entered a defensive wall, made of timber. A few men were walking atop the defensive wall as they entered Calnuthe, the city of Summe. Evalean was sounding her horn, readying the men to battle. Calnuthe was a much larger and grander version of the village they had just bypassed. Large round houses built of stone and timber lay within the wall of Calnuthe. The city was built upon a hill, the largest of all the round houses at the very top, a great spiral of smoke coming from its centre. As they ascended the hill, Celestine watched male warriors rush about yelling out orders.
“Where will the women and children go?” Celestine asked dumbly in between Mathilda’s ordering to soldiers.
“The tunnels,” replied Mathilda kicking her horse lightly, guiding it through the crowd of soldiers, running down to the wall, swords drawn, Bows at the ready, and some with shields on their backs and axes in their left hands. Celestine looked down at her dagger and sighed in pity, she really would have to stay beside the fearsome Mathilda. Celestine decided it was best to just keep quiet about her observations, she already felt humiliated and ridiculous despite all that had recently passed. When they reached the large round house, Mathilda brought her horse to a stop alongside Evalean and got down, turning to help Celestine down.
“I’ll go and alert the guards,” Evalean announced, patting Celestine on the arm, “you will be fine, stick to Mathilda she’s the best.”
“Don’t let your brother hear you say such things!” teased Mathilda who was shrugging at an uneasy Celestine, who smiled weakly, her body still cold and wet.
“What’s the worst he could do?” laughed Evalean.
“Snap your bow in half during one of his moods,” answered Mathilda rolling her eyes at the thought.
“Oh well nothing new,” replied Evalean heading off and leaving Mathilda and Celestine.
“Come let’s get you some dry clothes,” smiled Mathilda guiding Celestine up the steps and towards the large round house which Celestine guessed was the palace of Calnuthe.
“Are you sure we have time?” said Celestine anxiously, climbing the stone steps, her shoes making odd noises as the water within swirled about her feet.
“Yes we have time, the soldiers will keep the assassins at bay, hopefully felling a few dozen.” Mathilda assured the drenched Celestine. Celestine nodded in agreement following Mathilda into the round house. The roof of the round house was made up of straw and mud whilst the walls were made of grey stone, decorated with great furs and shields of iron. The inside of the round house was not as Celestine envisioned. It was divided up into separated chambers and they were walking down a wide hallway which led to the centre of the house. Celestine could see an incredible iron throne in the middle and an elderly man slouched over it, his long silver hair falling to his bare feet.
“Anvin,” Mathilda stated, biding Celestine to stop whilst she went forward to greet the elderly priest, kneeling before him and kissing his hand. Celestine watched as the elderly man smiled down at Mathilda almost with a fatherly love.
“Why are my people taking up swords?” he asked slowly, lifting himself up and casting his eyes across at Celestine, frowning.
“Beon my lord, he has sent assassins to kill you and I believe your son,” Mathilda declared getting up from her knees and standing back, letting Anvin observe Celestine with curiosity. Celestine lowered her eyes in embarrassment, Galean’s dagger in her hand. Mathilda turned to look at Celestine with pride, her eyes ashine and her face aglow.
“Come, this is Anvin, High Priest of Dunaman and Meerin,” Mathilda announced regally, inviting Celestine to come forward. Heeding her invitation, Celestine hesitantly moved towards the priest, unsure of herself and unsure of him.
“My child,” he smiled holding out his hands awaiting her to kiss them, “come we kiss hands in friendship among the Dunaman tribe.”
Celestine bent down and kissed his knuckles briefly before standing up again.
“We have been awaiting your arrival for a long time, and now you are here before me,” Anvin cried getting up and walking down to Celestine, taking her hands in his, “this is a great day for the people of the North and South, hope has been inflamed.”
“If I am the hope that you speak off, then you will be sorely disappointed my lord,” sighed Celestine heavily, the realisation of all that had passed that night hitting her squarely in the chest.
“Come you are tired and aggrieved my child,” soothed Anvin, “for you have lost your husband this night and have left the world you once knew to come to an unknown place.”
“I feel slightly disorientated,” admitted Celestine freely, wiping away a tear, feeling ashamed, acknowledging her weakness against Mathilda’s strength, shuddering in response.
“Off course you do, I am going to take you under my wing child, I will teach you the ways of this world,” Anvin replied softly, “but first you must change from your wet clothes into clothes more suited to a night of metal and fire.”
“I will take her to the armoury,” announced Mathilda coming to Celestine’s side, taking her arm and winding it through hers.
“Yes, take her Mathilda and be patient with her,” Anvin ordered turning and sitting down upon his throne once more, “then we must leave.”
Mathilda nodded in return and Celestine followed suite also nodding before being dragged away from Anvin, his face etched with worry. Following Mathilda through the various corridors, Celestine found herself at the armoury, a large, round room that smelt wildly of men.
“Take your clothes off,” instructed Mathilda, setting down her sword before going through the reels of armour, her eyes averted.
“Now?” Celestine whispered feeling awkward.
“Yes now, we have no time to play coy, I am a woman and I assure you my eyes do not flutter at the sight of naked women,” she laughed taking a pair of tanned leather pants off a rack and throwing them over to Celestine carelessly. With her assurance and really no more dignity left, Celestine stripped herself down, leaving her chain mail on and picking up the leather pants, squeezing her rather wet legs into them tightly.
“Take off your chainmail, our linen shirts have chainmail sewn into them, two in one,” Mathilda said, throwing her a black linen shirt, heavy and thick. Celestine didn’t want to take off her chainmail but felt that she would rather take it off than face Mathilda’s wrath. Stripping herself completely, she put on the linen shirt that fell to her thighs, it was deceiving in looks for it was indeed heavy. Finding a leather jerkin, Mathilda brought it over to Celestine noticing the remarkable difference in her appearance.
“Here, put this on over your shirt,” she said softly, helping Celestine into the jerkin and tying it around her waist. Stepping back she looked at Celestine, her hair half up and half down haphazardly, her eyes bewildered. “I would recommend a shield and helmet, but I never use a helmet, a shield yes, but I prefer to fight as light as can be.”
“I need boots,” Celestine stared back blankly looking into Mathilda’s eyes in desperation, she had just lost her husband, had nobody noticed? Had she noticed?
“Ah yes, come with me, we shall get you some boots and a sword,” smiled Mathilda watching Celestine hide her dagger in her jerkin, noticing a beautiful jewel at her chest. In the swords room, Mathilda gave Celestine a pair of knee height boots and as she waded her legs into them, she looked for a sword.
“I am pretty good with a sword,” said Celestine getting up and following Mathilda around tying her hair back whilst looking at the swords, her eyes spotting a rather beautiful blade in the corner, unalike the rest of them. Leaving Mathilda’s side Celestine ventured over to the sword and picked it up. Eyes open with awe, she lifted the long sword into the air, taking in the beautifully carved hilt, the most incredible patterns of flowers and birds adorning the metal.
“Ah,” Mathilda sighed deeply, “you have chosen Mercy,”
“Mercy?” Celestine said turning the sword about in her hand, it felt as though it belonged in her hand, and hers alone.
“It was a gift given to Anvin’s daughter, Eavna the fair and just,” Mathilda replied sadly, “she died a few years ago.”
“I’m very sorry.” Celestine put down the blade shamefully and smiled weakly stepping away. Lowering her eyes Celestine did not see Mathilda take up with blade again and bring it over to her.
“She would want you to have it,” she said lightly, “she was a great believer in mercy, by wielding her blade maybe it will teach you to be merciful.”
“I’m not sure if you are being condescending or encouraging,” Celestine smiled, taking the blade once more into her hand.
“I would never be condescending to my Queen,” Mathilda frowned.
“I am no Queen, I am Celestine.”
“You are my Queen,” Mathilda stated firmly, “now come we haven’t time to argue we must get away from Calnuthe.”
Back in the great hall, Celestine and Mathilda were met by Anvin, now coated in a thick blanket of black fur, his silver hair falling down the back creating a striking contrast.
“Ah now you look like a warrior!” smiled Anvin motioning for them to follow him. As they walked by his side, Anvin spotted his daughters blade and smiled.
“I hope you do not mind, it fitted me so well,” gushed Celestine looking down at the sheathed sword and covering it protectively.
“It will serve you well child, it was blessed by the great dragon Nuyay,” replied Anvin, opening a side door and letting them through.
“Oh how was it blessed by a dragon?” Celestine asked, following Anvin and Mathilda down a dark lane.
“The metal was set by his breathe, when it meets skin, the victim will feel the dragons flame,” Anvin explained.
“That’s sore,” muttered Celestine hoping she didn’t accidently stab herself.
“That is exactly what my daughter said upon receiving the gift from the great dragon lord,” Anvin remarked showing them down another path which led out onto a courtyard where three horses were waiting for them.
“And who is he?” Celestine asked letting Mathilda help her up onto her mount. Anvin helped himself up onto his horse and turned to her.
“Galean son of Ballour,” he replied before kicking his horse into action.
*
Morad and Aabe sat quietly on their horses awaiting the three riders. Together they had tied a length of lace from one tree to another, hoping that it would cause the riders to fall of their mounts, giving them the opportunity to kill them swiftly.
“We have to find their ships,” Morad whispered to his friend.
“Yes, we have to make sure none of them get back to the mainland, that will be our message to Beon,” said Aabe firmly, sitting up straight. Aabe and his father were able to talk to one another telepathically, a rare gift indeed and it helped in times of trouble.
“Any information on Mathilda?” Morad asked stroking the mane of his stallion, calming it down.
“They are making for Droti as we speak,” answered Aabe opening his eyes and bringing his mind back to reality.
“Good, if we can get rid of these riders and their ships we will go and meet them,” Morad mused wiping his forehead with a gloved hand.
“And what off the other invaders?” Aabe asked his friend seriously. “Should we go back and make sure the city is safe?”
“Yes I hadn’t thought of that,” sighed Morad, a perfectionist unable to deal with flaws in a plan.
“Neither had I,” Aabe lied knowing his friend all too well. “I think we should see that everyone is alright before we head on to Droti.”
Morad nodded his agreement wanting to sit in silence for a moment his head sore. In the distance however the sound of hoofs could
be heard and Morad turned to Aabe bringing his index finger to his mouth. Quietly they got down from their mounts, tying them up to nearby trees before tip toeing nearer to the path, settling down behind a bush. The cold night air hung around the pair as the horses drew near, a rustling in the trees caused Morad to turn around but he saw nothing. Sooner than anticipated the riders met with the lace and a great commotion of cries from both animal and master rang out, the riders being thrown off in all directions and the horses lamed by the pain. Watching the riders hurdle about on the ground Morad and Aabe jumped out of the darkness and attacked them with swiftness and accuracy. Instead of using a blade, Aabe wielded his powers and stunned the riders, letting Morad mortally wound them. After ten minutes of fighting and crying, the air again became quiet only the cries of the horses filling the void of silence. Morad wiped his sword of the clean grass before wiping away blood from his brow. Aabe quietly went to each of the horses that had been hurt and healed them of their pain before letting them run free into the forest.
“What should we do with the bodies?” Morad panted, his body bent over in exhaustion; fighting in the middle of the night certainly had its drawbacks.
“We should get some of the soldiers to come and take them away for identification,” Aabe ordered standing over the lifeless bodies and feeling pity for the men. Morad and Aabe were not divided by much but they were divided over death. Aabe pitied all death that was on behalf of a person who could not fight his own battle. Morad however did not pity those who killed in the name of vengeance and hatred, this Aabe knew was because of Morad’s parent’s death. Their deaths left a terrible mark on Morad, leaving himself and his younger sister orphaned, having to fend for themselves. Morad’s harsh start to life made him somewhat cynical and hard, unalike his sister, Evalean who was light hearted and caring.
“Yes you are right, even if they do serve Beon,” replied Morad gruffly, putting his sword back into its sheath and turning to his horse, “come let us get to their boats.”
One Crown & Two Thrones: The Guardians Page 42