by Susan Faw
At the first landing, a shadow detached from the wall and a guard stepped forward to challenge them. “Halt!” he yelled, drawing his sword. Mordecai raised his hand and with a blast of magic, sent the man flying backward to strike the wall on the other side, sliding to the floor. More palace guards spilled from either end of the hallway as Ziona grabbed Cayden by the sleeve and hauled him up the stairs. Fear gave their feet wings, spurring them to greater speed, the whoosh of air and muffled thumps from Mordecai’s fight, chasing them as they fled.
It had been a bold plan. They had been outnumbered, their success in no way assured. As he climbed, Cayden caught a glimpse of Ryder battling two opponents who, due to his size, made it a reasonable match. His tunic was torn and multiple cuts to his face left blood dried in patches on his cheek. Cayden paused, wanting to call out to him, but Ziona grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back into motion.
“Don’t stop,” she hissed. “They are battling for you. Your fight is not their fight. Keep going!”
As Cayden ran up the steps, Ziona heard steps echoing on the staircase behind them. Someone must have slipped past Mordecai. She turned and ran back down the staircase to confront the new threat.
Reaching the top, Cayden spilled out onto a flat-topped spire with a wide stone walkway circling the finial, rising another twenty feet into the air. He panted, hands on knees, catching his breath. Grey stone gargoyles, evenly perched on the waist-high stone wall, caught his eye. Cayden walked slowly around the circle, the wind whipping his tunic and tugging at his sleeves, as he surveyed the entire battle playing out below…a battle being fought for him.
He leaned out over the merlon to check the progress of the battle below when suddenly he felt the cold touch of sharpened steel at his throat.
“Careful now,” she tsked, “don’t want to lose your pretty head, now do you? Move slowly back from the wall. That’s it.”
Cayden eased away from the merlon, moving so as to not accidently slit his own throat on the fine edge. Beads of blood swelled against the sword despite his careful movements. As he straightened, head arching back away from the sword, Queen Alcina curved around him, inspecting him.
“Is this the upstart from the cellars, Cyrus?”
With his eyes pinned on Cayden, Cyrus said, “Yes, my queen. He is the one I was bringing you to see.” His eyes glinted with anger. “Slit his throat right now and we can be done with this.”
“Wait!” Alcina raised her hand to stay his swing. “Where is your sister?” She stopped in front of Cayden.
“My sister?” Cayden thought furiously. “I have no sister.”
“Liar!” the queen hissed. She grabbed a hand full of hair, pulling his head back and further exposing the taut flesh of his throat. “I merely need to give the word and your head will be bouncing down this wall walk like a child’s toy. Where is she?” she hissed again.
“I do not know. I haven’t seen her in weeks,” Cayden gasped, trying to swallow without moving his Adam’s apple, the sword moving with the action.
“Bind his hands, Cyrus. We will take him with us. The castle is lost, but we have our prize. The Great Mistress will be pleased.”
Alcina handed her sword to Cyrus and pulled a short knife hidden inside a pocket of her cloak then tightened her grip on Cayden’s hair. “To make sure you do not run again, I am going to gouge out your eyes.” She raised the short dagger and brought it flashing down. Cayden closed his eyes, shuddering with the anticipated impact.
At that moment silvery fury, in the form of Sheba, flashed through the air. Howling with rage, her paws landed on Cyrus’s chest, knocking him back across the merlon. The sword clattered off the top of the wall and spun out into the air, falling to earth. Cyrus slipped between two of the stone teeth, great canine tusks missing his throat by inches as the wolf rolled past.
Ziona’s battle cry was no less intense. She screamed and launched herself from the stone archway at Alcina. The queen spun around, ducking Ziona’s blade and slashed with her own catching Ziona’s arm as she passed. The cut was not deep but blood oozed all the same. Ziona flinched back from the next slash and then both Cyrus and Alcina were dashing for the staircase, disappearing into the opening. Sheba chased after them, snarling and snapping in full blood lust.
Cayden gasped for breath as Ziona reached him. She ran her hands up his arms over his shoulders and finally cupped his head to turn it gently, inspecting the sword cut at his throat.
“Thank the gods! You are OK,” she gasped, fear etched into her beautiful face. She sagged with the release of adrenaline and hugged him tight, trembling. Cayden wound his arms around her and folded her close to his body, taking deep breaths to calm his fear.
“It’s OK. We’re OK. We’re OK,” he murmured into her hair.
Gently pushing her away, he looked down into her fear-soaked eyes. “Come, we have a job to do. Let’s end this.”
Chapter 55
THE CASTLE WAS IN AN UPROAR. Armed men fought battles on every level, insurgents against Queens Guard, farmers against innkeepers, milk maids against kitchen staff.
Marcia, Queen Alcina’s maid, silently cheered the rebels on from her hiding place in the closet of the queen’s chambers. The soldiers had materialized out of nowhere in spots throughout the castle. They were not attacking any servants, not that she noticed anyways. Those they came across they ran straight past without a glance. If servants raised a hand against them, though, they were quickly dispatched. She witnessed one of the cook’s staff attack a soldier with a cooking knife and the soldier had not hesitated to run him through.
After that, the invading men gave fair warning, asking the staff to stand down and stand aside, this was not their fight.
Marcia heard the door to the queen’s apartments open and stealthy footsteps sounded. She peeked through the keyhole to see who had entered. Alcina ran across the room, grabbed a travel bag and started shoving a random assortment of things into it. Clothing followed shoes followed jewels. The door opened again and Cyrus entered, his jacket sleeve torn, blood running down his arm from a deep jagged wound. His sword dripped onto the hand-knotted silk carpet at his feet. He grabbed the queen roughly by the arm and shook her.
“We don’t have time for this, Alcina!” In his panic, he forgot the royal honorific. “If they capture you, they will behead you! We must leave now!” he hissed. Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her toward the closet.
Marcia’s heart leapt to her throat. If they discover me, they will run me through with a sword! She knew it. She shied back into the gowns and crouched in the corner. The door next to her opened and Cyrus and Alcina pushed past her to the back of the tall storage closet. They pried open a panel on the back wall, which swung open on hidden hinges and disappeared into the black hole beyond the closet wall, leaving it ajar in their haste.
Chapter 56
CAYDEN STILL DID NOT UNDERSTAND the complete how and why of it, but he did understand his aid was needed.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his flutes. They warmed in his hand, a comforting joyous reunion with his trembling fingers. Ziona had retrieved them from his tent and brought them along. During their walk back up from the Well of Souls, she slipped them into his pocket, reverently, seeming to understand their purpose for the first time.
He hoped she was right. He hoped he understood them half as well as she did.
He selected the one he had carved the day Aossi had appeared. He placed it to his lips and began to play. The air around him shimmered and warped, the sky a rippling sound wave.
At first, the sound of battle drowned the sound of the flute, but as he played, it grew louder and louder. The other flutes in his pocket warmed and vibrated in sympathy. Suddenly, sound burst from those flutes, a chorus of music even though he was not directly playing them. The songs melded into one and swelled like a trumpet call, blasting out over the grounds below.
Soldiers from both sides took startled notice, pausing in their battles to gaze up at
a sky suddenly in turmoil, boiling and bubbling with silver grey clouds laced with rainbows. Then a piercing shaft of light split the nighttime sky, blinding the soldiers on the field below.
At the same time, bright spots randomly popped onto the field below. The glowing spots resolved themselves into wolves and snakes, running out of doorways and around the corners of buildings, spilling through archways, slithering and skulking out of drain pipes, sliding out of cracks and crevices in the stone, and rising from the ground in answer to the call of Cayden’s song. The men paused in mid-battle, great cries of alarm rising and falling from all who spotted the creatures.
The wolves snarled and snapped at the men; the snakes hissed and danced, rattling tails and flaring hoods, drawing the battling men’s attention away from each other as friend and foe turned as one to face this new, unknown threat. Confusion reigned in the milling crowd below.
Thunder boomed and rumbled. Forks of brilliant lightning split the sky, cracking open the clouds.
The soldiers cried out, falling to their knees and clasping hands over ears ringing with the concussion of the thunder. They squeezed their eyes closed against the blinding brilliance of the lightning.
The thunder, the lighting, the snarling wolves, and the slithering snakes were nothing compared to the ghostly forms that rode into the commons, phantom souls riding rainbow-hued chariots pulled by great white-winged Pegasus, their shining armour blinding, commanding the allegiance of the soldiers below.
The great generals of old, Kingsmen whose faces were familiar to all, paused to gaze at the combatants. As one, they pulled flaming swords from sheaths and raised them into the air. The message was clear. Cease this battle now or we will finish it, permanently. Denzik spied Captain O’Reilly and grinned.
The combatants cried out and confusion reigned. Some, crazed at the sights before them, tried to fight the ghosts. On contact, their swords became a flaming inferno that spread from weapon to clothing. Screaming, the flaming beacons of rebellion ran through the crowd, panicking the balance of the Queen’s Guard. Some scrambled for the exits, only to find the exits blocked by wolves and Kingsmen. No one was leaving the area.
Cayden lowered his flute, aghast at the stampede that was occurring below. He could not discern friend from foe. All he knew was that people were dying. To his vision, a misty blue fog rose from the ground as more and more men and women departed this life.
“Help me, Ziona! I don’t know how to stop this! They are going to kill each other to the last person! Help me stop this madness!”
Mordecai put a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “Now is the time, Cayden. Now is the return of the king, the true heir of Cathair, the true Spirit Shield. Claim your heritage. Claim your birthright. Speak to them.”
Ziona slipped her arm around his waist from the other side and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I believe in you, Cayden.” She gestured to the milling people below. “They believe in you too, if you will allow them to. Speak to them.”
Cayden looked from one to the other. “I do not know what to say.” he murmured, his eyes roving over the scene below him.
“Speak what is in your heart. They will hear it,” said Mordecai, stepping back out of sight of the crowd. Ziona returned to the staircase, guarding his back as he mustered the courage to speak.
Cayden stared sightlessly at the scene before him, blocking out the scene as his mind wandered back over the events since leaving Sanctuary-by-the-Sea. He sorted and slotted his experiences, turning them over, examining them. He thought of Avery, how she had looked the last time he had seen her, the concern in her eyes at his decision to leave. She knew nothing of what had transpired since joining the legion nor did he know what adventures she had stumbled into. Surely her path was a smoother one than this? He smiled slightly, thinking what her reaction would be when they could finally sit down and talk as brother and sister again. I miss her so much! he thought, his heart lurching painfully in his chest in that part he reserved just for his twin.
His mind wandered down familiar paths, back into his earliest childhood memories of the pair of them, playing in the pastures around their farm. They had always known they were special, accepted that they were unique. They shared an ability to talk to each other telepathically, but they had innocently believed it to be part of that special, indescribable bond that twins share. They had never thought of their magic as dangerous or deviant, but Queen Alcina had thought it so and she was correct. Her fears had turned out to be a real and justified danger to the queen and to her reign. They’d been physically hidden from the world. Now the world knows about my magic, and soon it will know of Avery’s too, at least amongst the Primordial clans.
He had not heard the Primordial Prophesies as a child, but the children’s games they’d played with the other villagers’ children and stories told by the villagers themselves had hinted at the belief in a saviour of souls; that the Lord of the Mists was a real person, a Seer of Souls. I am a true heir of the powers that belong to a Spirit Shield of Cathair, of this there can be no doubt…but Avery must also be a Seer of Souls. He tested this newly minted thought in his mind and knew it to be true in his heart of hearts. We are both Seers of Souls, the pair of us, twin Seers.
If this is the truth of the matter, then the rest must also be true. With a grimace, he tucked the flute in his pocket and resigned himself to his destiny. Mordecai has a lot of explaining to do, starting with our family line. I will make him cough up those prophesies, even if he chokes on them. I must learn everything I can, for both my life and Avery’s depend on it. He gazed out over the top of the castle walls and to the north, straining his eyes to see the grey haze that was the mountains of the Highland Spine, dividing his lands (his mind tried to shy from the thought) from the Primordial lands. I am coming, Avery, and I will be armed with information when I do. Stay safe!
With a deep breath and a sigh, Cayden raised his voice to speak to the milling army of bewildered and discontented men scattered throughout the castle grounds, still looking for a way to escape the prowling animals blocking all the exits. His voice swelled and moved over the surrounding countryside, magnified by the magic of the flutes.
“Lay down your weapons, immediately! This battle is ended. I have returned to claim my birthright, the throne of the Spirit Shields of Cathair. My sister and I are the rightful heirs of Cathair and the heavens bear witness to this. The usurper has been ousted. The royal line is being restored. Hear me now and obey!”
The Queen’s Guard quieted during his speech, which could be heard in every corner of the kingdom. Sword arms dropped and a murmuring replaced the screams of moments ago. The ethereal chariots drifting inches above the ground rose into the air, causing the soldiers to shy back. Leading the chariots, in the most brightly coloured one of all, sat Aossi, grinning like a schoolgirl, feet propped up on the felly rim. She winked at him and waved.
Cayden managed a weak smile and lifted his hand in acknowledgment of the greeting.
“The Kingsmen will gather your weapons. There will be no more fighting. Hear me and obey! Choose to disobey and your time on this earth will be an unpleasant one. There are plenty of dungeons waiting to be filled. I know, as I have seen them.”
The few soldiers who remained on their feet slowly lowered their weapons and as one raised their hands in surrender. The wolves prowled the edges of the battle, tongues lolling, giving every appearance of grinning. Snakes slithered onto rocks and back into the crevices they had exited.
Slowly, the fighting ended. A silence fell over the scene, broken only by the moans of the injured. Suddenly, cheers erupted from the Kingsmen, a great ground swelling roar of victory. The Kingsmen moved amongst the Queen’s Guard, securing weapons and herding those of the former Queen’s Guard still standing into the center of the battlefield, ringing it with the steel of their swords,
“The Kingsmen will escort you into the holding cells on the first level of the dungeons. Once there, you will be offered proo
f of my lineage and an opportunity to swear allegiance. Those who refuse will be tried as traitors to royal house of Cathair. I suggest you ask many questions of the Kingsmen. Satisfy yourselves as to the truth of this matter.”
One belligerent guardsman yelled up at Cayden, “Where is the queen? Where is Queen Alcina! You cannot be king while she lives.”
Murmurs broke out from the circle, and the Kingsmen tightened their grips on their swords, in warning.
Ziona crossed back over to stand beside Cayden and he slipped his arm around Ziona’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. She hugged him and stared down at the scene, mouth open in awe.
It was done…for now.
***
In the woods outside of the castle grounds, two figures in heavy travelling cloaks hurried away from the battle. Suddenly, the skies opened up and a piercing ray of light flooded the area. Rays of pure energy pierced the gloom of the forest canopy, silhouetting the trees. Alcina saw ghostly chariots materialize and slide through the solid castle walls. She swore a very un-queenly word and ducked behind a tree. Cyrus paused.
The gaunt trees writhed as light flooded the forest driving back the gloom and stabbing into Charun hiding amongst the trunks of the trees like a red hot poker. The light scoured the forest and the Charun burst from cover, screaming with the touch of the light as it sliced through the darkness. Flames leapt from their withered skin as they writhed and thrashed and burned. Exposed to the light’s purity, they shrivelled and smoked as they died.
Cyrus and Alcina bolted, the shrieks lending speed to their flight. What power was able to destroy a Charun? Alcina shuddered. She wasn’t about to wait around to find out.
Chapter 57
MORDECAI LEANED BACK ON THE CRENELLATED WALL and crossed his arms under his bushy white beard studying Cayden. Cayden sighed and turned his flute over in his hands before tucking it back into his pocket. His mind was spinning with all that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours.