by Gary Bregar
When they reached the post, they were greeted in the courtyard by Captain Baines, who was completely dismissive of them.
“Put them away in one of the sleeping quarters—one with a lock,” he grumbled.
“Are we under arrest?” Lizabet asked in a tone of shock. She wouldn’t be surprised in the least if they were arrested, but she would certainly act as if she were.
It was General Brask that intervened next. He didn’t know the boy and he had never paid any attention to the Lopers, but he did know Lizabet.
“Captain, that won’t be necessary,” he said nodding to Captain Baines, who seemed not to care one way or another. “But you, young miss, have some explaining to do if you’re not to be locked up until the king returns. As for your Loper friend, I will not order his arrest, but will require him to remain in the sleeping quarters. As much as I would give to have seen the Emm’s face when his beloved shed blew, I cannot permit the crime to go unnoticed. He will be kept comfortable, but under watch.”
Lizabet looked up to Pike and said, “It’s only for a little while. Can you manage?”
“Yes, Miss Lizabet, I can manage.”
She looked back to General Brask and nodded approval.
She wields authority without effort, Brask thought, with some unease.
“General, this is my dear friend, Dorian Bellows. If it’s all the same, I would like for him to accompany me, for we share the same story.”
“Yes, fine,” Brask said, realizing once again that she had drawn the result that she had wanted, without any real consideration on his part.
They followed the general and the captain to the main building, while Pike was escorted to the first-floor sleeping quarters. They would have preferred to settle him in on the second floor, but it quickly became clear that navigating him up the short and narrow stairs wouldn’t be worth the effort.
When Lizabet and Dorian reached the third floor of the main building, they entered what had become the war room. It was a large room with windows at the back that looked out into the Outlands and Skite. In the center of the room sat a large wooden table covered by a map.
Lizabet broke away from the others immediately after they entered the room, and went to the table.
“What is it?” Dorian asked, while he walked over to join her.
“It’s clear—the king’s crystal is clear,” she said nervously. “General, what does that mean?”
“He’s stopped riding,” Brask replied. “It’s been clear nearly three hours now.”
Both General Brask and Captain Baines had their heads down. There were other soldiers in the room also, and Lizabet suspected that they were also captains of the guard. Their heads hung as well.
“Why does this concern you; what was he to do when he reached my sister?”
Captain Baines started to speak, but was cut short by General Brask, who knew that the captain’s response would be nothing short of brash.
“We do not know what he was to do when he reached them—he did not know himself,” the general said, “but nothing that we can imagine should take this long.”
Lizabet understood now. Dorian did as well, but he would let her be the one to ask the question herself.
“How do you know that he is still alive—that Balki Touro hasn’t already killed him and my sister as well?”
“Because Miss,” Brask said, “the crystal is clear. If he had been killed, the sphere would be filled with red as dark as blood. When an army has been lost, the crystals may turn red, but there may still be hope for survivors. Since the king is himself an army, in this circumstance at least, a red crystal would indicate his certain death.”
“You’re sure of this?” Dorian asked.
“Yes, we may not have been handed the history and strategies of the old wars, but we have never lost our way when it comes to the tools needed to win one. I am sure.”
“So we wait,” Lizabet said somberly. “Wait and hope.”
****
The inflock had kept its word. It had set the queen free and left the king free, as well. But it had left them to die with their freedom and, as if that weren’t enough, it had left them to die slowly, painfully, and apart from each other.
What had once appeared as a clearing between them was now completely covered by the Dark Weed. And now that the weed lay down again (but always watching and waiting—be sure of that), the rock where the box had been now appeared only as a grass-covered lump. As the grass continued to rapidly turn its blades, the brown and green sides moving in waves, it created the illusion that the rock was changing shape—being molded by some invisible hand.
It had not risen with the black side of its blades to paralyze either of them in their fear, though. That would do no good while they were out of its reach. So it waited, knowing that they were likely to make a mistake and venture too close. Then it would attack.
Zander estimated that they had been stranded for several hours, but couldn’t be sure. It was the moon’s course across the night sky that told him that time had gone by surprisingly quickly. He had brought one additional torch with him which he had thrown to Bella, and he had been fortunate that his throw had been true, or the torch would have been lost. She had been bathed in darkness and it was more his concern than hers that had prompted him to take the risk. He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing her now that she was so close.
Now, though, the torches were fading. They had been constructed to last much longer than ordinary torches, but the magic in them would not last forever, and they would be in darkness soon, with the real threat coming when the sun woke. Once the sun began beating down on them, it would not take long for them to die from the heat, so Zander kept looking to the horizon for hints of orange.
He sat in the dirt, trying to think of anything that might let them out of the predicament. He considered using the horse to carry him to Bella, but that would be risky for him and certain death for the horse. And even if he were successful, what would his plan be once he was with Bella? Die together in Skite, by the hand of heat, hunger, thirst or Dark Weed? The options were few and all seemed brutal.
He stood and went to his horse, which had continued standing throughout the ordeal. He wished now that the horse would be able to talk with him in Animal-speak. It might offer some solution, as far-fetched as it seemed. But it was a Noble Horse of Bore and could not speak to him. It remained calm, though, and for that Zander was glad.
As he lifted the coarse blanket that lay over the horse, he saw the fairy staff secured to the side of the saddle. He had purposely covered it so that Balki would not see it, but in doing so he had forgotten about it himself.
How could I forget such a thing?
The staff would alleviate the problem of their diminishing light, at least. He unstrapped it from his horse and held it with both hands, walking back over to where he had been sitting.
He concentrated for a moment, as he had done so many times before, and the knot at the end of the staff began to form a spark within it. At first it was a very small spark, but as the brightness of it grew, he heard a screeching sound—a very high-pitched screaming. It was a horrible sound that seemed to come from all around.
When he looked down, he realized that it was coming from all around him. He was surprised to see that, in the light of the fairy staff, the Dark Weed was burning. There were no flames, but the thread-like blades of the weed began to turn to ash as the light from the staff came upon it. As the light became brighter, the weed beyond began to burn as well, until it was turning to ash all around him.
He walked toward Bella, holding the staff above his head as he would a torch. As he walked, the grass continued to burn away from his path in a wide swath. The ashes, being so light, drifted upward, dancing gracefully through the sky like a swarm of insects.
When he finally reached Bella, they embraced in a flurry of kisses.
Zander now brought the staff down, and for the first time, he placed the darker end of it on Skite soil.
That was the moment the world shook.
The ground broke where the staff had rested on it. Cracks began forming in the ground, and began spreading outward in all directions. Loud booming sounds could be heard, and felt, as the cracks widened.
Zander, who was momentarily stunned, had continued holding the staff in place, but now pulled it up quickly from the ground. The shaking immediately stopped, as did the booming noises. The screaming of the Dark Weed, however, did not. The weed continued to burn for as far as the light would carry, although the screaming sound was at a distance now, and not nearly as loud as it had been.
“My love, are you all right?” Zander asked, embracing her, yet careful not to allow the staff to touch the ground.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
She looked into King Zander’s eyes and smiled as she rested her hands on her belly. He looked down and added his hand over hers, smiling himself.
Our child.
They stood this way for several minutes before Zander helped her onto his horse. As they began their journey back to the Outland Post, the Dark Weed no longer guided him, but instead burned to ash as the light of the fairy staff fell upon it.
****
General Brask was nothing short of relieved when King Cergio arrived, with his armies at his back. Cergio had come with one hundred thousand men. This represented less than half of his forces, but he would not bring all of his men to one battle and risk losing the kingdom to a single fight. They still did not know what they were up against—if anything. After all, assuming the worst had happened, and the Skites had regained the final skull piece, it might take time for Menagraff to become whole once again. And the Skite methods for rebuilding and reestablishing armies were unknown to the civilized kingdoms. It may take days, weeks, or even years for them to attack, and time was not an enemy to the Skites.
When Cergio rode up to the Outland Post, he came with only four other men, who Brask promptly took to be his own advisers rather than guards. The gold of Cergio’s armor was blinding as he approached. In the distance, he could see the beginnings of the vast army that had followed him. They were setting camp along the border running to the south, just as the Forie armies had done along the border to the north.
Now that the Outland Post was surrounded by Forie armies, its gate remained open. There were soldiers coming and going, and securing the post buildings would be pointless. Cergio rode directly into the post and came to a stop in the center of the courtyard where General Brask and Captain Baines were waiting.
“King Cergio, welcome,” Brask said, with an approving nod.
“General,” Cergio said with a nod of his own.
He quickly surveyed the post.
“Where is Zander?”
General Brask glanced quickly to Captain Baines, and then lowered his head.
“Majesty, we should speak in private. Please come with me to the war room and I will explain,” Brask finally answered.
Cergio climbed down from his horse. “Very well,” he said, signaling to his four advisers to follow.
As they were walking toward the main building, Lizabet burst out of the door and ran toward them. When she reached General Brask, she was gasping for air.
“The crystal! The crystal…it has changed!” she said through deep breaths. She reached for Brask’s hand, meaning to lead him.
“What do you mean? Changed how?” Brask asked.
He knew what she was referring to, but could not decide if she was rejoicing at the change or panicking because of it.
“It has changed to the color of gold—it is no longer clear!” She said. “Come—see for yourself.”
Brask turned to Cergio, and when he did, Lizabet noticed him for the first time.
“Majesty, this is Lizabet Abbot—the queen’s sister,” Brask told him.
“Aye, of course,” Cergio said, “we met at the wedding. Hello, young princess. I wish we were here on better terms.”
Lizabet was not a princess, but in the Kingdom of Bore, the sister of the queen would be granted the title. She would not correct Cergio this time, though, as her excitement at the change in the crystal’s color would not be distracted.
“Greetings, Majesty, would you follow me as well?” she said, leading Brask by the hand. If she was being rude to King Cergio, she would apologize later.
They finally realized her determination and followed her into the war room. When they walked up to the map table, they got their first glimpse of the current situation.
The crystals that represented Cergio’s armies had now turned clear and stood lined up along the border to the south. King Ekkill’s ships were divided, with the crystals near the Red Islands now clear and others in the Domin Sea remaining gold.
The Forie armies in the north remained clear, but King Zander’s crystal had changed to a golden color that swirled with amber streaks throughout its center. Lizabet wasn’t sure, but she thought that it looked closer to the post than it had, when he had been stopped.
“General, is he closer, do you think?” Lizabet asked.
General Brask’s eyes were focused on the map, and Lizabet could see that he was grappling with some deep thought.
“General?” she asked again, when he did not respond.
“Yes, Miss, what did you say?”
“I asked if the king’s crystal seemed to be closer. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I believe that the king is closer,” Brask said, “but I regretfully remind you that the crystal is for the king only. It will not change for the queen.”
Lizabet understood at once. Just because Zander was returning that did not mean that Bella was returning with him. Her heart sank.
She could see that General Brask’s attention had once again gone to the map. He was in deep thought, and she noticed that no one else in the room was making a sound either. Silence.
“What is it?” she asked. “There is something else in the map, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Brask said, “there is something else.”
He pointed to the black crystal that lay deep within Skite. It was half the distance that it had been when Lizabet had first arrived.
Has it only just moved, or have I not noticed it? she thought. She had been watching the map nearly nonstop since she had arrived, but she had been fixed on Zander’s crystal, ignoring the others.
“It’s moved,” Lizabet said under her breath.
“Yes, but it cannot be trusted,” Captain Baines said. “The Skite armies could not have traveled that distance in mere minutes. It is a trick.”
“Never trust the map when watching the Skites. The dark magic that follows Skite armies is not well-read by the map’s charms,” General Brask added.
“But it means something, does it not?” Cergio asked.
“Yes,” Brask said. “It means they are coming.”
****
They rode back mostly in silence. Zander mulled over his decision to turn over the skull piece to the Skites. He examined it from every angle, and in his mind, he was defending his decision. It was a decision that he felt, now at a least, had come all too easily to him, but he kept arriving at the same conclusion—the Skites would certainly have other methods for breaking the charm on the box, and the skull would still be lost. Nothing at all would have been gained by Bella’s death. Nothing.
Bella rode atop his horse, while he walked ahead of them, killing the Dark Weed with the fairy staff. She kept her silence about the box that had contained the silver object. She still didn’t know what it was or why Balki Touro (and whatever possessed him) had wanted it, but she did know that whatever it was, it troubled Zander a great deal. She would wait for him to tell her on his own terms.
“What have you named it?” Bella asked, breaking the long silence.
It took a moment for her words to pull Zander from his thoughts. He turned back to her and asked,
“What are you referring to?”
“Your staff. What have you named your staff?” she asked. “Sur
ely, a staff that was crafted by the fairies would have a name.”
“I have not named it,” Zander replied.
It had never occurred to him to name the staff, and now he wondered why that was. After all, swords were often given names, as were other tools of war such as catapults and horses. Why not this staff?
After considering it for a moment, he stopped walking and turned around to face Bella.
“It may strike you as odd, but I suppose I’ve never thought of it as mine to name,” he said.
“But it is yours—the fairies gifted it to you.”
“Yes, that is true. But when I hold it, I feel as though I am only a custodian—a protector, maybe.”
“If that were true, who are you protecting it for?” Bella asked.
Zander looked down toward his feet, thinking about this.
“I don’t know, but I am certain that the staff has not chosen me as its keeper,” he said.
Bella began to smile, and the look of it seemed misplaced, given their surroundings. The wastelands of Skite had certainly not had many smiles reflected over them.
“Why do you smile?” Zander asked, breaking into a smile himself.
“Because, you were correct on one point, for sure—I do think it odd.”
The Children of Menagraff
THEY ARE MENAGRAFF’S children, after all. In Skite, all are descended from the king—and Menagraff has born millions of children, this newly created litter being only the latest in a long line.
As the inflock brought the skull piece closer to the relatively new resting place of the other pieces, the newly created children of Skite began to stir. They had been growing since the recovery of the first two skull pieces, but were now coming into their own—as much as would be allowed, anyway. And when the body of Balki Touro began the steep trek up and along the Orgate road, leading to the entrance of Narciss, the mountain began to tremble. The shaking wasn’t enough to knock him off the road into the steep drop that hung just to the right of him, but it was enough to tell the inflock that Menagraff was anxious to become physically whole once again and resume his reign.