by R A Oakes
Her mind continued its relentless analysis of the situation.
She knew that Arandar reminded Lord Stallington of himself when he was the rancher’s age. Back then, the Fighting Eagle used to ride the plains between Skybrook Castle and Dominion Castle with impunity, daring anyone to challenge the might of his sword arm.
Her father had been a staunch ally of King Ulray Kardimont, and Lord Stallington had been proud to call him his king. The Fighting Eagle, with no sense of shame, had knelt before Ulray and touched his forehead to the ground in front of the monarch’s feet. The Fighting Eagle knew he was paying homage to a man better than himself.
Genevieve realized that King Ulray was the only man her father had ever felt that way about. Lord Stallington had mourned the death of his king to the point that some felt he would never get over the sense of loss. They were right. He never had.
But Genevieve knew that the rancher brought a smile to her father’s lips. Arandar was a man of action. He was courageous. Some said that in combat he fought like a tiger. And Lord Ridgewood feared him. Arandar and his men had gotten permission from her father to set up their encampment because they promised to help protect the farms in the east that Lord Ridgewood’s men had been raiding.
She knew that Arandar was like her father’s true son, the son Lord Stallington had always wanted. But the problem was that everyone thought Arandar was not of noble birth.
And now as Lord Stallington’s daughter approached the encampment, she headed towards one of its two entrances. On each side of the compound was a wide gap between two of the bunkhouses with each gap protected by a gate. She waved to the men in the compound’s tower who were on lookout duty. They smiled and waved back.
Genevieve had known of the ranch for years but had only met Arandar personally a few months ago. The rancher had been visiting Lord Stallington and the captain of the Fighting Eagle’s cavalry unit. When Genevieve had come up to them, they were discussing the delivery of 50 horses her father had just ordered.
Lord Stallington had noticed his daughter looking at the rancher and how her eyes kept returning to him. The Fighting Eagle could tell his daughter was smitten but had cautioned her, “Be careful of getting too involved with our rancher friend. He’s not of noble birth.”
Had Arandar been of royal blood, her father would have been ecstatic over his daughter’s interest in him. But it was an uphill battle trying to get her established as his heir as it was. Marrying a commoner, no matter how much Lord Stallington loved Arandar, would prove a disaster. It would surely cause her to lose Skybrook Castle.
In spite of her father’s warning, she had begun seeing Arandar. Lord Stallington knew it was a match destined to end in ruin, but he had such a high opinion of Arandar that he said no more to Genevieve about it.
Genevieve couldn’t stop her feelings. And she loved the way his ranch hands respected him. The total deference with which they treated him.
She had thought, You can’t buy loyalty like that. Such devotion is earned. They treat him more like a king than a rancher.
And now Genevieve’s own process of logical deduction had brought her to the conclusion that Arandar might be King Tarlen. Lord Stallington’s daughter had a formidable level of intelligence, even her enemies conceded that much. Her mind was probing and relentless.
It would be a help to her if Arandar were Tarlen. Soon after meeting the rancher, Genevieve had made up her mind. She was going to conquer this man and marry him. He may have 120 ranch hands to protect him from danger, but they would be of no use to him when it came to her. She knew his men liked her.
Of course they would, she was the daughter of one of King Ulray’s staunchest supporters. And she was of noble birth. Her future in-laws would welcome Genevieve. All 120 of them. And she knew Arandar cared for her as well.
Genevieve’s thoughts snapped back to the present. When she wasn’t far from one of the ranch’s entrances, the gate suddenly opened and 50 fully-armed men rode out on magnificent warhorses. Arandar was out in front.
Seeing Genevieve, he rode by and said, “Stay here, please, my lady. Farms have been raided not far to the east, and I’m told two dozen rabble were involved in the attacks.”
The rancher didn’t wait for a reply. He took her obedience for granted.
Genevieve thought, The way all of these powerful warriors grovel at the mere sound of his voice is impressive, and I understand that he’s used to giving commands. But I make my own decisions about what I do and don’t do.
With that, she spurred her horse and gave chase.
◆◆◆
Genevieve wasn’t the only resident of Skybrook Castle out for a ride that morning. Aerylln and Marcheto had left the castle at daybreak, before Genevieve had even gotten out of bed.
Heading east to do some exploring, the two young adults were looking forward to spending an enjoyable day alone. They had heard about occasional raids being made on farms in that sector, but their youthful curiosity had gotten the better of them. The badlands were off limits, which of course meant that they had to see it. Not too close, just a bit. Anyway, what could go wrong? they figured.
However, parents often get in the way of anything fun, or so it seemed to Aerylln, and this time was no exception. When leaving her chambers, she had passed her father in the hallway.
“Where are you going so early in the morning?” he had asked.
“Why do you always have to know where I’m going Don’t you trust me?” Aerylln had fumed back at Lord Pensgraft.
“Of course I trust you.”
“Then you shouldn’t need to know where I’m going!”
She strutted down the corridor incensed at her father’s stupidity.
But parents weren’t all they had to escape. When the young adults had left the castle, Aerylln and Marcheto wanted to avoid the horse ranch, and so at first they’d headed north rather than east. There were just too many ranch hands at the encampment and in the entire surrounding area. The young adults knew they would have no privacy if they came anywhere near the horsemen.
“Those guys are always so tense,” Aerylln said as they rode along. “I thought living out in the open with nature all around them would be relaxing. What’s their problem?”
Marcheto laughed. “That’s no mere horse ranch. As Lord Stallington’s health has gotten worse, those warriors have become all the law there is in that sector.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for a bunch of ranch hands,” Aerylln said.
“Well, that’s another thing. The dozens and dozens of men stationed at that fortress are not just ranch hands. No way.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Don’t forget, I may be wearing these wizard’s robes now, but I’m still General Tark’s son. As the head of Lord Pensgraft’s army back at The Rock, my dad breeds men to be fighting machines. They are tools of war. And I’m telling you right now, that as tough as the general’s men are, those supposed ranch hands are even more dangerous. That ranch has over 100 men who are superior athletes. They sit erect in the saddle with squared shoulders and bulging muscles, and those guys are so ancient it’s a wonder they don’t all keel over from old age.”
“How old do you think they are?”
“Some are over 50.”
“Really?” Aerylln asked trying to imagine what it must be like to be so old.
“Yes.”
“Well, I do like how their long, white hair flows down over their shoulders,” Aerylln said. “It makes them look very regal, especially when they ride along with it blowing in the wind.”
Marcheto thought for a moment and said, “I guess looking distinguished and having people take you more seriously are two of the benefits of being older.”
“You still look best to me,” Aerylln said as she gave him a warm smile.
Marcheto gave a sigh of relief, for he knew that some young women didn’t care about a man’s age. But he also knew that being friends with an older man and being in a relationship with him were tw
o completely different things. The first involved conversation and occasional companionship, but when it came to the second, there was something to be said for two young people discovering life together.
“Do you think we’ve gone far enough north to be able to cut over towards the east now?” Aerylln asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Marcheto said.
A little while after they changed direction, Zorya complained privately and telepathically to Baelfire.
“How can they think that 50’s old?” she said in a huff. Baelfire had been created over 500 years ago, and Zorya was even older than that.
“The comment about age wasn’t directed at us, I’m
sure.”
“Well, they should take an older woman’s feelings into account before they say such things,” Zorya sniffed.
“I’m sure they’ve forgotten all about us. They don’t even know we’re here.”
“What does Aerylln think she’s riding, a large pumpkin with hoofs?”
“All Aerylln sees right now is Marcheto. Anyway, why worry about your age? There are men in the College of Wizards who were born over 5,000 years ago,” the sword said.
“Now that’s old.”
“To us, but maybe not to them.”
Oblivious to their chaperones, Aerylln and Marcheto were enjoying their day alone together. Time and space rapidly passed by unnoticed. It seemed like no time at all before they found themselves looking at a vast mountain chain off in the distance. The barren, rugged badlands.
The young adults rode a little while longer and came upon what appeared to be a prosperous farm. However, there was something of which Aerylln, Marcheto and the farm family were all unaware. Before Ambassador Valkira had left Firecrest Castle, he told Lord Ridgewood to increase the pressure on Lord Stallington’s lands.
Ignorant of this new danger, the young couple took comfort in knowing that this farm was much deeper into the Fighting Eagle’s territory than the grizzled, old pirate’s murdering bunch of thieves had ever gone before. And so the young adults felt completely safe, but they were wrong for they’d made a grave error. They’d underestimated the enemy.
Aerylln and Marcheto had barely reached the farmhouse porch when the young wizard noticed the first rider on the horizon. Cautiously, Marcheto put a hand on the hilt of his sword and gripped his wizard’s staff tightly.
When the farm couple and their children came out to greet them, Marcheto pointed towards the now small group of mounted marauders sitting atop a rise in the field. The group kept growing until over two dozen of Lord Ridgewood’s men were lining the horizon.
“The closest farm they’ve raided up till now was almost 20 miles east. If I’d thought they’d grow so bold as to come this far into Skybrook Castle territory, I’d have moved my family farther west,” the farmer said to Marcheto and Aerylln.
“Well, they’re here now,” his wife said grimly. And without hesitation, she stepped back into the farmhouse and returned with a sword and shield. She also carried a wooden stake and a long piece of rope.
The young mother walked in front of the farmhouse about 30 feet, picked up a rock and pounded the stake into the ground. She tied one end of the rope to the stake and the other to her ankle.
Lord Ridgewood’s scruffy warriors got the message. The farmwife had just staked herself out and would not back off. She would stay there and defend her family to the death.
“At times, she’s dramatic and extreme,” the farmer explained to Marcheto.
“What woman isn’t?”
The farmer went into the house himself and reemerged with two bows and a large axe. He handed his wife one of the bows along with a quiver of arrows.
“Take the children into the fruit cellar and stay there,” the farmwoman told Aerylln and Marcheto. There were two boys and three girls ranging in age from three to ten.
“That might not be necessary,” Marcheto said.
Aerylln walked over to Zorya and got Baelfire. The young woman kept the sword in its scabbard and strapped the belt around her slender waist. She joined Marcheto, and they walked up to the farm couple.
“Go back with your children,” Aerylln said.
“No, my place is here,” the mother declared. Lord Ridgewood’s vermin had dared to threaten her family, and her eyes were ablaze with anger. “I’m not leaving.”
“Suit yourself,” Marcheto said. “But Aerylln and I are kind of new to our craft, and we don’t want to hurt anyone by accident. It would be better if we walked out into the field a bit farther.”
Marcheto took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You up for this?” he asked his girlfriend.
“We’ve never faced an enemy before by ourselves.”
“It was only a matter of time until we did,” he said. “I suppose.”
“Look for the one who seems to be in charge. He’s the one we want to take down first, if possible.”
“Killing’s not as easy at it looks when you have to do it personally.”
“It never is,” Marcheto replied.
With that, Lord Ridgewood’s band of land pirates swooped down the hillside, swords drawn and screaming horrific war cries.
“Take no prisoners!” one scar-faced warrior shouted. “Burn the place to the ground!”
“He’s the one in charge,” Aerylln said.
“Looks like.”
“He’s mine,” the young woman said.
Marcheto glanced at the small, blond girl beside him and smiled.
“Draw a line in front of us, Marcheto. Let them see
where they’ll meet their death.”
The young wizard pointed the top end of his staff at the ground about 30 yards to his left and brought it across the field in front of them taking it an equal distance to their right. Instantly, a billowing, chest-high row of flames leapt up from the ground like a bonfire.
“That won’t stop us,” one land pirate shouted.
“Maybe not, but this will!” Aerylln said as she
unsheathed Baelfire, the Sword of Light.
Suddenly a brilliant, white light shot out from Aerylln and momentarily blinded everyone. Next, she grew taller, and white wings materialized on her back. She flexed her muscles and spread them out to their full length. Her white-blond hair became even thicker and was blowing in the wind.
Bolts of multicolored, prism light shot out of her eyes, but Aerylln narrowed them to one color, red, and began shooting thin rays of light at the oncoming horde. One by one, she launched light arrows at her enemy.
When the young woman was 15-feet-tall, her full height, Zorya approached her master, and Aerylln leapt onto the saddle. Having grown as well, Zorya was now a massive, white warhorse. Aerylln’s outfit was also larger, and the young woman looked magnificent in her white-leather jacket, white blouse, white-leather pants and white-leather boots. Her large, white wings were strikingly beautiful and added to her majestic appearance.
From atop another rise in the field to their far right came 50 fully-armed men eager for battle. Tarlen Arandar had arrived. Genevieve rode up next to him, and all of them stopped.
“Sire, this must be the young woman that Mother Protector prophesized would come one day. It’s White Angel!” Captain Polaris exclaimed. “It’s time, sire. It’s time to take back Dominion Castle!”
“Yes, it seems so. I had begun to doubt,” Tarlen Arandar said.
“I never did, Arandar. I never did,” the captain of his personal guard said.
But then something happened that Aerylln had not expected. The enemy began attacking from two directions. Not just in front of them but to their left as well. The young woman watched horrified as three armed warriors charged the farmer and his wife, and two more ran towards the children. Others broke widows and tossed flaming torches into the house.
“The children!” Aerylln shouted.
“Go to them!” Marcheto shouted back. And with that he turned, held his staff out in front of himself and waited for a bolt of prism light to
explode out towards the enemy warriors. But nothing happened.
Surprised, the young wizard shook the staff and pounded its base against the ground hoping to jar something loose. Still nothing!
“Eldwyn, what are you up to?” he whispered anxiously.
“Patience, young man, patience,” a voice said from inside the staff.
“You’re going to get me killed.”
“Being a wizard involves risk.”
“The enemy’s only 100 yards away.”
“Patience.”
“Why are you delaying?”
“Look up on the hill,” the voice said.
“Warriors over 300 yards away. What good’s that going to do me?”
“None. But you’re good for them.”
“How?”
“You’re the bait. I want them to come to your rescue.”
“Why?”
“For them to bond with you and Aerylln, of course. Men form attachments to those with whom they’ve shared violence. It’s kind of rudimentary, but that’s the way of it.”
“Well, they might want to hurry up and bond.”
“Oh, it will be worth the wait. Unless my eyes deceive me, their leader looks one heck of a lot like King Ulray Kardimont.”
“And?”
“That means the rumors of Tarlen’s having escaped Dominion Castle might be true.”
At the top of the rise, Tarlen Arandar watched Lord Ridgewood’s men riding towards the brave, young man who was at the bottom of the hill.
Unnoticed by the others, the tips of Tarlen Arandar’s fingers became red with blood, and claws began to edge out of them. Not the whole way, but his rage was such that he came within a hairsbreadth of making a dramatic transformation, one that hadn’t taken place in years.
The Tiger of Dominion Castle raised his sword and yelled, “Charge!”
It was only then that Captain Polaris saw the blood running down Tarlen Arandar’s hands. The captain’s heart exploded with excitement, and he could no longer hide his master’s identity. Captain Polaris unsheathed his sword, held it proudly over his head and shouted a battle cry he had not dared to utter in 30 years. He shouted it at the very top of his lungs.