by Derek Barton
He bulled his way through the courtyard and marched down the Merchant Marketway; even managed to knock over a child walking beside her mother. Letandra begged forgiveness as they swept past. His urgency began to frighten her. Whatever he found in the Crellen’s vision must have really rattled him. She tried to steel herself for what might be blowing her mind as well.
After five minutes being towed at a fast trot, they approached his quarters in the Guard Barracks.
“Alright, Devin, let go of my arm! We are here.” she shouted at him.
The sergeant yanked at the door’s handle, but it failed to open. A look of confusion washed over his face.
Letandra pried his hand off, but then draped an arm across his shoulders. “I really think that you need to rest after this. You can show me what you found, but then I will take over the post at the West Moat. You are—”
“—You are probably right, but please come in and see the image first.” He interrupted.
“Fine, fine.” She appeased him and then shoved open the door for him. He stepped in front of her and went into the dark of the barracks. She followed behind him, but her mind drifted back to her ranger missions. With her going to the West Moat, she would need to appoint someone to lead those infiltrations.
“Your men like to live in the dark, Sergeant Dev—” her quip was drowned out. From the end of the hallway that was covered in a Dark Cloud spell, Auste roared in rage and charged at them. In his hands he firmly held one of Devin’s favorite bastard swords.
Like a lance, Auste plunged the blade in the center of the soldier’s chest. The steel burst through his back as if he were a ragdoll and drove straight into Letandra’s shoulder. The tip erupted out of her back and embedded in the wooden archway wall behind her. She barely managed a scream as it had punctured her right lung and the air escaped her.
Devin twitched once and then hung lifeless on the blade while the princess writhed in agony. She felt her blood spouting past the blade and gagged as it filled her throat. As she gasped for air, she turned and met her attacker’s gaze.
The princess recognized the albino’s face by Taihven’s description. She knew that Death had found its way into her city and now it had her in his grip. Auste had carried out her death sentence.
He grinned, leaned in close to her face and rubbed her cheek with one hand, trailing a finger behind a tear drop.
“Do not worry, child. Your family will join you soon.”
#3
Private Eron Slome, panic beaming from his eyes, trembled in front of his irate queen. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but I have not seen either of them since early this morn.”
She had been leaning over another wounded soldier who laid unconscious in a cot. The Menders were near exhaustion and could not keep up with all of the demands. She had lent a hand as best she could. Ruessard drank a hot tea in the corner of the infirmary as he studied more scout reports.
“Where have you checked? The castle?” she barked at him as she flooded Mending energies from her fingertips into a shoulder. The seeping wound knitted together and scabbed over as the dislocated shoulder blade popped back into place.
“Uh, well, no. But, you see,” stammered the private. “Princess Letandra was heading the ranger attack missions and, well, the squads have missed their attack windows waiting for her word. I guess, since Prince Taihven cannot be found either that it does not matter. I mean, without his gates and all…” His words stalled as the queen’s expression hardened.
Another private that had accompanied Private Slome stood nearer to their captain. He stated, “The Viestrahl are massing in force just outside the downed West Gate. They have not made any further advances, but it is not quite light yet, sir.” He leaned over a battle map and pointed at the enemy encampments.
“They have moved from here and from here,” he continued. “And they have stopped attacking the East Gate with boulders.”
“They are amassing to storm the Steppe One Gate, but both gates are vulnerable now. Do I move away from Steppe Two or is this a ploy? We will need all hands on deck!” The veteran cursed to himself.
“This is not like them,” Queen Demetryce replied, misunderstanding the Captain’s remark. “My children may be independent, but they are the utmost reliable. I do not like this, Captain Ruessard.”
Private Slome ventured, “I know that Private Camban had asked for her whereabouts just after First Sun on behalf of Sergeant Devin.”
“Wait! So are you telling me that he is with the Lady Magistrate?” the Captain asked.
“Uh, no, no sir. I just overheard Private Camban talking about it and how the sergeant was…” he suddenly choked on his words.
“Go on, man. Report!”
“He said that he had reported to Sergeant Devin that she was prepping the squads at the East Quarter. Yet the private was more shocked that the sergeant would get drunk before the attacks.”
“Drunk?” both Captain Ruessard and Queen Demetryce repeated together.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I heard him wrong?”
“That is it! Captain Ruessard, come with me. I am getting some answers. You two return to the breaches and make sure all posts are ready.”
She rushed to her table and swept up her Focus Rod of twisted red-wood and tucked it into her robe belt.
To herself, she prayed that Taihven would turn up soon. She was scared for her missing children.
***
Captain Ruessard and the queen crossed the mud-pack courtyards as a steady rain pelted them. Soldiers ran to and fro and amongst the huddled frightened refugees. Last minute preparations were for naught as a chorus of Viestrahl horns blew. It signaled the first of the beasts’ onslaughts. Boulders also filled the skies and rained upon the city streets and houses.
The Guard Barracks were just ahead of them. Captain Ruessard grabbed his matriarch around her shoulders to shield her. He began to yell in her ears, but his words stuck and the soldier seemed confused. They stood out in the open in the middle of the practice yards. She looked up as all color and emotion drained from his face and his eyes glazed over.
Demetryce shouted, “What is wrong? Come on, we have to hurry! They will need all of us at the West Moat!”
The large man did not respond. He stood lax, his jaw dropped open and then snapped shut repeatedly.
“Ruessard! What—”
He ignored her exclamation; he lunged forward to grip her shoulders and turned her to face him. His lips twisted into a snarl. Ruessard growled, “Hello, Mother! Have you lost any kin yet?”
He snaked his left leg behind her and shoved her over onto her back into the mud. Her squeals of terror were snuffed out as he rolled her onto her chest and put her face into a puddle, a boot to the back of her neck.
He is going to kill me! As the terror overwhelmed her mind, the panic fed into an inner strength.
She curled and arched her body against the ground, trying to work her legs under her to use as leverage. Captain Ruessard wobbled, but regained his position. As her hand grabbed at his calf, she glimpsed the old albino standing in the shadows. Standing over a dozen or so feet away, his filthy robe’s hood had been pulled back revealing his wrinkled visage. He stood tall and with one leg slightly raised.
She realized that he was mimicking Ruessard’s exact pose and movements.
Could he somehow be controlling the veteran soldier? Her contemplation was snapped when the distinct sliding metal sound was heard just over her shoulder. Captain Ruessard had pulled his longsword from his leather sheath.
“Snap-snap out of it! Captain!” she screeched. She spit out mud and water, “Fight this—”
The queen’s whole world was shattered by a deafening explosion of rock, wood and glass. An immense boulder had demolished the merchant building near them. The blast spit out piles of debris everywhere including the alcove the albino stood in.
The boot on her back had relaxed and came off her. She flopped over, sputtering and wiping away rain and
earth from her eyes. The captain was frozen and dazed. Streams of blood traveled down from cuts along his neck and left cheek. A jagged piece of roof thatch jutted out from his hip.
Demetryce took her opening, not trusting the soldier still. She crawled away and then broke into a run for a side exit door to the Guard Barracks.
She slammed it behind her, relieved to see him still motionless in the yard.
The queen yanked down the locking bar and rammed it into its notch. The door was secure now, but she was panicked and wanted to find other guards. However, all the available men were out fighting or protecting the walls.
“Hello? Anyone?” she called out. No reply. The Barracks were silent as a tomb.
The queen was always a decisive person. All her life she was proud of that fact — even when her decisions had been wrong, she never regretted them. She was decisive because she always knew what she wanted. Demetryce knew her desires long before many others would know or she knew long before the situation presented itself. Now as she stood all alone in the dark hall, she was confounded and afraid.
Why had Ruessard attacked her? He was not a traitor, she could not accept that.
Who was that albino man? What did he have to do with all of this? The questions haunted her.
She gasped as a plausible answer came to her. Was that Auste Cros’seau?
Someone moaned in the distant pitch black shadows of the hallway. Whatever was there was just around the bend of the corridor. She realized that the ebony dark that shrouded the hallway was not natural. Her arcane training gave her that insight.
Why would anyone cast a spell there — unless they were using it to hide within.
A fleeting memory of an argument came to her. Letandra! You are a lady of the Court of King Haedrec Artadeus! She had pointed at the mace hanging down from a loop in the princess’ belt.
That is not appropriate at any time!
Oh, mother! Letandra muttered.
Do not whine to me. Remove it now!
Letandra shook her head, but did as she was commanded to. I may be a Lady of the Throne, but that title will not save me when our enemies come at us with swords and axes!
Rubbish. We have the Wyvernguard for such. You always waste my time, Letandra!
Demetryce frowned at her own shortsightedness. The Wyvernguard were not there for her now. Calming her breathing, she tried to remain as silent as possible. The queen looked down at her robe’s belt, but it was empty – her Focus Rod was lost in the mud of the practice yard. She did not have so much as a jewel pin to protect herself.
Helpless. Useless. She berated herself.
For several moments, she waited and listened, trying to learn the location of the moan and its owner. All she could make out was a pair of steady drips — probably leaks from the rickety building roof.
The queen inched forward and slid her hand along the wall to guide her.
Her foot squelched in mud. The puddle was thick and gooey. She backed up afraid that the sound gave her away.
The dripping sounds were closer. Faint echoes of a clink of metal and a raspy, sucking breath gave away the presence of a person inside the black cloud in front of her.
“What do you want? I know you are there!” She demanded in her best queen-voice. She prayed it did not reveal just how afraid she truly was.
No reply. No movement. She wondered if the captain’s attack on her had caused undue paranoia. Demetryce backed away, but her foot slid forward on the cement flooring.
That is when she spied that her footprints were tracks of blood. Her sandals were dipped in the scarlet red.
“I am not going to hurt you — I can mend you. Come out!” Her voice this time shakey.
Demetryce clenched her teeth and crept into the black. Her feet slipped again in the blood, but after about ten steps she broke through the magical fog.
On the other side, the sight broke the queen’s heart.
Pinned into the wood of a doorway, the bodies of Sergeant Devin and Princess Letandra dangled from the steel of a bastard sword. The soldier’s eyes were open and peered right past her. Letandra’s head hung limp and faced the floor.
Reflex screamed for her to run to her baby girl, but her legs would not obey. She stared at them, tears cascading down the laugh lines of her face. Her mind could not accept the scene in front of her.
The rasping sucking noise came again from the wound in the girl’s chest. That broke the stasis that held Demetryce.
She bolted to the bodies in the doorway. Without much care, she gripped the soldier’s shoulders and threw his corpse to the floor behind her. Using all her strength, she lifted her daughter onto her back as she tried to force the sword tip out of the wood. It finally splintered and sent her hard to her knees under Letandra’s weight. Demetryce’s hands slipped in the blood and she hit her chest and face upon the concrete. The girl bounced over the queen and rolled. The tip came out and the bastard sword hit the wall and clattered into the dark cloud.
Blood fountained out of the girl’s chest wound. “Hold on! Hold on,” Demetryce wailed.
She began her Mending chants and laid her hands on each side of Letandra’s head. The healing warmth thrummed through her fingertips. The wound closed upon itself, but the amount of blood loss could not be easily overcome.
“Letandra? Letandra...stay with me, love.”
The girl’s face was grey and purple, her lips a faded blue. Death was close for the first ever Lady Magistrate. The queen’s Mending had not done enough.
The specter of Auste rose up in Demetryce’s mind’s eye. After you lose your family, your blood, you can come back to me and smile like that. It followed with laughter this time.
He had won.
No, no, no, no, no, no! I will stop you! She screamed in her mind. Neither Death nor Auste was going to take her daughter.
She delved deep into her core, drudging up every trace amount of healing energy. Without remorse and without hesitation she began the powerful Transcendence Spell.
She struggled to tighten her control of the spell’s focus even as her life-force drained from her fingertips and into Letandra. The process went on several moments or an eternity; she could not be certain any longer.
The queen’s body trembled and wavered back and forth. As the last of her life transferred, a wide smile flashed across her face. She was always decisive and always knew what she really wanted even up to the end.
Letandra’s eyes fluttered and then cracked open.
The queen’s body slipped backwards to the floor; she was gone before she hit the stonework.
#4
Taihven stood dumbfounded in the same muddy courtyard that his mother had just tracked through a short time before. Boulders of the sizes of dogs and up to the lengths of horse carts were crashing down all over the city. The targeted efforts that the Viestrahl had made against the walls had ceased and now the volleys were coming in random spreads anywhere and everywhere.
The camps for the refugees were crushed and trampled. The Wyvernguard and Viestrahl battled in hand to hand contests — the Horde trying to swarm inside. Balshazra kept some of the beasts at bay, but the surviving Wyvernguard were still outnumbered three to one.
Taihven’s shoulders were slumped; the weight of all his exertions were weighing them down. He was beyond tired and frustrated. The prince’s idea of finding Fire Beetles had turned into a wild goose chase and had taxed all his reserves. He had not been gone, but for three hours, but time had passed differently there.
Aberrisc had always been the world of chaos and Wyvernshield the land of order and calm. Every aspect of his life had been reversed and chewed up in this tempest.
Where is my family? Where was Sergeant Devin or Captain Ruessard? He saw no one leading the battle fronts on the walls or along the catwalks.
A private with a jagged slash across his cheek and nose shuffled past.
Taihven stepped up behind him. “Who is in command at this post?”
The youn
g man, maybe a year or two older than Taihven, only shrugged his shoulders.
“Where is Captain Ruessard?” he demanded.
“I do not know. Not even sure he is alive, sir.”
“What?”
“He was taken to the East Moat Hospelle. I believe he got a hip wound.”
“Who is in charge now? Sergeant Devin?”
“No, no one is. We were given orders to defend the wall opening and that is all we heard since the first attacks.” The man was weak from his injury, his legs started to shake.