He glared down at her.
“My problem, Princess, is not with what you have told me, but what you haven’t.” His last words rumbled into a growl.
“Don’t call me Princess. Eveerrr!” She glared back, growling her last word, too.
He cocked an eyebrow, his lip twitching at some joke only he found funny.
The cacophony of talk and clanking gear grew quiet. All eyes were focused on the opposing army. A tall, black-cloaked figure mounted upon a black steed emerged from the trees and paced before the troops. Bezoar.
Pulling on her bonds, Princess edged around behind Jerin, her heart faltering. He had her now.
Another rider, sitting on a dapple gray horse, appeared at the top of the hill, next to where they stood. The man was dressed in full military attire, his barrel chest covered with silver mail and his bronze helmet adorned with a silvery plume. His face held a calm, yet stern, expression as his piercing eyes narrowed on the dark rider below.
Bezoar spurred his stallion across the meadow, stopping at the tree. The mount danced and snorted, as if eager to charge.
“General Marcel,” Bezoar called, his voice hissing like the blasting winds of a storm. “You have a traitor in your midst. She belongs to King Darnel. He wants no more than to have her back. Release her now, and we will withdraw from these lands.”
Brows wrinkled over his steel tinted eyes, he momentarily turned her way. He then considered Jerin before asking Carah, “Are they whom he speaks of?”
She nodded in Princess’s direction. “I believe she is, sir.”
In a loud, composed voice, he responded, “None who seek help of us are turned away. You know that, Captain.”
Bezoar closed the distance, stopping before the archers and spear-men, yet giving them as much interest as he would a pesky fly.
“General, I cannot imagine you wish to protect a thief. Even you will agree a criminal deserves to be held accountable of their crimes.”
“You do speak of the girl child, am I correct?” Marcel leaned forward, the Baykok’s repulsive smell didn’t seem to faze the man in the least.
“Indeed. Do not let her small, rodent appearance fool you. She is a most insolent, trouble-maker. A thief of King Darnel’s pet dragon. She stole the beast and who knows what’s happened to the helpless creature now. She also released a dangerous prisoner. And these are infractions caused in just the last moon-cycle. Neither of us have the time to go over all the past misfortunes she’s caused her father, the king.”
“Really?” Marcel turned back to her. “Is this true, daughter?”
Jerin’s face wrinkled as if he smelled something disgusting. Carah stared wide-eyed.
Indignation boiled, burning away Princess’s fear. How dare he twist the truth around and make her out to be a deranged criminal?
“Unbind her. Bring her here, Carah.”
The warrior maiden cut loose the rope. With a gentle nudge, Carah pushed her closer to the horsemen. Jerin followed, dragging his guard along with him.
The general asked in a grave voice, “Are the captain’s accusations true?”
She met his gaze. “Most of them, sir.”
From behind her, Jerin asked, “So, are you the dark one’s daughter?”
Her eyes leveled on Bezoar. “No. And he knows it.” She reached for the chain hanging around her neck and held up her medallion bearing the flame emblem.
Marcel blinked, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. Carah gasped, looking from the pendant, to the general, then back to the pendant.
Bezoar’s claw-like hands clenched. “She stole that, General. The messenger had one in his possession. She must have taken his.”
“Dean the Messenger had this one.” She held up his with the trumpet emblem. “I’ve had the other one since that old witch brought me to Darnel.” When Bezoar sneered, she added, “Yes, I remembered when I passed her house.”
Princess regarded Marcel. “Dean said anyone who possesses one of these is a citizen of Aloblase. I escaped because I want to go back home.”
Several people burst out talking at the same time. She heard the word medallion, Illuminated, and prophecy before Marcel shouted for everyone to be silent.
“Well,” he said, shifting on his gray horse. “This is an interesting turn of events. If she wishes to make the journey to Aloblase, she will not be deterred.”
“Then you choose death.” Bezoar growled, his voice sounding like steel grating against steel. “I assure you, General, the insolent girl is not worth the trouble you are bringing upon yourself.”
“That is not for me to decide. King Shaydon decides such matters.” He turned his horse to leave, but Bezoar whipped out his sword and sprang forward. The General already had his own sword ready. Metal clanged against metal, resounding across the valley.
Carah withdrew a bow from her quiver. In a flash, it was loaded and pointed at Bezoar along with half a dozen other arrows and spears all aimed at his shroud covered head. Jerin demanded to be cut loose. Perhaps his size worked in his behalf, for the young man guarding him brought out a dagger and sliced the rope. He even offered Jerin his weapon, but he waved it away, pulling a slingshot from his pocket instead.
Bezoar lowered his sword and pulled his horse away to a safer distance. “Return now, Princessss, and all will be forgiven. Your father is willing to forget past behaviors and start afresh.” Bezoar grinned. “However, upon the King Darnel’s honor, Princessss, if you do not return this very instant, I will hunt you every step of your pointless journey. You are just as much a part of Racah as I am. Our kind doesn’t find acceptance in the White City. I assure you.”
Her legs shook so hard, she feared they’d buckle under her weight.
Behind her, she heard Jerin’s sharp intake of breath. The other warriors stared at Bezoar with pure hatred in their narrowed eyes. Even Carah muttered something under her breath that sounded like lying scum and possibly the name of a creature that lived in such places.
“Daughter.” Marcel’s voice was quiet and calming like rustling leaves. “You must make a choice. Do you wish to return to Racah, or undertake the journey to Aloblase?”
The words ‘journey to Aloblase’ rang in her ears. Perhaps if she did return peacefully, Master would keep his promise. She could even demand for Tarek’s release from his punishment, too.
However, if she refused, if she ran for her dream, she might actually make it. But then what? What exactly did she hope to find? If only she remembered her life before Racah. She looked again at Jerin. He refused to meet her eyes. The warriors simply stared at their hated enemy, waiting. There would be no peace. Bezoar would constantly hunt for her. If he captured her…she shuddered, not wanting to let that thought form a mental picture. The hate dripping from his angry scowl told her he meant every word of his threat.
Then she caught sight of General Marcel sitting upon his horse, sword lowered but ready. A calm, somewhat amused smile played at his lips; a smile that seemed to say it would all work out. His steely eyes met hers and he gave her a quick wink.
All trembling stopped. Her breath returned to a normal rhythm. Dean had promised the warriors would keep her safe. Marcel’s confident demeanor caused her to believe him.
Princess backed away from Bezoar. “I’m not going back to that land of living death. Tell Darnel this is what I think of his offer.” She spat on the ground.
With a fierce yell, Bezoar raised his sword. The General bounded in between him and Princess. Jerin grabbed her by the cloak and yanked her out of the way.
Bezoar yanked his horse backward, forcing it to jump out of the General’s reach.
Carah leaped onto a rocky overhang where she stood over everyone. “Mighty Warriors…” Her deep voice trumpeted from her small frame and rolled across the valley like thunder rolls across a stormy sky. “Mighty warriors of King Shaydon! Take up your weapons!”
The clang of swords banged in her ears.
The warriors surrounding t
hem chimed, “Take up your weapons and fight!”
“FOR FREEEEDOM!” Carah’s voice rang like gongs from a bell tower, pulsating right into Princess’s heart. A group of soldiers, carrying drums and horns joined her, their voices matching her chanting rhythm.
Bezoar reared his steed, his face twisted in pain, and raced over the swaying grasses toward his troops.
With a mighty shout, the Alburnium troops surged forward, raining arrows across the valley into the enemy forces.
Marcel spurred his stallion after the captain. “Let’s rid the King’s land of this filth. To arms!” Swordsmen charged behind their leader, cutting down anything that stood in their way. Clanging metal and pained yells filled the valley.
Drums beat boom-boom, ba-boom-rum. The tempo grew faster and fiercer. Windpipes joined in, flowing across the meadow like a summer gale. Something inside Princess’s chest stirred with excitement. Her fist clenched with the desire to fight.
The louder Carah’s troop sang and played, the more disorganized the enemy soldiers became. Most ran for cover in the thick woods, the rest were taken down by Marcel and the warrior’s mighty weapons. The Racan troops scrambled in confused circles, as the leaders tried to regain order and form a stable line.
Jerin stood gawking at the sight, his loaded sling hung limp in one hand as rocks dropped from the other, one by one.
Carah sang, “Victory is ours!” followed by the others resounding calls of “Victory is ours for our Mighty King!”
The Alburnium warriors cleared the field of what was left of the dark army.
Princess’s mind reeled in fear, surprise, and disbelief. Realizing she’d escaped being captured by Bezoar once again, her legs gave out, and she crumpled onto the soft ground.
Victory was indeed sure and victory was quick. A loud pop sounded, followed by sparks and smoke that threw several fighters off their feet. Bezoar was there one moment and when the smoke cleared, he was gone. She knew that trick. Many of the heads of military kept the explosive powder handy for magical escapes like that. If only he would disappear for good.
Jerin remained beside her. “I’ve never ...”
Princess looked up at him, and chuckled at the stunned expression on his pale face.
“I’ve never seen a battle like this. Never.” He gaped at Carah, his hand over his heart as he stared, open-mouthed, in complete adoration of the maiden warrior. “She. Is. So. Awesome.”
Carah, turned and gave him a crooked, knowing smile. “What did you think of that, young warrior?”
“That…” he stammered, “That was sooo amazing.”
“You bet’cha it was.”
Chapter 11
Sparks from bonfires shot high into the dusky sky. Lyres, flutes, and tom-toms played as dancers twirled and sang amidst much laughter. In the middle of the camp, Racan weapons and other gear lay in a pile.
The smell of roasted boar and deer filled the air.
Princess sat with a group of ten, her stomach full and her mind finally calmed from the fright of facing Bezoar. For the first time in a very long while, she was happy. If only the What if’s and What nows? would stop pounding on the door of her consciousness. She wanted to enjoy this moment, and the euphoria of having slipped from Bezoar’s claws. His threat to hunt her all the way across Alburnium still rang in her ears and churned her gut. She’d push that aside for now.
“It’s true!”A boy, of around nine years, drew her attention when he jumped atop a flat boulder, his freckled face set in a defiant scowl. “I was lost in the woods and the centaur gave me a ride home. Didn’t he, ma?”
Intrigued, Princess straightened. She’d heard that centaurs were used in Darnel’s army, but she’d never seen one in person. She glanced around at the warriors surrounding the fire, wondering why no creatures fought with these men and women.
The boy’s mother, an older woman wearing a red dress and tan smock, nodded. “I’d never been so frightened and surprised in all my life. He weren’t like any of them other centaurs we’ve often fought against.” A shuddered went through her as she stirred a pot of stew.
“They are pure vicious, them beast.” She tasted a steamy spoonful of the meaty soup. Grabbing a handful of some kind of pungent plant, she crumpled the leaves over the pot. “Been pulled from their nursing mama’s and trained to kill, they have. But this one, he weren’t wild at all. Didn’t seem so anyway. Then again, he didn’t say nothing to me. Jus’ dropped Jeremy off and disappeared back into the woods.”
The group muttered a collective gasp, some shaking their heads, others nodding in understanding.
One man, whom Princess had seen with the archers on the battlefield, said, “We was lucky today. That captain was just leading a scouting troop.” The man’s gaze fell on Princess. “Will bring a full unit of nasty beasts with him when he comes back. I’d rather shoot the monsters afore they get me. Been face to face in battle with too many of ’em.”
Tapping her large wooden spoon on the pot, the mother nodded, “Never would’a thought them creatures to bother helping us. They normally don’t give heed to two-leggers, except to attack and pillage innocent towns.”
“I agree!” Jerin joined the group. He held a greasy pork bone in his hand which he’d nearly completely cleared of meat. Grease and bits of fat clung to the downy hair growing over his chin. “They are savages and nothing more. The whole blasted lot of them, Okbolds, dwarves, all of them. Unnatural creations that should be avoided.”
Princess gaped at him, nose wrinkled in disgust. Somebody needed to hand him a napkin.
Confused, she shook her head. Maybe Dez had been on the enemy’s side, but he helped her and treated her with kindness. Despite the fact he turned her over to Bezoar. Crystal might also be lumped into the beast category. Where would Princess be today if the dragon hadn’t flown her down the mountain? Even if Crystal did kill Dean, she’d done it out of fear, not malice. What about the others that served Darnel? Were they willing servants, or forced slaves?
Did motivation matter to those from Aloblase? If they found out how she had served Lord Darnel, would they consider her a beast or traitor as well?
Jeremy jumped down from his rock and stood before Jerin. The youth had to crane his head to meet his eyes. “I disagree, sir. I was lost and scared, and he helped me get back home. He could’a left me lost in the woods, you know.” The boy looked around at the others sitting in the group. “Don’t forget they have just as much right to be part of King Shaydon’s family as the rest of us,.”
Jerin cocked an eyebrow at the lad, then snorted a reply.
Princess spotted General Marcel approaching. She cringed over having to meet with him soon. What should she tell him? Would he still be willing to help when learned the truth about her? She sighed, remembering all of Bezoar’s accusations. Already they knew more than she cared for anyone to know.
Everyone greeted him warmly, offering him food and drink, but he refused graciously. He sat on a fallen log beside Princess. Firelight shone off his solemn gray eyes as he took in each person, finally stopping on the lad. A small grin puffed his beard.
“I find your conversation interesting.” He picked up a stick and drew a large X in the dirt. “The simple truth is this: there is only one true heir to the Great King.” Making a circle around the X, he added, “The rest of us are simply included in his realm by invitation. I can’t help but feel saddened over the divisions in our kingdom. It hasn’t always been this way.
“Unfortunately, lies and treachery have brought about much animosity between the different inhabitants for ages.” The stick wove around and through the circle, distorting the firm lines.
The boy folded his skinny arms. “Maybe now’s the time for change. They are wonderful creatures, the centaurs, dragons, and all. Those who are for the King anyway.”
General Marcel chuckled and patted Jeremy’s shoulder. “Indeed, bright son of Aloblase. Perhaps you will be given the opportunity to bring such changes about.”
&n
bsp; Jeremy beamed.
The General’s gentle voice and confident air, even when face-to-face with a Baykok, had won her over. She’d never met anyone who set her troubled mind at peace like he did.
He stood and motioned for her and Jerin to follow him.
Princess started after them, but stopped next to the boy first. “You’re right about dragons. I met one and she saved my life, like the centaur saved yours. They can’t possibly be as bad as the others think.”
He grinned, revealing a gap between his front teeth she found endearing.
As she caught up with Jerin, Marcel explained, “I’ve called a council meeting and wish for the two of you to attend. We’ll discuss our next move and need your input.”
Jerin’s chest puffed. “Certainly, sir.”
Princess remained quiet. A nagging worry pecked at her heart. Marcel said all were welcomed into the kingdom. Did the invitation extend to Racan filth? Bezoar had said there was no place for people like them in Aloblase. Dean told her Aloblase was her home. Said she’d met King Shaydon at some point, and he’d given her the medallion. If only she remembered….
Would King Shaydon even want her, a servant for the dark lord, to return?
They entered a large tent set in the center of camp. Several lamps flickered along the rectangular table, casting wavering shadows that danced against the linen walls. Jerin took a seat across from her, Carah sitting on a cushioned bench beside him. He fidgeted with his slingshot, his cheeks flushing a dark pink every time she tried to include him in the conversation with the other warriors.
Princess studied the group of men and women seated around her. Though they seemed friendly, their stern looks of determination and strength made her shiver. Then she remembered Dean the Messenger. He’d had that same expression.
General Marcel raised his hand, and the room instantly grew quiet. He gazed upon both Jerin and then her, and his mouth turned up in a kind smile before he cleared his throat and called the meeting to order.
“Warriors of Alburnium.” He stretched out his arms. “Let’s first take a moment to consider our gratefulness for a swift victory over our enemy today. Then we will discuss how to best help our two new friends.”
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