Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

Except that the architect stood to her immediate right, breathing laboriously in the humid afternoon air. The Szun’s thick muscular tail twitched at seemingly random intervals.

  Directly across from her, past the tower, was the enemy’s arch, from whence all her human foes would emerge. And to her right, would be the gate from which the beasts would be released.

  Above the archways and gates were the stands, many-tiered extending ever upwards and outwards like a large stone bowl. Willow had never seen so many people before in her life. It was like counting grains of sand at the beach. And each one of those grains of sands was cheering, shouting, or waving a brightly-colored banner. She swallowed, fighting to suppress her fear, as she did before every battle she had ever fought.

  Tamlevar leaned over and said to her, “Ok, here’s the plan. You take the twenty-five thousand on the left and I’ll take the twenty-five thousand on the right. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  She started to smile, but the smile was stillborn as she caught sight of the Warlord’s box to the left. Straight up along the wall, at least thirty-feet up, and every inch of it sheer and smooth. It was separated from the rest of the seating in the arena by stone partitions. Designed to prevent would-be assassins from scaling it and earning a quick promotion.

  All the seats in this section were filled save four. Four. Willow’s heart pounded in her chest. That was the number for which she had been hoping. Could she be so lucky? Might this actually work?

  The guards pushed them along until they reached a wooden cabinet of some sort halfway between the arches through which they had passed and the tower. Then the guards slit their bonds. Tamlevar rubbed his wrists and moaned with relief. Once more, Willow thought about how she would kill her guards if she chose to do so, but she took no action.

  “Your weapons are in the chest,” one of the guards said, and then they withdrew, leaving the three of them alone in the arena.

  Willow flipped the lid of the chest open to reveal a row of ten shiny hand-axes. She withdrew one and the crowd responded with a roar of approval.

  Willow tested the weight. Light enough to throw yet with enough heft to it to do some damage. Nice. The thong was thick leather, well cured, and would be extremely durable. The blade was honed to a razor’s edge. All-in-all, an excellent weapon.

  She stuffed the handle into her waistband and tied the thong loosely to her belt. Then she took two more axes: one for each hand.

  Tamlevar took three axes, which he held together in one hand. The Szun took none.

  “Remember,” the Szun said, “they will try to hurt me, but not kill me. If any kill me, the Warlord will exact revenge, so none will dare.”

  “Meaning we can use you as a shield,” Willow said.

  “Correct that is.” The Szun blinked. “I mean, that is correct.”

  Tamlevar patted the Szun on the back.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get you out of here.”

  The Szun did not reply.

  An array of horns sounded a fanfare, and the cheers of the crowd reached a new level of painfulness. Willow winced.

  “You remember the plan?” she asked Tamlevar.

  “I didn’t know there was one.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  He grinned. “It’s a yes.”

  * * *

  A head bobbed up into sight in the Warlord’s box as Captain Eric Snyde ascended the steps. He blinked a moment or two in the sun’s glare, and then smiled winningly at the crowd and waved. The crowd responded with cheers and applause. Oh yes, the crowd absolutely adored Captain Eric Snyde, a view Willow did not share with them.

  Next came Tee-Ri, beautiful Queen of the Elves. Again, applause met the arrival, only this time it was accompanied by wolf-whistles and the stomping of thousands of feet. Tee-Ri did the blushing who-me? maiden act that she did so well, and the crowd devoured it with a gusto.

  Now Willow held her breath. There was one other person, aside from the Warlord whom she needed to see, and he was the most important one of all.

  “He’ll be here,” whispered Tamlevar, as though reading her mind.

  Another head ascended into the Warlord’s box, and Willow exhaled a sigh of relief. He was here.

  The Prince of Bryanae was here.

  Prince Vazerian had been made to wear attire roughly similar to the gowns of state he often wore in Bryanae. But the clothing seemed too big for him. Upon reflection, Willow decided that instead it was he who was too small. He seemed to have shrunk even further into himself. She couldn’t blame him. After all, look how far she had gone to hide from what had happened to her, and that had been over a century ago. She could only imagine to what indignities and abuse he had been subjected.

  At last, the Warlord appeared, all blonde haired and crazy-eyed, and Willow shivered despite herself.

  I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.

  And perhaps, just perhaps, she might get an opportunity to show him.

  Finally, a pair of black-hooded figures like the ones who had ambushed Tamlevar and her in the dungeons climbed up into the box and flanked the Warlord.

  So now all the players had assembled. The Warlord walked to the cliff face of the Warlord’s box, where one step forward would smash him to the arena floor far below. And there, at the precipice, the Warlord silenced the roars and cheers of the crowd with a single gesture.

  He began to speak.

  Chapter 104

  “My brothers,” the Warlord began. “My brothers, today is an important day. It is a day of celebration. It is a day of reconciliation. It is a day of vengeance. It is a day of judgment. And it is a day of punishment.”

  Willow could hear the words spoken as if the Warlord were only a few yards from her. It was an unnerving effect that belied the distances her eyes told her.

  “I design acoustics,” the Szun said proudly.

  The Warlord spread his arms wide as if to collectively embrace all the thousands gathered.

  “We celebrate the capture of the elven traitor and assassin Waeh-Loh, who hundreds of years ago murdered my exalted forefather, the beloved Warlord Rackal: my ancestor, he who single-handedly moved our nation from our exhausted fatherland to the fertile and rich soils of Ferán, that which the elves had once called Ignis Fatuus.

  “We reconcile today: reconcile a mother with a daughter, a husband with a wife. We reconcile soldiers from three nations. We reconcile members of four races. Yes, my brothers, today is a day of great reconciliation.

  “And we exact vengeance,” the Warlord said, and even from this distance, his eyes met Willow’s.

  She stared back at him, refusing to blink. I’m not afraid of you.

  She could handle anything he could throw at her. Come on, she thought. Try your best. I’ll chew it up, swallow it, and ask for another helping.

  “Oh,” the Warlord cooed, “we exact so much vengeance today.”

  The Warlord gestured to the others in his box: Willow’s mother, the Prince, and Captain Snyde.

  “Now I wish to introduce my guests today.

  “First and highest among them, is my wife and consort, Tee-Ri, formerly Queen of the Elves.” He extended his hand, and Tee-Ri rose and went to him. She slipped his hand around her narrow waist, and she, appearing the perfect docile wife, rested her slender head upon his shoulder.

  Willow looked up at her mother, and a pang of ambivalence gnawed at her heart. She looked so happy, so at home in the Warlord’s arms. And while Willow utterly loathed and despised her, she couldn’t help but feel a little envy—and yes, a little pride—for her mother.

  Yes, she really did love her. And yes, she really would kill her. Perhaps even very soon.

  “Next, is our greatest trophy to date: none other than Prince Vazerian of Bryanae. His capture was orchestrated by our trusted friend and advisor, Captain Snyde, whom I will introduce to you shortly. Prince Vazerian has proved instrumental in obtaining the ships necessary to conquer the island of Bryanae, his homeland—and then after,
to serve as a stepping stone to the mainland, and to new worlds to conquer.

  “Stand up, Vazerian.”

  The Prince stood and glanced about like a mouse who had just emerged from his hole. His eyes were wide, and his hands were rigidly at his side. The crowd cheered happily at this trained animal from a far-off land.

  The poor boy. Perhaps someday he would find the strength he surely must have within him. Considering who his parents were, it seemed unavoidable that he’d be strong.

  The Warlord gestured for Vazerian to sit, and the boy obeyed with obvious relief.

  “And finally, I give you the Bryanaen soldier, Captain Snyde of the King’s Guard.” He gestured and Snyde arose, beaming and waving, looking insanely handsome.

  Captain Snyde wore his dress uniform, an affront of the highest degree considering the severity of his treachery. His use of the uniform was a blatant mockery of the values it represented. Standing there beside the Warlord and his captured prince, Snyde symbolized everything that stood opposed to Bryanae.

  And Willow felt heat in her loins and knew that even now, if he tried to seduce her, she would be hard-pressed to resist.

  “We owe a considerable debt to Captain Snyde, for as I pointed out, it was he who gave us Prince Vazerian, the ships, and, perhaps most important of all, the elf Waeh-Loh. Captain Snyde, please take a bow.”

  Captain Snyde clicked his heels together, placed his bandaged hand on his midriff, and bowed before a cheering crowd.

  Willow had to admit that he had style. He might have been a monster, but it did it with a surprising elegance.

  “Now,” the Warlord was saying, “in honor of this occasion, I would like to read you something.”

  The Warlord withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his waistband, and unfolded it. He skimmed it for a moment.

  “Give me a moment to find the pertinent parts,” he said. “Ah, there we are.”

  “ ‘Princess Sherrilou,’ ” he read. “ ‘Three times.’ ”

  Even from down here, Willow saw how quickly Captain Snyde’s face blanched. Snyde’s hand snaked into his jacket, searching for something.

  “ ‘Queen Tiranda, twice.’ ” The Warlord smiled at Captain Snyde. “ ‘Captain Willow (princess). Twice.’ ”

  Captain Snyde glanced back at the exit to the Warlord’s box, but he found himself facing three barbarian guards who towered over him. He faced forward again.

  “Ah,” said the Warlord. “Here’s the most important part.

  “ ‘Queen Tee-Ri,’ ” he said, as though proving some scholarly point. “ ‘Seven times.’ ”

  “Seven times, Captain Snyde.” The Warlord said the words slowly, as if there were some mystic meaning hidden within. “Seven times.”

  By now Tee-Ri was looking concerned. She didn’t seem to understand what was going on, but it was clear that things were not going well for her. She whispered something into the Warlord’s ear, and he nodded and smiled benignly.

  “My wife asks me what this document is, which is an excellent question. And the answer is that this is a list of all the women that our beloved Captain Snyde has conquered, taken from his very person without his knowledge!”

  The crowd had gone silent. This was an intriguing turn of events.

  Tee-Ri’s eyes were huge, and Willow heard her insistent voice protesting her innocence. The Warlord Rackal patted Tee-Ri on the back gently and kissed her once on the lips.

  And then he pushed her from the precipice. She fell shrieking.

  “Mother!” Willow cried despite herself.

  Queen Tee-Ri of the Elves—wife and murderer of King Kral-Sus, consort and bride of the Warlord Jabar—plunged from the Warlord’s box to the stone floor of the arena below. Willow heard the crunch of bones and saw the splash of blood.

  Against her will, Willow ran to her mother. She knelt beside her.

  Queen Tee-Ri was fighting for every wheezing, liquid cough of a breath. Blood pooled around her beautiful body, matted in her luxurious blonde hair, soaked those colorful, wispy silk garments. One pupil had dilated so much that there was almost no white in that eye.

  “Mother,” Willow whispered, so many emotions running through her that she felt like her skin was vibrating.

  Tee-Ri’s undamaged eye swiveled to regard her daughter for the last time. She took a deep, ragged inhalation.

  “I regret nothing,” she said and died.

  Willow stared at her body for a long while. The vast arena, packed with tens of thousands of people, was dead silent. The only sounds she heard were of the banners fluttering in the wind.

  “I told you I would kill you, Mother,” Willow said, a single tear trailing down her cheek. The magnitude of her conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She forced herself to remain calm, to take slow, measured breaths.

  She looked up at the Warlord some thirty feet above her, hatred and defiance in her heart.

  “Oh dear,” he said to the crowd. “I seem to have killed my wife! Oh well, I guess I shall need another one.”

  He pointed at Willow, a shining smile on his evil face. “If Willow is as good a warrior as I’ve been so often told, and she somehow manages to survive the games today, then she shall be my new bride!”

  The crowd began to cheer again, louder and with greater enthusiasm than ever. A murder, the games, and now an engagement all in one day. What fun!

  The Warlord and Willow stared at each other. Willow did not look away. Their eyes remained locked together in a contest of wills.

  I’m not afraid of you.

  Centuries seemed to drag on and yet neither relented. The crowd sensed that something significant was happening, and the din dropped to a rustling murmur.

  Then the Warlord looked away.

  “So what to give my blushing bride-to-be as a wedding gift?”

  He looked at Captain Snyde. Snyde tried to turn, but a pair of massive barbarian hands held him in place.

  “Why, you know,” the Warlord said, his smile huge. “I believe I have the perfect present!”

  Chapter 105

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” Tamlevar said. She hadn’t heard him approach. He placed his arm around Willow’s shoulders. She shrugged the arm off as if it were a venomous snake.

  “Get off me,” she hissed. “That bitch meant nothing to me. I’m glad she’s dead.”

  Tamlevar said nothing, just stared at her with those sad hazel eyes.

  “She deserved it,” Willow said.

  “I’m still sorry, but for you and not her.”

  Willow shook her head. “Save your pity. I’ve survived worse than this.”

  “Yes, but you shouldn’t have to.”

  For a moment, her gaze was naked to him, showing her pain and loss. Then she dominated it, and the mask returned.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  The Szun waddled over to where the two of them stood over Tee-Ri’s ruined body.

  “This your plan was?” it said to Willow.

  “Not exactly.”

  “I that … I mean, I wish that I could die so easily. I would regenerate the wounds in moments. I would hurt much and then heal.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Unlucky me. I heal all wounds and they will send soldiers against me. I do not know how to fight. I will hurt very much before the end of this day.”

  “Perhaps,” Willow said, still staring down at her mother.

  She did deserve it. She really did, if for no other reason than for the murder of Willow’s father.

  “Oh Father, I’m so sorry,” she said. She realized she had said it aloud. She glanced at Tamlevar, but he was tactfully looking at the Enemy’s Arch.

  “Ah,” Tamlevar said. “Company’s arriving.”

  Captain Eric Snyde marched at the head of an armed escort of five guards. His hands were tied behind him. The crowd, which had so recently cheered so heartily for him, was now cheering his humiliation and destruction with equal gusto.

  “Stay her
e,” Willow said to Tamlevar and the Szun.

  “Will you—?” Tamlevar started.

  “I don’t know.”

  Willow walked towards Snyde. When he saw her, he halted in his tracks. The guards behind him pushed him forward a few more paces, then cut his bonds. They started to withdraw, but Snyde glanced at Willow and tried to follow them out. The crowd seemed to think this was funny.

  The guards brandished their axes at him and he came up short. He looked left, right, and then left again, searching for exits. There were none.

  The guards exited through the arch as Willow neared Snyde, and the gates were closed. The crowd’s cheering dropped to a hush as the spectators craned forward to better hear what would ensue.

  Snyde raised a hand in greeting. “Hello, Willow.”

  She didn’t answer. As she got closer, she could see the beads of sweat on his brow.

  “This is pretty messed up, isn’t it?” he said.

  Willow kept approaching. Snyde took two steps backwards.

  “I know you think I’m a bad person, Willow, but my intentions were good.”

  “I think you’re a traitor,” she said and kept walking.

  Snyde retreated until he backed against the arena wall. He yelped and then began skirting its periphery.

  Willow continued walking towards him, an axe dangling by its thong from her wrist. Snyde glanced at the axe, and then back at Willow.

  He stopped retreating.

  “I guess we’re going to have our duel after all,” he said, a weak smile on his face.

  “I guess so.”

  She stopped walking when she was arm’s length away from him. Their eyes met for a moment, and then Snyde lowered his.

  “You have every right to hate me,” Snyde said.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  “I guess that I don’t blame you.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  He showed her his palms.

  “I don’t even have a weapon,” he said.

  Willow remembered the touch of his lips on the base of her neck, the feeling of raking her fingernails down his back. Her recollection was again met with warmth and desire.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I do.”