Coven Queen

by Jeramy Goble

  Jularra’s anger was slow to diminish, but as it did, she let her head fall in embarrassment.

  “I… I’m sorry,” Jularra mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

  Leona didn’t reply. Instead, she brushed herself down, then bent to pick up those books which had been knocked from the shelves. Abranni stepped over to help.

  “Leave them!” Leona barked without looking at her. Abranni froze. Jularra made to take her place, but Leona repeated the command.

  “No! I’ll clean this up. You need to keep reading.”

  Jularra hesitated and glanced at Abranni, then Melcayro. The siblings both looked lost.

  “Read!” Leona shouted.

  Jularra jumped, but reached down hesitantly to grab the book and searched for where she left off. Her hands trembled as she found her place, skimming back over the journal entries. Her mind was a jumble. A mess. An orgy of information with no foreplay or climax. This was going nowhere.

  The Gift Gods bestow magic.

  The Voidwardens and Gracewardens are the gatekeepers to death.

  Detsepera needed help with the Nurudians. She made a pact.

  The Voidwarden used her. Used my ancestors.

  The Voidwarden…

  Shit.

  Like a branding iron to a horse, a hint of clarity seared Jularra’s mind.

  “The Wardens were disappearing,” Jularra murmured. The others turned towards her.

  “The Voidwarden was destroying the others in order to grow its power. 'To escape',” Jularra continued, speaking mostly to herself. “To escape what? The mountain? No. I’ve seen it outside the mountain before. To escape from its existence, though... bound in limbo, existing in a realm belonging to neither death nor life. It wants to live—or die. And for that, it needs my ancestors.”

  Jularra began pacing. She fluctuated between whispers and shouts. Whispers for questions. Shouts for revelations. Her companions jumped at the latter and leaned in closer to hear the former, but they didn't interrupt.

  “But why does it need my ancestors? To use their energy? But they’re dead. Perhaps it's using death magic to suppress the other Wardens. But what if it's outright destroying them? Maybe it's using the queens as vessels to store their power?”

  Jularra's mind was racing faster than she could speak.

  The Voidwarden wants to escape.

  Escape life? Escape death?

  Doesn't matter.

  But it needs power to escape. Killing the other Wardens helped it consolidate power, somehow. Consolidate, accumulate, store, reserve - it needs a way to do all that. Hence the queens.

  So, it kills the other Wardens. Then what?

  Escape. But how?

  “It wants to kill the Gift Gods!” she gasped to herself.

  “Jularra!” Leona erupted. “Your people are entering my woods! I explicitly instructed them not to!”

  Shit. Why would they do that? What's happened?

  Jularra turned and bolted through the library doors, racing back down the hall with Melcayro and Abranni at her heels.

  ***

  “What are you doing?” Jularra admonished angrily. “She told you—”

  Wona swallowed and stammered into her answer. “We received a messenger from Yubik, Your Majesty. Morganon has been attacked."

  “What?”

  “The Torgurians, ma’am,” Wona said again, more urgently this time.

  Jularra kicked the pine needles at her feet.

  “Fuck!” she screamed.

  Her thoughts whirled furiously. “I need to get back,” she whispered. “We all need to get back.”

  ***

  “Jularra?”

  Melcayro rode up beside her. The fresh Torgurian tracks in the dirt glued her eyes to the ground and locked down her mind, preventing anything coherent from passing through. Only rage brewed in her soul.

  A massive, splintering crack rang out in the distance as a structure inside Morganon’s walls gave way. Abranni joined her brother at Jularra’s side. Neither spoke. Jularra slowly raised her head.

  Ahead of them, across the river, lay Morganon’s smoking bones. The Torgurians had been thwarted, but just barely. Jularra and the others watched as Acorilinian soldiers piled corpses together. Smoke drifted across the valley like that produced by some of the largest forest fires of years past. Faster-moving billows of smoke revealed some surviving, active fires. Muffled shouting could be heard from inside the city. Guards and citizens screamed for help. Survivors trapped in rubble yelled their location.

  “Come on,” Jularra said, nudging her horse onward.

  The group trotted after her, past destroyed siege equipment and dead Torgurians, discarded weapons and dead Acorilinians. Arrows jutted from the scarred dirt. Still Jularra's companions said nothing. The Spire and Bedrock traveling with Jularra let an occasional curse slip, but they too were mostly silent, struck dumb by what had happened to their home.

  The returning queen and her cohort reached the northern bridge. Those piling bodies outside stopped to stare at Jularra. Their shock and exhaustion made them forget to address their queen properly. Her anger made her forget to care. Word of her return spread quickly across the outer grounds, through the damaged gatehouse and into the city. More citizens, dazed and worn down with sorrow, trickled out to meet Jularra; they were soon overtaken by bloody, dirty guards who sprinted out to update their queen.

  “Your Majesty!”

  The ranking captain fell to a respectful knee, breathing rapid, shallow gulps of air. Jularra clenched her jaw to stop it quivering, and knelt opposite him.

  “The city is secure,” the captain gasped. “The Torgurians… I've never seen such brutality. It was... relentless. We wore each other down, then they withdrew. We don’t know if they’re regrouping, or…”

  The captain’s voice trailed off as Vylas galloped into view around the eastern wall. Jularra saw Leona turn towards him as he swung off his horse. They stared at one another in silence before Leona started walking, then running towards Vylas.

  “We lost many Bedrock and Spire, my queen. And…"

  Jularra had barely heard the captain continue his account, but something about the way his voice tailed off made her stomach lurch.

  No.

  Don’t say it.

  “Chief Korden, my lady…”

  Jularra stood up. Her jaw locked again and she stared ahead, unseeing.

  “We lost him.”

  Jularra set off walking, aimlessly.

  I brought this war on my people. Their blood is on my hands.

  Korden's blood is on my hands. I killed him.

  I killed them all.

  Jularra planted her feet, clenched her fists, and tore into the sky with a piercing shriek.

  She recalled the last time they'd spoken—how she'd ordered him to remain here—and screamed until her throat was raw. Then she refilled her lungs and she screamed again.

  Her cry tore through the valley, breaking quickly before rising again into a howl of hatred. She paced like an animal, lost in rage, focused on nothing.

  She wanted to destroy and kill. She wanted death. She wanted blood. She wanted revenge. But there was nothing to act on. Not yet.

  The pile of Torgurian corpses, separated from Morganon’s dead, caught Jularra’s attention. She clapped her hands with the sound of rock breaking rock. She clapped them again, and this time it sounded like flint striking steel. Those around her flinched, and then a final clap—the loudest of all—made everyone in the vicinity cover their ears.

  A massive sphere of bright blue flame exploded around Jularra, enveloping her. The sound cracked and echoed through the valley. Those nearest to it were blasted back and knocked down before scrambling backwards to get away from the heat. Almost as soon as the burning ball ruptured into existence, it started to move upwards, revealing Jularra to be unharmed as she pushed the sphere of blue flame up over her head. Once her arms were fully extended, she looked to the massive pile of Torgurian dead and hurled the
massive fireball at the jumbled bodies.

  The ball shot through the air and slammed into the corpses. They ignited quickly, filling the area with the smell of sizzling flesh and burning hair.

  Jularra stood, chest heaving, staring at the fire.

  “Where is Korden?” she demanded. “Where’s his body?”

  The captain looked fearfully toward Wona and the others before he answered.

  “Inside, my queen. In the tower courtyard. That’s where we’re taking our dead.”

  Our dead. Our dead are our dead, because of me. Korden is dead because of me!

  Jularra tore off across the bridge and through the gatehouse. Without orders to the contrary, the others followed her as she marched, climbing over rubble, holding up a hand at anyone who sought her attention. When she reached the courtyard, she found it filled with the bodies of hundreds of her Spire and Bedrock.

  “Where is he?”

  “Over here, ma’am.”

  The captain hurried forward and Jularra fell in behind him, passing between lines and lines of bodies. There was still a hint of hope that somehow, someone might have been mistaken; that Korden was out there still, wounded but alive.

  That hope died the instant she saw his body.

  Half of his lower jaw was missing. A blade had gone in through his cheek, slicing across and down. That wasn't what had killed him, though. There were three arrows in his chest, two of which had been broken off. The third arrow was intact, and looked to have pierced his heart.

  Jularra started to tremble. Wave after wave of nameless emotions assaulted her, and her body didn’t know what to do. She couldn't even recognize any feeling beyond absolute disgust with herself and her decisions.

  Jularra turned and vomited, hands on her knees, but it didn’t help. She still felt cold and sweaty. Her stomach continued to throb; sharp jabs of grief-stricken pain assailed her alongside waves of guilt. She stumbled to the ground, catching herself on her palms before righting herself once more. Bent over with her forearms on her knees, she heaved again, but nothing came. A ribbon of saliva hung from her lips.

  “Your Majesty,” Vischuno whispered. He bent down and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Can we escort you to your tower?”

  She couldn’t see well. Her eyes throbbed and ran with tears of grief, and tears from the force of vomiting. Dozens of thoughts streamed into and around her mind, but she could focus on none of them.

  Vischuno took her silence as acceptance. He motioned for Abranni to help him support her. They moved to either side of her, taking her under the arms and bringing her to her feet.

  As she was jostled into a fully upright position, Jularra became more aware of her surroundings. Wearily, she squirmed out of Vischuno and Abranni's grip. She took a steadying breath as she waved them off.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Jularra stepped out slowly for the residence tower, vaguely noting that Wona gestured at Vischuno and Abranni to follow her. With a few Bedrock and Spire in tow as well, the queen walked out across the funereal yard.

  As the group passed the rows of dead, Jularra felt a fresh wave of pain stabbing at her stomach. She swung forward and retched again, and once more Vischuno and Abranni reached out to lend their assistance.

  “No, no, I’ve got it,” she insisted. “Wona, have the other captains report to you. I want to know how our citizens have fared.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Wona answered with a quick bow. She then jogged off, whistling to summon a nearby captain.

  As Jularra looked up to try and alleviate the pounding pressure in her head, she saw someone exiting the residence tower. Jularra squinted and held a hand to her eyes.

  “Is that—?”

  Vischuno shielded his eyes and peered in the same direction.

  “I believe that’s Lord Latham, ma’am.”

  “Latham!” Jularra shouted. She slowly straightened. “Is that you?”

  “Queen Jularra! I was just looking for you,” he said as he came closer. “We had heard you might be back today.”

  Jularra stepped over and grabbed his shoulder, steadying herself.

  “It’s good to see you, Latham. Where are the others? What news do you have?”

  “Well, it was a fairly rough showing, my queen,” he replied. “We were able to repel the attack, but Morganon suffered quite a blow to its defenses. We’re trying to estimate right now how many of the Torgurians survived.”

  “Estimate?” Jularra said abruptly.

  “We aren’t in a shape to pursue, Your Majesty,” Latham replied. “Once we can make repairs…”

  As Latham continued to speak, the light reflected off something on Latham’s hand and caught Jularra’s eye. She tuned out his words and focused in on his hand; then, without a moment’s hesitation, she drew her sword, spun the blade up and sliced off Latham’s hand.

  He fell to the ground, shrieking in agony, holding the stump of his wrist.

  “Jularra!” Abranni said, breathless.

  Jularra brought the sword to just under Latham’s chin and looked down at his lonely hand. On one of the fingers was a silver ring; a round black stone sat on top, with the image of two goats’ heads carved out and inset with rubies.

  Melcayro came running up, drawn by the man's screams. Jularra turned to Abranni and tilted her head at Latham as she sheathed her sword. Abranni nodded, drew her own sword and took over guarding Latham.

  Jularra bent down and picked up Latham’s severed hand. She slipped the ring off and tossed the hand away.

  “This is identical to the doppelcharm the assassin was wearing,” she informed the others.

  “You do realize, don’t you,” she said to Latham, “that once separated from its wearer, a doppelcharm’s magic is extinguished?

  “Not that it would really matter,” she continued, drawing her sword once more, “with all of us here.”

  Jularra surveyed her surroundings with something resembling satisfaction. Apparently, there was still some peace to be found in solving this mystery. She shook her head at the would-be assassin.

  “You almost got away with it! First the assassination attempt, and now this. How long has this been going on, hmm? Traitor?”

  Latham looked up in silence. His chin quivered with pain and hate. Instead of replying, he lurched forward and spat up at Jularra.

  Jularra raised her blade above Latham, who was still on his knees.

  “Keleah! Get out! She kno—”

  Jularra thrust her sword down through his chest, then froze.

  “Keleah?” she muttered. Shock hollowed her heart, and again she found herself gasping for air. She stared down at the slumped form at her feet.

  Wait! Don’t die yet!

  “Keleah? What about Keleah? Tell me!" she pleaded. But it was too late. Latham’s eyes drifted past Jularra as he gargled and choked into death.

  Jularra stared at him as the life left his eyes, lost in confusion, and then fury.

  She twisted her blade; it crunched through organs, bone, and cartilage. Then she stepped back again and pulled her sword from the dead man's chest.

  “Keleah?” Jularra managed again, her mind blank. She felt only unfiltered fury in the face of this unanticipated treachery. After turning to face her residence tower, she screamed with all her might.

  “Keleah!”

  She turned to a nearby Bedrock and addressed him through clenched teeth.

  “You.”

  The Bedrock flinched sharply at the quiet command.

  “Send infantry to search the roads,” she continued, “and have people guard the gates and any breaches in the wall.”

  Then Jularra’s restraint ran out and she screeched at the remaining soldiers, “Get in the residence tower and look for Keleah! If she is not there, move to the next tower, and then the next. Search every corridor, courtyard, cupboard, and bush until she is found.” When they hesitated, she pointed at the nearest Spire and screamed again. "Find Keleah!"

  A
s they leaped into action, Jularra beckoned toward Vischuno.

  “You, follow me. We’re going to check the residence tower from top to bottom. Melcayro, Abranni—come along if you want.”

  She marched quickly, arms swinging. Melcayro and Abranni fell in behind.

  “Queen Jularra!” a voice shouted from behind. Jularra flung up a dismissive hand without looking back, then suddenly stopped and spun towards the voice when she realized she recognized it.

  “Wona! What have you found?”

  “Majesty,” Wona began. “Initial reports suggest that very few citizens left before the siege began. Most that survived should still be here.”

  Jularra smiled, relishing the thought of finding Keleah soon, but immediately stifled her excitement. She looked around at the charred bodies to consider the situation and circumstances. Her mind unleashed a thousand thoughts and possibilities.

  She could be dead.

  She could be alive.

  She may not be in the tower.

  She may be trying to escape.

  She may be wounded.

  She may be hiding.

  Where might she hide?

  “Right,” she said in a rush to Wona. “Tell everyone that she still might be here and could be trying to leave the city as we speak. Be unapologetic in your interrogation of anyone and their movements. I’ve already sent a few groups to watch the roads and castle entrances. Don’t let anything move without asking about Keleah. If any of you find her, bring her back here and send for me.”

  Jularra had already turned to resume her path to the residence tower, her face tight with violent hope.

  The bulk of the city within the walls was largely untouched, and the infrastructure was mostly intact. The defending Acorilinians had prevented most of the siege equipment from doing their worst. Most signs of battle inside the walls were confined to small fires, and stiff corpses resting where they fell after close combat. The march from the main courtyard to the residence tower was an easy one.

  Through mostly clear corridors under intact arches, followed by gates and doors, Jularra and her complement of guards reached the residence tower. The lifts, while operational, would be too slow. Without saying a word, the queen headed for the stairs with her guards in tow. There were no additional orders, and no new commands, nor were any attempts made to ascend quietly. Plate, leather, and weapons clanged and rattled. The group bounced loudly but swiftly up the stairs. Once at the first landing, Jularra gave directions.