by Caroline Noe
“We fetching hag?” another wretch asked, hacking spit at the nearest tree.
“What for?” Adam snapped, pointing at Serena. “We wanted her to lure him out.” He waved his hand at the groaning Harlin, who was fighting his way back to consciousness. “He very nicely helping us, being already here.”
Adam threw the Firestone over the prostrate Harlin. It was caught by a wiry man, dressed in black leather, his eyes tattooed into deep, dark sockets to resemble a skull. This man with no name was a magiker from the hideous Darklands, although he had left that region twenty years ago, long before Leila cut a fatal swathe of evil through the practitioners there. He had heard rumours of a foul Queen of Magikers, but had not made the connection to the dying old woman. That was the worst possible mistake, except choosing to double-cross her.
“Be making stone work,” Adam ordered his resident magiker. “If can do what hag sayed it can, we beating Gawain and his alliance without her.”
* * *
Harlin coughed and moaned, his head pounding with the rhythm of a hammer blow. His eyes alternately closed and widened as he struggled to focus on the figure leaning over him. He had been only two years old when his father last fought a victorious battle with Adam, so he didn’t recognise his adversary. He did, however, recognise the curiously shaped hill looming directly behind the man and realised that they had moved much closer to Gawain’s castle. Finding himself laying on his back on something hard, he tried to sit up, only to realise that his arms and legs were shackled to a wooden table.
“Welcome back,” Adam laughed, slapping him on the cheek. “Nicely meeting ye, Harlin. I be Adam. Same yer father banished. Be regretting that soon.”
As he was still able to move his head from side to side, Harlin strained his neck and peered around. Hundreds of leather clad soldiers filled the forest, lounging and laughing in their makeshift camp. Despite his cold terror, Harlin also felt the fiery flame of concern for his family, who had no idea of the size of the forces arrayed against them. Still, the alliance was in place and should be able to match the numbers, if they could be made aware of the danger.
Over Adam’s shoulder, Harlin saw Serena being dragged into view, concern for him written on her lovely features. In this, the worst moment of his young life, Harlin felt utter shame; shame that he had considered forcing himself on a woman who was clearly far beyond him in character; shame that he had failed to reveal the Firestone and the relic to his father; shame that he had lied to Bert, betraying him. Harlin closed his eyes, trying to hide from fear and somehow make peace with his impending death. His final prayer was one of deliverance for Serena, his family and the realm. They had always deserved better than a tainted heir.
Adam had no intention of killing the heir apparent – at least, not yet. He had far more amusing plans in mind. “Be sending for Torturer.”
As a man with lifeless eyes approached, the realisation sank into Harlin’s mind that his ordeal was only just beginning. A wave of panic swept over him.
“Please. No. Not know what ye want. Telling anything. Please.”
“Not want anything,” Adam admitted. “Cept ye screaming. Like that.”
The first scream of agony ripped through the forest. Tragically, it was not the last, by far.
* * *
Earlier that day, Myrrdinus had decided that underhand creeping around the castle was beneath him. Inside his tender conscience, he could hear a voice that sounded suspiciously like Melith, telling him that spying on Harlin may have rather more to do with jealousy than protecting the realm. Leaving Harlin to his own devices, Myrrdinus was heading down to the kitchen to appropriate a slice of pie, when he spotted Gwyneth wobbling towards him. Swiftly diverting to the stables, he hid his bulk between the horses and a stack of fresh hay, watching as Gwyneth went safely on her way.
He was about to continue on his previous mission, when none other than Harlin crept into the stables looking decidedly shifty. Myrrdinus watched from between sprigs of hay as Harlin scanned the area, clearly making sure that he was alone. Once convinced, he gazed down at something clenched in his left hand. Myrrdinus couldn’t see very much from that distance, but the size and colour reminded him of the rock that Harlin had retrieved on the night of the hag’s visit. Myrrdinus was, by now, thoroughly and rightly suspicious.
When Harlin saddled the mare and galloped out, Myrrdinus hastily threw the saddle on to his own horse and raced after him. Straining to keep Harlin in sight, yet not be detected, Myrrdinus was close enough to witness the ambush without getting caught up in it. Staying at a safe distance, he followed Adam’s men to the outskirts of their camp.
Quietly dismounting, he tied his horse to a tree and crept closer. Peering through the undergrowth, Myrrdinus saw Adam, his men, Serena and a newly bound Harlin. Correctly discerning what had happened, Myrrdinus considered his options. As he couldn’t defeat Adam’s warriors alone, the only recourse was to return to the castle and Gawain – if he could manage to find his way.
Myrrdinus silently edged backwards, away from the camp. He had just regained his saddle when the first scream of agony echoed through the trees, making his horse whinny nervously. Unable to do anything to help, he resolved to ignore the desperate sounds. He failed. The screams followed him all the way to Gawain, echoing through his mind, long after the true sound had faded into the distance.
* * *
Serena was on her knees in the dirt. She had arrived there by nature of begging for mercy, but her pleas only increased the level of violence being meted out against Harlin. Now her face was turned to the ground, hands covering her ears, trying to shut out Harlin’s terrible cries and Adam’s vile laughter.
Engaged in doing what he did best, the Torturer was thoroughly enjoying himself. It was a rare opportunity to inflict pain at this level. His past victims had always divulged whatever information they knew by this stage of the proceedings. Given a free hand to experiment with whatever implement he liked, the Torturer had already worked his way through fire, mallet and pincer with great glee. Not bothering to waste energy by walking around to the other side of the tightly bound victim, he had worked only on his right side.
The young man was no longer handsome. So far, he had endured red hot metal burning his face and arm, the crushing of his hand between the pincers and the smashing of his leg with the mallet. It was time to move on to the array of picks, needles and knives.
Harlin had ceased to function on a conscious level. The pain was so great that he could not summon thought. Strangely, all that penetrated his personal hell was the image of a golden chain. It was catching the light as it hung around the neck of a man who was not even looking his way.
Adam had ceased to pay attention to Harlin’s predicament, becoming bored with it. The boy would die, soon enough. It was a black rock that occupied him, though he was severely disappointed with it. Holding the infamous Firestone in the palm of his hand, examining it for some sign of the supposed power it held, all he could see was an unimpressive black pebble. Not having the first idea what to do with it, he handed it back to the magiker - who couldn’t make it issue a peep, either. Losing patience and worried at what might follow his betrayal of the hag, Adam snatched the stone from the magiker’s shaking hands and petulantly threw it away.
The Firestone flew through the air, bounced off the Torturer’s skull with a dull ‘thud’ and landed beside the bound Harlin, dropping into his pooling blood with a ‘plop’.
“Stop!”
The cracked, rasping voice still managed to boom across the camp, making everyone freeze where they stood, including the Torturer, his latest implement poised in mid-air. Adam stared at the malevolent old crone, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. She looked utterly murderous.
“What have you done?” she cried, glaring at Adam. “The plan was to use Serena to bring Harlin to me.”
“We catched him, sooner than we thinked,” Adam replied, trying to decide how to proceed, now that he knew t
he Firestone was useless. “Ye lied to me. Firestone be nought but rock.”
“Where is it?” she demanded.
Adam laughed, pointing at the bleeding Harlin. Had he realised that he was showing the Queen of Magikers her own son, he would have fled the scene long ago.
For the first time since her arrival at the camp, Leila was forced to look at what remained of her son. Even she, murderer of many and purveyor of vilest magic, was sickened by the sight. True, she had planned to murder him herself, yet she would have gained no pleasure from the act. A swift knife through the heart was her plan.
“Mother,” Harlin muttered through bleeding, burned lips.
Adam’s head shot up in response. What boy say? Be witch, Leila?
The mother could not hold her son’s tortured gaze and she lowered her eyes…to see the Firestone lying in the grass, soaked in his blood. Bending as swiftly as her wretched body would allow, she snatched up the stone. As soon as the rock lay within her grasp, Leila felt the incredible rush of power course through her body; a power so massive that her senses reeled from the shock. Somehow, despite not receiving Harlin’s heart blood, the stone was fully active, at last. It was also evident that the flaw, caused by the actions of the relic, had all but healed - at least to the naked eye.
Almost as though the Firestone was magnifying her understanding, Leila suddenly realised the truth. The Seer had been right, but had misinterpreted what he saw. For all blood passes through the heart and is, therefore, heart blood. As a flood of dark regret swept over her, she realised that Harlin had suffered for nothing. She could have pricked his finger and the tiny issue of blood would have activated the stone. He might even have joined her, mother and son together.
Screaming with rage, Leila focussed the Firestone’s power on herself, allowing the energy to engulf and overwhelm her. To the astonishment of those watching, her body cracked, crunched and stretched, until she stood before them, young and beautiful once more. She may have looked physically nineteen, but the spirit dwelling within was that of a malevolent queen of magiking. Her first action was to tear the knife from the Torturer’s hand. It was only because he immediately fell to his knees and hastily crawled away that he escaped being skewered with his own bloody implement. Leila cut her son’s bounds and was about to unleash the power of the Firestone to heal him, when utter chaos descended on the supposedly secret camp.
As luck would have it, Myrrdinus was experiencing a miracle of his own. For the first and only time in his life, he had managed to accurately find a destination in the forest. Gawain, his men and those of the alliance that could be swiftly rounded up, descended upon Adam’s forces, having ridden themselves into the ground in order to deliver their surprise attack.
Yet again, Leila found herself with only three choices: to run, give herself up and face execution or fight. She had no intention of dying and was tired of running. With the Firestone active, she had the power to rule them all, but, first, she must gain control.
Summoning the power of the Firestone, she thought to conjure a beast large enough to grab the attention of the men, who were currently engaged in killing each other. Unfortunately, Leila didn’t yet fully understand the workings of the newly activated stone. She didn’t know that the Firestone could materialise whatever she desired, even those things held in the subconscious.
Hereafter, the beast became known as Baal, though no-one could remember why. They had never seen its like before and had no frame of reference with which to comprehend it. It was huge, standing upright on powerful legs, with a massive jaw, teeth to match and equipped with small wings that didn’t look large enough to support its bulk; however, none of these features, though terrible in themselves, were what immediately concerned the men. It was the stream of fire issuing from its mouth and nostrils that created the panic.
Shocked by her creation and unable to get the beast under control, Leila watched as Baal proceeded to fry a quarter of the men. Survivors of the holocaust fled to the only safe place their terrified minds could recall: the castle. Baal simply decided to follow them there.
With the beast moving away, Myrrdinus took the opportunity to fling the brutally injured Harlin over his shoulder and head into the forest, trees blazing around them.
Adam had fled the scene at the first sign of Gawain (let alone Baal), dragging Serena after him. Once Gawain saw that Myrrdinus had rescued Harlin, he banished the sight of his son’s broken body with action; he went in pursuit of his murdered ally’s kidnapped daughter. The appearance of the fire-breathing monstrosity and the glimpse of a young, blond woman - a woman looking strangely like a younger version of his banished wife - hadn’t even begun to register in his overwhelmed mind.
Catching up with the fugitives, Gawain flung himself at Adam, tearing Serena out of his grasp and knocking him to the floor.
“Go! Run, now!” Gawain shouted at Serena.
The roar of the beast as it thundered through the forest and the waves of fire rolling towards her overcame Serena’s innate courage. She did what she was told and fled, leaving Gawain to fight Adam.
Swords clashed and muscles strained as the murderous combat continued, amidst flame and clouds of thick black smoke. Gawain was tough and a seasoned warrior, but he was over sixty years old. It was only a matter of time before the younger man gained the upper hand. Drained by the sheer force of the fight and reeling from the emotional turmoil of recent events, Gawain momentarily lost his balance and staggered. It was enough. Adam swung his sword in a wide arc, slicing a deep cut across his opponent’s torso. Strength drained from Gawain’s fatally wounded body. The sword fell from his hand as he dropped to his knees. Peering up at Adam’s snarling face, he prepared to die. A sword was raised high over his head.
A flurry of ragged clothing signalled the arrival of what had once been an old woman. The youthful Leila seemed wholly out of place sporting such apparel. Her face bore the hallmarks of an angel, albeit a fallen one. The newly empowered Leila had no need to utter the spell. One touch of her hand to his skin and Adam’s body began to transform. The sword fell out of his hand, dropping behind him and bouncing off the earth. Doubling over, he fell to all fours, arms and legs shortening, his face elongating into a snout.
Fully formed, the shocked hog fought to free himself from the layers of leather and fur that had hung on Adam’s human body. Desperate to escape the terrible presence of the witch and whatever torture she had planned, the hog scrambled clear and scurried into the forest, a gold chain still hanging from its hairy neck. Leila let him go. The life of a hog was infinitely worse than anything she could have planned for the treacherous rebel.
Kneeling beside Gawain, she gently drew his hands away from the gaping wound. He had lost a great deal of blood and was turning a deathly shade of grey.
“Leila?” he whispered, blood issuing from between his lips. “Be that ye?”
“Hush,” she told him, not knowing how she felt. “I’ll heal you.”
Holding the Firestone in the palm of her hand, she was about to begin conjuring when one of Adam’s men hurtled past in headlong flight, knocking the stone from her grasp.
“Rack!” Leila swore, scrambling after her prize, only for it to be kicked away from her, repeatedly, by flying feet. She kept trying to retrieve it, but the more she strained, the further away it travelled, until she received its malevolent message.
Let Gawain die.
“Leila,” Gawain whispered.
She looked back at him.
“Let go, my girl. Whatever rock be, be not goodly, not for ye.”
Despite herself, Leila was moved by the love in his voice. He was still concerned for her, even though he was the one dying.
“Destroy it,” he urged.
“I don’t know how.”
Even as the words left Leila’s lips, a distant memory fluttered to the surface of her mind: A relic; a relic in two parts. It had broken the Firestone before and could be the key to its destruction. But do I want that?
“Let it go,” he repeated.
The moment grew silent and still, as though the future hung upon it, waiting for the pendulum to swing… and then it passed, the opportunity forever lost.
Thick, choking smoke cleared for an instant, revealing Myrrdinus staggering through the burning forest, carrying the bleeding, broken Harlin. Seeing the fallen Gawain, Myrrdinus, as gently as he was able, laid down his burden and hurried to his leader’s side.
Lying on the ground, in the throes of deepest agony, Harlin saw a hog running through the burning trees, a golden chain dangling from its neck. It was only much later, when his mother’s powers became widely known, that he realised what had happened to the man who had ordered his torture. The knowledge never gave him much pleasure.
Terrible as that day had been, Harlin had a still greater burden to bear. Gazing through swirling smoke and tongues of fire, he saw Myrrdinus turn his father’s face towards him; saw the eyes, open in death; saw his mother, suddenly young, kneeling beside that accursed stone… and believed that she had murdered Gawain.
Myrrdinus had come to the same conclusion. When Leila realised that Gawain was dead and looked towards her ruined son, Myrrdinus bravely stood between them, drawing his sword. She had killed the father. She would not be allowed to take the life of the son as well.
Snatching up the Firestone, she rose and cried out, “Don’t be afraid, I can heal you!”
Of course, neither young man had the slightest belief in her sincerity. Harlin snarled through ruined lips, “I hate ye! HATE YE! Murderer!”
Leila was not allowed the time to defend herself, for the screams of fleeing men announced the arrival of her monstrous creation. It thundered onto the scene, throwing flames in all directions. In the chaos that followed, Leila lost sight of Myrrdinus and her son.