by Caroline Noe
Once the entire exodus had passed, Elaine crept out of the stable and carefully tiptoed up the nearest set of steps, climbing towards the top of the wall. Glancing up at the battlements, she was relieved to note that they were now deserted. At the steps’ summit, she peered over the wall.
A long procession was snaking its way out of the forest, heading for the castle. Torchlight illuminated a tented stretcher being carried by the Priesthood of Magikers. They were too numerous to count, shuffling in their long white robes, accompanied by an army of soldiers and a snarling render on a chain. The wounded Leila, along with her entire temple forces, was relocating to the castle.
A resounding clang, followed by grinding, announced that the portcullis was beginning its slow ascent. Soon the drawbridge would be lowered to admit the Queen and her forces. Elaine raced back down, two steps at a time, in her haste to return to the stables. Inside, she flung a saddle over the nearest horse and prayed that the mare was fast, yet docile. This would be the second time she had ridden and she wasn’t even sure she had correctly fastened the saddle. All she knew was that the drawbridge would soon be down, leaving the way open for escape. If, by some miracle, she remained on the horse’s back, she would be galloping away before the soldiers could react. Once she located Harlin and gave him the Firestone, everything would be alright. After all, the last time she saw her friends, Melith had been waving the Key of Old.
Placing one foot in a stirrup, Elaine attempted to mount the mare. The result was an undignified hopping around the stables as the horse shied away.
“Stop. Whoa. SShhhh,” she tried, but the horse continued to trot in a circle.
Elaine finally launched herself upward, reaching the level of the mare’s back, but not managing to get her right leg into the far stirrup. She lay draped across the saddle like excess baggage. By now, the mare had had enough of this circus act and bolted. Out of the stable she galloped, racing around the courtyard, bumping her hapless passenger up and down with every stride. Gripping the pummel of the saddle so tightly that her knuckles turned white, Elaine edged her right leg further over the saddle until she managed an untidy version of equine splits, with her knee resting at eye level.
Oblivious to the comical scene unfolding behind them, the crowd assembled at the gatehouse, parting left and right to form a tunnel through which the procession would pass. As the portcullis crunched into place, fully open, the drawbridge began its journey downward.
“Grab reins,” a familiar male voice hissed to the struggling Elaine.
Over the spinning back of the mare, Elaine traced the voice to an elevated iron cage, shackled to the internal wall of the castle. Full of prisoners, its door was firmly locked and barred. Inside, a tightly bound Myrrdinus peered down at her.
“Reins,” he repeated.
“What reins?” she muttered.
Elaine began to shift her knee, aiming to dismount and rescue Myrrdinus, however unlikely the chance of success. It would be a blessing just to be off the horse.
“No,” he whispered, trying to keep the crowds from hearing him. “Go. Get back to Harlin.
Elaine’s heart leapt. So, Harlin was in this time. But what of Myrrdinus?
“And you?” she enquired. “I can’t just leave you.”
“Ye not able helping,” he stated, simply. “Go, woman!”
An excited wave of sound swept through the crowd at the gatehouse. The procession had begun its journey across the drawbridge. The sudden noise spooked the mare which almost galloped into the castle wall, directly below the cage. Just in time, she shuddered to a halt, the momentum pitching Elaine forward. She found herself lying with her arms around the mare’s neck, but both legs were now either side of the horse’s back. As she thrust her feet into the stirrups, Myrrdinus jumped up and down in the cage and hollered “Yah!” The noise had the desired effect; the horse bolted again, heading away from the cage.
Clinging tightly to the mare’s mane, Elaine was a passenger, not a jockey. They galloped through the tunnel of surprised people and clattered into the gatehouse. Clearing the portcullis, the mare headed for escape through the only route open to her: across the drawbridge.
The Priesthood, still carrying Leila’s stretcher, had just exited the drawbridge and entered the gatehouse when a horse came flying past them, a woman wrapped around its neck. As she passed the stretcher, Elaine caught a brief glimpse of Leila’s startled face and the blood staining her clothing. She knew that she, too, had been recognised. Sensing prey, the chained render broke free of its handler and raced in pursuit.
Galloping over the drawbridge, scattering soldiers and priests in all directions, the mare and her ungainly passenger were too swift to be caught by the wall of flame coming towards them. Those left behind were not so lucky. Elaine heard the screams and an unearthly howl, but she didn’t look back.
* * *
Sworder was cold, wet and miserable. After his soldiers and the three renders had watched him float off, they hadn’t bothered to try to find him again, miles downriver. No doubt they had all returned to the Queen to unload the marvellous news that Harlin and Elaine had escaped, again, and to make sure that he got the blame for it. Shivering from cold and a fairly sensible level of cowardice, given the situation, Sworder had walked for hours whilst night fell around him. He had debated within himself as to
a) Whether he should return to the temple – where the Queen was likely to be,
b) Run away – but he had nowhere to go, or
c) Go to the castle – where he could at least change his wet clothes and eat, before facing the Harpy’s fury.
He was squelching into the vicinity of the castle when there was a scuffle in the trees and a render emerged, nearly scaring him to death. He was bracing himself for the inevitable savaging when the beast dropped something on his foot and promptly lay down, staring up at him. Eyes locked on the render, Sworder slowly bent his knees until he had lowered himself enough to flail around for the mystery item. When his fingers found the edges of something hard, he lifted it to eye level, trying to keep both it and the render in focus.
It appeared to be a twisted old piece of black metal and he was about to throw it away when its two parts moved in his grasp. A light went on inside his waterlogged skull.
No, he thought. ‘No… I not possibly be that lucky. What if this be Key of Old?
He smiled at the render, which growled and snarled in response. Carefully backing away, Sworder emerged into the castle clearing, to find the entire Priesthood of Magikers snaking its way into the castle. He was scratching his head as to what was going on, with the render sat beside him like a malevolent guard dog, when Baal let loose in flame and Elaine raced by on horseback.
* * *
Gergan had breathed a sigh of relief when the procession approached the castle and the drawbridge lowered to receive them. With the stretcher carrying his mortally wounded Queen safely inside the castle wall, Gergan was about to issue an order, when a horse galloped past, depositing him into a heap of priests. All he glimpsed was the back view of the rider as she headed over the drawbridge and he didn’t recognise her. Leila, however, did.
“Gergan!” she shrieked, producing surprising volume, considering that she was dying. “It’s Elaine! Send the soldiers after her. All of them!”
“Everybone, Majesty?” Gergan asked, his voice strangulated by fear. “All soldiers? How we defending…?”
“If I don’t get the Firestone, I’m dead anyway. Send them ALL!” The Queen slumped back on the stretcher, exhausted. “…And all the renders too.”
While a nervous Gergan complied, consoling himself with Baal’s continued presence, the chained render had pre-empted Leila’s order and was hotly in pursuit of Elaine. Unfortunately for the slavering beast, Baal, issuing another annoyed burp, managed to fry the hapless animal, along with three soldiers and a priest.
Being at the rear of the line, Serena and Gwyneth avoided being fricasseed, but were forced to dive out of the way.
Thus, they never saw the rider’s face, nor realised that the Firestone was moving away, again. Dusting themselves down, the women waited whilst water was thrown onto the red hot drawbridge, releasing a cloud of steam.
Inside the castle, Leila ordered Gergan to send all the soldiers to the clearing where Elaine had previously been found by the brown snake. She was, no doubt, trying to return to Harlin and would hope to rendezvous with him there, assuming he had survived the renders. Either way, that’s where the soldiers should look for her.
“Bring me back the Firestone,” she snarled, her strength fading.
“Must be healing now, Majesty,” Gergan insisted.
Leila had no argument.
* * *
Stark naked, Harlin, Drevel, Grain and a scantily clad Melith sat up a tree, shivering with the cold and contemplating the render, patrolling below. The beast had recently finished snacking on Adam’s corpse and had spit the bones into a neat pile. Melith would have felt nauseated had her mind not been otherwise occupied with guilt and anger. She could not forgive herself for dropping the Key of Old. Peering down at the render, she decided to divert her thoughts to more useful deliberations, such as how to get out of there.
“Hello,” she called up to Harlin. He was perched on a branch above, his back pressed against the tree trunk.
“Hearing ye,” Harlin muttered.
“What we doing now?” she asked.
“Ye asking me?” came the irritated reply.
“Ye want be leader or not?” she shot back.
“Not,” was his testy response, accompanied by the crossing of his arms.
Melith sighed. Wonderly. He looking like sulky boy, not Gawain son. She changed tack. “Where be Elaine, ye thinking?”
“How I knowing?” Harlin replied, although he suspected he knew very well. She had, no doubt, gone back to where both she and his mother came from, wherever that was, whenever in time that was. The upshot was that she had left him all alone.
“She have Firestone…”
“Knowing that,” Harlin snarled, glaring down at Melith. The movement almost dislodged him from his perch.
Far below, the render looked up with slavering anticipation. When Harlin failed to drop from the tree, it went back to pacing.
“Sit still,” Drevel cautioned, from below Melith.
“Thank ye, cleverly arnus,” Harlin snapped.
Drevel, already bothered by a variety of twigs which were skewering exposed parts of his frozen anatomy, exercised enormous self-restraint in not climbing further up the tree and throttling Harlin.
“Not blaming me for this,” he growled, shifting his naked backside to a more congenial spot.
“Oh, hush, both ye,” Melith scolded, “and think how getting us out of here…Beside, may be worsely.”
“How?” exclaimed an incredulous Harlin. “We losed Firestone and Key of Old and we sitting up racking tree!”
“Ye looking betterly, for one,” Melith pointed out. “Drevel and Grain not dog nor squirrel. That be goodly.”
“Breaking,” agreed Drevel.
“Aye,” said Grain. It was the only word he’d spoken all night.
“May be more helply if ye been,” Harlin sniffed, petulantly.
“Harpy badly wounded,” Drevel commented. “She may be dying and...”
His voice trailed away when he noticed Melith’s pointed stare. True, she hated Leila, but the woman was still Harlin’s mother.
“We best making plan,” Drevel continued, changing the subject. “Not able staying up here.”
Harlin opened his mouth to deliver another acerbic rebuttal, when an arrow whistled out of the darkness and struck the render through an eye. The wounded beast went wild with pain and rage, stampeding into the forest in the direction of its attacker. It was too dark to see the ongoing battle between the archer and the render, but they could hear it; snarls, ripping and sword clangs all carried clearly on the cold night air.
“Now! Get down,” Harlin insisted.
Drevel skimmed down the trunk, cringing as he scraped skin from rather delicate places. He gingerly set foot back on land, scanned the forest for any sign of the render and lifted Melith from the tree.
“We need be going,” Harlin urged, dropping from a branch to land in a graceful crouch. It felt good to be athletic again. He stretched out a hand to help Grain, who promptly ignored it and shuffled down under his own steam.
When the sound of fighting suddenly ceased, Drevel took Melith’s hand, instinctively moving to protect her.
“Not holding my wife’s hand, thank ye,” said a familiar voice.
“Asher?” cried Melith.
Her husband emerged from the shadows, accompanied by Bert. Both had dark stains smeared across their torn clothing.
“Ye wounded!”
Melith frantically ran her hands over her husband’s body, trying to locate the injury.
“No more than ‘fore,” Asher explained, touching his bruised forehead. “Be render blood…and wait ‘til we home fore touching me.”
Melith laughed and threw her arms around him.
“Nicely,” said Asher. “What ye not wearing?”
“Ye not complaining ‘fore,” Melith replied, coyly.
“Oh, nough,” groaned Harlin. “We going, please?”
“That ye, Harlin?” Asher asked, staring at his newly restored features. “And Drevel, ye be naked too.”
“That I be,” Drevel agreed. “Melith still cleverly one, I seeing.”
“Liked ye better as dog,” Asher commented, handing Drevel his own coat, for propriety’s sake.
“Goodly seeing ye again, Grain,” Bert told the silent old man, handing over his own jacket. “Been many a year.”
“Aye,” agreed Grain.
“What bout me?” the still naked Harlin asked, shivering.
“No more coats,” stated Bert and left it at that.
“How ye find us?” Melith asked.
“Not looking for ye, me lovely,” Asher admitted. “Gwyneth goed off to rescue Myrrdinus, with Frog.”
“Or whoever Frog be now,” Drevel added.
“What frog?” asked Melith, warming up to a flow of confused questions. “What happened to Myrrdinus? Rescuing from what? Why Gwyneth goed on own with just a frog? Where be everybone else? Where they going? What been happening?”
“Where be Elaine?” Asher interrupted.
“There be much to talking bout,” Melith said, breaking the awkward silence that followed that question. “And not all goodly.”
* * *
“Alluvhey, alluvey. Armendaria! Blestock, bavian!”
Leila lay in what had once been the castle’s Great Hall, surrounded by her chanting priesthood. Seemingly working their way through the magiking alphabet whilst utilising every potion in their possession, they had reached “Voleray, walcintol!” by the time her wound showed any sign of closing. The blood loss was significant and the power needed to truly heal her, beyond their meagre skills.
Forced to use all her remaining energy to augment their conjuring, Leila paid a heavy price. Her beauty and youth were gone, hidden beneath the crumbling shell of the Harpy, once again. Even worse, she had significantly aged, such that the spell would only delay her death, not prevent it. She had, perhaps, months to live, possibly a year, unless the Firestone was recovered.
As she lay still, energy spent, the face of a young man floated into her mind; a face that reminded her of the long dead Morden; a face she had seen very recently.
“Gergan,” she whispered.
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Young man in Baal’s food cage…strong, handsome one… the rebel that had the Key part… bring him to me,” she panted.
Gergan blushed as he replied, “Majesty, ye not able have man in yer…”
“No, you moron!” she snapped. “He’s Myrrdinus. Morden’s son. Bring him.”
The Queen closed her eyes to rest. She was soon asleep.
* * *
&nbs
p; With the drawbridge at a bearable temperature, Serena and Gwyneth followed the procession into the courtyard, hiding their faces from the hundreds of soldiers who were streaming out of the castle, mounted and on foot, in pursuit of that lone rider. The whole herd of howling renders accompanied them.
As the rest of the priesthood continued inside the main castle with their Queen, Serena pulled Gwyneth into the shadows.
“Gwyneth…”
“What?”
Gwyneth glanced at Serena. She was staring at something above their heads. Gwyneth duly looked up and saw a grim Myrrdinus sitting, cross-legged, in an iron cage, men and women crowded around him. Her heart leapt.
“Psssst,” Gwyneth whispered, trying to catch his attention. “Myrrdinus.”
The heavily bound young man stared through the bars, trying to locate the owner of the voice.
“Downly.”
Recognising those annoying female tones, he peered through the bottom of the cage. Sure enough, there was Gwyneth, staring up at him.
“Not rid of ye, even in cage,” he muttered. “What ye doing here? Who be with ye?”
Serena briefly pulled back the hood of her priestly robes to enable him to identify her face.
Myrrdinus’s eyes grew wide with shock. “Serena? Where ye been all these years?”
“Been frog, Myrrdinus,” she whispered back.
“Me frog?” he said, a smile breaking forth. “Knowed something strangely bout me frog.”
“Our frog,” Gwyneth qualified, testily. “I let her out of temple too.” She didn’t like the way he was looking at the taller woman, who, despite sporting those awful robes, still managed to look stunning. “We here rescuing ye, and mam.”
“Not seen Melith,” Myrrdinus admitted. “Elaine been here, but she goed off on horse. Anyway, ye not able helping me. Key for lock be with priests. Go home, ‘fore ye seen. Go back to Drevel; he waited longly time for ye.”