by Troy Denning
The boy’s mouth gaped open. “Then it’s true!” he cried. “You don’t love him!”
“Love him?” Brianna echoed. The haze was starting to gather in her mind again. “Love my bodyguard?”
“Is that all Tavis is to you?” Avner retorted. “Someone to save you from ogres, or to fight stone giants and spy on frost giants while you make love to Prince Arlien?”
Cuthbert interposed himself between Brianna and the youth. “See here, young man! You will show the queen the proper respect, or you can share a dungeon cell with your thieving verbeeg friend!”
“The dungeon?” Avner gasped. “You put Basil down there?”
“The earl had no choice.” The queen swept Cuthbert aside and scowled at the youth, then found herself struggling to keep hold of her slippery thoughts. “And what I do… or don’t do… with Prince Arlien-that should not concern you, young man. But your imagination… your imagination seems to have gotten out of hand.” Brianna was trying to sound indignant, but found the task difficult, her thoughts flitting off in all directions.
“So you don’t love the prince?” Avner asked.
“What did I… didn’t I just say that?”
“Prove it,” the youth demanded. “Heal Tavis.”
Cuthbert was at Avner’s side again, taking him by the arm. “Can’t you hear, boy?” he demanded. “The queen said she hasn’t been feeling well.”
Avner jerked away from the earl and stepped forward until he stood almost on Brianna’s feet. “She looks well enough to me. Besides, the queen I remember would’ve crawled off her deathbed to heal Tavis Burdun.” The youth glared up at her as he spoke. “But maybe that was my imagination, too.”
The youth’s accusatory tone should have angered Brianna, but it did not. Instead, the queen found herself filled with emotions she did not understand, her stomach churning with guilt and her heart aching with shame. She did not understand why, but the feelings were so intense that she almost could not hide them.
“Get me some water,” Brianna said. “I’ll try.”
Avner rushed down the rampart. The queen went over and kneeled at her bodyguard’s side. During the past year, Brianna’s goddess had blessed her with many new healing powers, but the firbolg was such a mess that even if she could call on them, he would still be far from whole. The burns, which had begun to ooze and peel, were the most grotesque of his many injuries, but the queen worried more about the tremendous lump she found on his skull. The head injury was undoubtedly the cause of his unconsciousness, and also the most likely to prove fatal. She would try mending it first.
Avner returned and set a sloshing bucket at the scout’s side. Brianna unclasped her silver necklace, from which hung the flaming spear symbol of her goddess. She placed this talisman inside the bucket, then turned her eyes toward the sky.
“Valorous Hiatea, bless this water with your magic, so that it may purify this warrior’s spirit and make him worthy of your healing magic.”
A gentle gurgle arose as the water began to bubble and churn, spewing a cloud of white vapor into the air.
“You can still heal him,” Avner said.
“Blessing the water is not the same as healing the patient,” countered Brianna. “It merely shows that Hiatea looks favorably on my entreaty, not that I will succeed.”
The queen took her talisman from the bucket, then dumped the steaming contents over her patient’s injuries. Dark bubbles frothed up from his many wounds, covering his singed body with a thick, brown-streaked foam that would cleanse his spirit of wicked thoughts and emotions.
While Brianna waited for the blessed water to do its work, alarmed cries and yells began to ring out from ramparts at the front of the castle. The clamor was followed by the resounding clatter of a dozen firing catapults.
“That would be the frost giants coming into view,” said Brianna.
Cuthbert nodded, looking as though he might faint. “Selwyn is commanding the gatehouse,” he said. “He’ll keep us informed.”
A loud bang reverberated through the castle as the first of the giant’s boulders crashed into the wall. It struck with such force that Brianna felt the rampart shudder under her feet. Another stone hit, then another and another, until a steady, drumlike cadence filled the air. The rhythm was punctuated every now and then by the clack of a catapult returning fire.
Brianna glanced toward the front wall. “I hope your masons have kept the curtain in good repair, Earl.”
“I hope so, too,” he said.
The queen cringed at the apprehensive reply and turned to her patient. The water had stopped frothing. Brianna held her talisman against the lump on her bodyguard’s head, but before she could cast the spell, a runner came rushing down the rampart. He stopped before Brianna and bowed.
“Captain Selwyn begs to report that Prince Arlien has returned,” the soldier panted.
“Arlien?” Brianna gasped. Her hands grew sweaty so that the talisman slipped from her grasp, and the fog inside her head grew as dense as a snow cloud. Her thoughts raced blindly through the gray murk, and she asked, “The prince… Arlien has returned?”
The messenger nodded. “He should be inside the castle within minutes,” the man reported. “He’s crossing the bridge now.”
“With the queen’s army?” Cuthbert’s voice was full of hope.
“No, Milord, not with him,” the messenger replied, his voice mirroring the earl’s optimism. “But he was shouting something. We couldn’t hear it over the battle din.”
“It must be news of our reinforcements!” Cuthbert faced Brianna, his arms raised as though he might embrace her. “Majesty, your army must be right behind the prince!”
“Only if they’re chasing him,” Avner scoffed. “Tell Selwyn to keep the gate closed.”
The glee drained from Cuthbert’s face. He grabbed the boy and spun him around, demanding, “What are you saying?”
“Arlien’s a spy.” The boy pulled free. “He told the giants about Shepherd’s Nightmare and almost got Tavis killed.”
“I don’t believe that… it can’t be true,” Brianna said. The words seemed to flow out of her haze-filled mind straight into her mouth. “It could have been anyone… What proof do you have that Arlien has… that the prince is a…”
The queen let the question trail off, unable to utter the suggestion that Arlien had betrayed her.
“What proof do I have that Arlien’s a traitor?” the youth asked. “How about your ice diamonds? He’s been using them to charm you. That’s why you’re defending him.”
Cuthbert turned to Brianna. “Are you wearing the necklace now, Milady?”
Brianna opened the collar of her cloak and displayed her bare throat. She said nothing.
Cuthbert looked back to Avner. “It appears you’re wrong about the ice diamonds. Do you have any other proof?” he demanded. “And be certain of yourself. The prince may be risking his life to bring us word of the queen’s army. Knowing what he has to say could save my castle-and your life.”
Avner pointed at the unconscious scout. “Do you need more proof than that?”
“You saw Arlien do this?” the earl demanded.
Avner remained silent for a moment, then looked Cuthbert squarely in eye. “That’s right.”
The earl looked doubtful. “Tell me, what weapon did Arlien use?” Cuthbert pointed at the scout’s seared flesh. “I don’t recall the prince hurling fireballs about”
Avner’s eyes widened. “It was his hammer!” the boy said, too quickly. “He shot a tongue of flame-”
The earl raised his hand. “Young man, I’ve been listening to liars for decades,” he said. “And you’re just good enough that I can’t trust a thing you say.”
Avner’s mouth fell open.
Cuthbert turned to Brianna. “What do you think, Majesty?” he asked. “This boy isn’t the first liar to accuse Arlien of being an imposter. Shall we take their word for it, or should I let the good prince in?”
A nebulous
, absurd fear seized Brianna. A whispering voice deep in her heart wanted to say no, leave him out with the giants, but the words vanished as soon as they entered her cloudy mind, and she heard herself say, “Do as you think best, Earl.”
Cuthbert bowed. “Then I shall.” He glanced at Avner. “Rest assured that I’ll keep a careful watch on the prince.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “A lot of good that’ll do.”
“It will do more good than your lies.”
With that, the earl motioned to his messenger and scurried toward the gate tower. Avner gestured at the unconscious firbolg.
“Hurry up,” he said. “If Cuthbert’s going to let the prince in, we don’t have much time. Heal him!”
Brianna returned her talisman to her bodyguard’s injured head, then tried to remember the mystical syllables of her healing spell. Nothing came to her except swirls of gray miasma. She pinched her eyes shut, trying to summon the incantation through sheer willpower.
“Well?” Avner asked. “What are you waiting for?”
“The words,” Brianna hissed.
“What words?” the boy demanded. “You never had to wait before!”
The queen opened her eyes. “You’re not helping.”
“Neither are you,” Avner retorted.
The youth fell silent, leaving nothing but the rumble of boulders and the snapping of catapults to disturb Brianna’s concentration. She tried to ignore the war sounds, but each crash loosened her tenuous hold on her own mind. And even when she did succeed in drawing a thought out of the mist, it was the leering image of Prince Arlien, or the sneering face of a frost giant
“Hiatea, I beg you!” Brianna whispered. “Send me the incantation!”
Nothing came. She waited the space of ten crashing boulders, then twenty, then listened to the catapults clatter in reply. A chorus of cheers echoed from the gatehouse, and Brianna assumed a giant had fallen. The queen could not remember how the spell began-could not remember the first syllable, not even the first sound.
Brianna looked at Avner and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I told you I wasn’t feeling well.”
“That’s not the reason,” the youth replied. “It’s Arlien. You’re thinking about him, and that’s why you can’t save Tavis.”
Brianna felt her face flush, then saw Avner’s eyes grow wide and angry. “The prince is on my mind,” she admitted. “But not the way you think. I’m not in… I don’t care for…”
Brianna could not bring herself to deny that she loved Arlien. It wasn’t that she did-to the contrary, she feared him-but she couldn’t say the words.
“You’re not what? Not in love with him?” Avner demanded. “You know me better than that I’m no fool.”
“Avner, I’m trying, but all the noise-it’s so hard to concentrate.” Brianna scooped the scout up. “We’ll take him to my chamber, where it’s quiet”
“That won’t do any good!” Avner screamed. There were tears in the boy’s eyes. “You can’t heal anymore!” The youth turned and ran toward the corner tower.
“Avner, wait!” Brianna yelled. “Where are you going?”
“To find someone who can help Tavis!” Avner yelled. “You can’t!”
The boy’s angry words demolished what little strength remained in Brianna’s anguished heart A loud, croaking sob erupted from her throat, then tears began to cascade down her face like rain. She was crying not because of Avner’s anger. Like most youths his age, he was prone to emotional outbursts. Nor was she crying for her injured bodyguard, although deep inside, a voice seemed to be saying she should.
The queen was crying for something even more dear, for something that had been part of her since her childhood, something that she had lost after taking refuge in Cuthbert Castle. Avner was right: There was a time when she would have-could have-healed her bodyguard, no matter how sick she was herself. If she could not cast the spell now, it had little to do with her illness. The queen had lost touch with her goddess.
Brianna had to heal the scout-not for his sake, and not for Avner’s, but for her own. She had to find her way back to Hiatea. To do that, she would need to shut the battle sounds out of her mind and think. She would need to calm herself. She would need to wear her ice diamonds.
16
The Storming of the Castle
A volley of boulders slammed into the castle’s windward wall. The cobblestones bucked beneath Avner’s feet, hurling him into the air. In the pit of his stomach he felt the shock wave of a boom so loud he did not even hear it. His ears merely started to ring, then he crashed into one of the gate towers that guarded the entrance to the inner ward. He slid to the ground in an aching, breathless heap and found himself looking across the front bailey to the outer gate.
Earl Cuthbert and several of his men lay in the shadowy passage beneath the archway, struggling to stand after the salvo had knocked them off their feet. A few feet beyond them, an armored figure in burnished battle plate kneeled on the threshold of the gate’s open mandoor, his greaves and vambraces flashing like mirrors as he pushed himself to his feet. Although he wore his visor down, the curved horns rising from the temples of his helm left no doubts about the warrior’s identity.
Prince Arlien had returned.
Avner rolled to his knees and found himself staring at the castle’s windward wall. The ramparts were littered with rubble: shattered merlons, demolished ballistae, flailing wounded, motionless corpses. In one place, where a loose torch had fallen into a pool of spilled oil, a group of terrified soldiers were throwing buckets of water at a creeping tide of fire. The massive curtain had cracked in several places, and the youth saw blue lake water glinting through three of the fissures.
Avner cursed, knowing that the giants would breach the walls all too soon. He glanced back at the rampart where he had left Tavis and Brianna less than a minute earlier. The queen was nowhere in sight She was probably descending the stairs in the corner tower and would soon be carrying the scout across the front bailey toward the inner gate. If Arlien saw them, all would be lost The prince would need merely to delay them until the giants breached the outer curtain-a few minutes from now, at best-then the queen would be captured and Tavis killed.
Avner forced his aching body to rise, then rushed around the corner toward the inner gate. He had to move fast if he was going to win the time he needed to find Basil. The youth did not know what would happen after the verbeeg was free, but if anyone could restore Brianna to her senses, it would be the runecaster.
At the other end of the dark archway, the iron portcullis hung less than six feet from the ground. The main gates were already closed fast, though the mandoor at the bottom remained open. Avner slipped through the portal. On the other side he found two sentries in the White Wolf tabards of Selwyn’s company.
“I have an order from the queen!” he lied. The youth saw no use in trying to explain that Prince Arlien was a spy. Even if the guards believed him, which was doubtful, there would be too many questions. He gestured at the shorter of the two guards and commanded, “Tell Prince Arlien to await her majesty on the windward wall of the outer curtain. The queen will join him shortly. She has a special plan to turn the giants back!”
The guards looked at each other doubtfully. “Turn the giants back?” scoffed the short one. He was a squat man with a curly red beard. “Now I know she’s lost her mind!”
“Shall I tell her you said so?” Avner demanded.
The guard ignored the youth and looked to his tall fellow. “What do you think?”
“He is the queen’s favorite page,” answered the soldier. He fixed a suspicious glare on the youth, then added, “But I thought you’d run off-”
“I’ve returned!” Avner snapped. “And my next message is for Captain Selwyn. Shall I tell him you two elected not to obey a direct order from the queen?”
The guard’s eyes widened, but he shook his head and looked to his shorter companion. “You’d better do as he says.”
Avner waited for the messenger to depart, then turned to the tall guard. “Where’s the dungeon?” he asked. “I’m to fetch Basil before I see Selwyn. The queen needs his magic to save us.”
“It’ll take more than a few runes,” the soldier replied.
Despite his pessimistic reply, the man pointed to the tower near the center of the inner curtain. Avner sprinted away. As he crossed the inner ward, another boulder volley struck the castle’s windward wall. The foundations of the inner curtain absorbed much of the impact, but the youth still felt the cobblestones tremble beneath his feet.
At the tower, Avner found another sentry standing in the doorway. This one wore a leather hauberk emblazoned with Cuthbert’s crossed shepherd’s staves. To the youth’s surprise, the guard made no move to bar the door.
“You’re the last of the women and children, I hope.” The soldier motioned Avner into the tower.
The youth shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The guard scowled and muttered a curse, then said, “Well, the tunnel’s in the second sub-basement, hidden behind a swinging shelf.” He pointed down a damp, spiraling stairway a few steps inside the doorway. “Be sure to pull it closed behind you.”
“I’ll be sure,” Avner promised.
Although the passage was well lit by torches, the youth forced himself to descend at a walk. The stairs were as ancient as they were moldy, littered with jagged bits of mortar knocked from the walls and ceiling by the boulders’ barrages. Avner had just reached the first landing when another volley hit the outer curtain, causing the entire corridor to jump and showering him with hunks of crumbling mortar. A loud crash sounded inside the chamber beside him, then the vinegary smell of sour wine filled the corridor.
Avner continued his descent. The assault changed into a steady barrage that left the walls trembling and the air rumbling. The youth stopped at the second sub-basement, then opened the door into a chamber thick with the smell of moldering cereal. A single flickering torch hung in a sconce on the far wall, and by its light he saw that the room contained hundreds of grain sacks. Most of the corners had been chewed open by rats.