by Nathan Roden
Sir Edmund turned toward the wall. He picked up a board and barred the door closed.
“Hey, what the bloody hell you think you’re doing?” the man behind the bar growled.
Sir Edmund opened his hands.
“What? Are you expecting a big rush of customers, mate? I don’t see that happenin’. Your sign makes certain that no self-respecting woman will ever set foot inside this dump.”
Chair legs scraped against the floor as the men pushed away from the table.
Sir Edmund glared at them and sniffed the air. He made a sour face.
“I’ll send word to the ports immediately. It’s obvious the ships don’t bring over enough soap to provide for the entire kingdom.”
The man behind the bar stormed from behind it. Two other men drew their swords, turned over their chairs and surrounded the stranger.
Sir Edmund held up his hands.
“What kind of village is this? You draw weapons on an unarmed man?”
The bartender pulled a dagger.
“I’ve gutted a hundred men for fewer insults than that, stranger. I can throw your carcass out back for the wolves and not bat an eye.”
“Aye, but the night you found out that sweet little barmaid had a ‘surprise’ under his skirt, you didn’t harm a hair on his pretty little head.”
“What the bloody—! Edmund?”
The men threw down their swords and burst out laughing. The room filled with laughter, hugs, back-slapping, and more than a few tears.
six
Lucien and Raynard’s man waited at the intersection of two roads. As Sterling and the others approached, Lucien purposely avoided Oliver’s and Jaclyn’s eyes. He turned his horse up the west road.
“We will take the other road, Your Grace,” Sterling said.
Lucien stopped. He turned his head.
“The matters of the kingdom will be dealt with in private counsel. The village streets are no place—”
Sterling raised his hand. He pointed up the other road.
“Wait for us there,” he said to the others. He dismounted and glared at Lucien.
“A word, your Grace.”
The others turned their mounts.
“Are my wishes not clear—?”
“Get down here this instant!” Sterling hissed through clenched teeth.
Lucien slid from his horse. His eyes showed fear. But Sterling saw something else on Lucien’s face he had never noticed before.
Hate.
Lucien did not come within striking distance.
“What are you—what is the meaning of this?”
“I am protecting your reputation,” Sterling said. “And the reputation of the kingdom.”
“By showing the queen in bonds? What does this do for our reputation?”
“It keeps you from making an enormous mistake.”
“What mistake?”
Sterling drew back his hand. Lucien threw up his hands to cover his head.
“Ha!” Sterling said. “You would be groveling at the queen’s feet before we reached the castle—blubbering about what an awful mistake you’ve made! You’ve thought it already, haven’t you?”
Lucien said nothing.
Sterling grabbed Lucien’s hair.
“Haven’t you, Boy! Answer me!”
“Yes.”
Sterling let go of Lucien’s hair, moving his hand to Lucien’s collar. Sterling pulled him close.
“Do you think you have what it takes to be king? You will turn seventeen in less than two years. Do you know what happens to kings who are weak? Kings that do not have the courage to stand behind their decisions? A king keeps his throne by strength and power! Show yourself weak, and the strong will rise and take what is yours!”
Sterling pushed Lucien away.
“I don’t care if you’ve struck your head or downed ten gallons of wine. If you say the grass is blue, and the sky is green—then it is so. A king’s word is law. And the law does not change.”
“A king does not back down from a charge of treason.”
The procession rode on, toward the village of Evenshire. Travelers gave way, whispering among themselves.
“The queen? In bonds? Can it be?”
Word reached the village ahead of them. People spilled into the streets, lining the road through the village square. The occasional cry broke the silence.
“What is this?”
“What has she done?”
One man’s voice stood out above the others.
“This is a travesty! Please, good King Lucien! The queen is pure of heart—like her father! Loose her bonds and let her go!”
A few others took up the chant, but with a wary eye on Sterling, Raynard, and the other uniformed guards.
“Let her go! Let her go!”
Sterling positioned himself next to Raynard.
“Captain, put a stop to this.”
Raynard raised his crossbow. As the ringleader pumped his fist to incite the others, an arrow pierced his throat.
“Silence!” Sterling yelled at the screaming throng.
Jaclyn would not be silenced. She screamed and sobbed. Sterling turned to a guard.
“Get her out of here!”
“The queen will answer to charges of treason,” Sterling said. “Those who choose to display contempt for the laws of the land will be judged by them. We live in perilous times. Those who desire the king’s protection must align themselves with us and abide our decisions.”
A woman stepped forth from the crowd.
“The king’s protection? When you bring murderous monsters across the sea into our midst? A giant who kills at will in the king’s name, while he searches for the rightful ki—!”
Two men wrestled the woman to the ground, covering her mouth as they wept.
“Get her out of my sight before I fill these streets with blood!” Sterling growled.
The crowd dispersed.
“That went well,” Raynard said to Sterling.
“I had almost forgotten about Dathien,” Sterling said. “He was blind with rage from whatever happened in Islemar. There’s no telling what he might do. Ride to Islemar at once.”
“Are you certain Dathien is there?” Raynard asked.
“Of course, he’s there! We cannot allow him to turn the rest of the citizens against us.”
“We do that well enough by ourselves,” Raynard said.
“Find the giant and bring him to the castle. He may prove useful at the border.”
“Ah, I was wondering when we would get around to the border.”
“The dead boy was running away from something,” Sterling said. “And I would bet my life that Lamont is behind it.”
“And don’t forget about the dragon,” Raynard said.
“I never forget about the dragon.”
They rode on, toward the village of Morgenwraithe.
The old woman heard the commotion outside her son’s home.
“I’ll see what the disturbance is, Mother,” the young man said.
“Finish your lunch. I’ll see to it.”
The old woman was back within minutes.
“Mother? What’s wrong?”
“It has begun. Gather your things. We have to go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“To the border. Perhaps beyond.”
“The border? But why?”
“There’s no time to explain now. The queen is in chains.”
Seven
Captain Finn rode into Drakal.
“Welcome back, Finn,” Nicolas Lamont said. “Is the recruiting mission complete?”
Finn struggled to dismount his horse; the task made difficult by his missing hand. Lamont resisted the urge to help him.
“No,” Finn sighed. He held up his left arm, which had been severed above his wrist.
“Roball and Sir Edmund were tactful about it, but it was obvious my arm was not helping our cause.”
“They were not awed by the fact that a boy’s magic hea
led the wound almost instantly?”
“They were more interested in keeping all their own parts intact. Can you blame them? Lieutenant Winston stayed with the others. He will represent Islemar far better than I could. Perhaps I can be of greater service here. Have any volunteers arrived?”
“Yes,” Lamont said. “A couple hundred. And they could certainly use some training from a master swordsman.”
“Ha! What do I tell them, Nick? Pay attention now, lads. The one-armed swordsman has much to teach you! Lesson one—never lower your shield.”
Someone laughed.
Finn and Lamont turned.
“I’m sorry. That struck me as funny,” Magdalena said.
“You see, Lord Lamont?” Finn said. “I could always make a fine court jester.”
“I do not mean to make light of your bravery, Captain,” Magdalena said. “You saved the queen and you saved Caleb; all in the line of duty. You are a hero.”
“Well…I…’hero’ might be too strong a word…”
Finn’s face turned red. Lamont smiled.
Magdalena bowed.
“A true hero. Good day, my Lords.”
She walked away.
“What are you smiling about?” Finn asked Lamont.
“I’m not sure. Not yet.”
Nicolas Lamont greeted the ten latest recruits. He had them raise their hands and swear loyalty to the Resistance and the leadership of Lamont, Rolf Roball, Captain Finn, and Sir Edmund Braun. Magdalena watched from a distance; her arms folded across her chest.
Lamont’s hands tugged at his weary face.
“How many do we have?” Magdalena asked.
“Less than three hundred, thus far,” Lamont said.
“No weapons. Worn clothing. Frail. And weak, most of them,” Magdalena said. “Their oaths may only last until their bellies are full.”
“Aye, the ones we’ve seen thus far are no match for the King’s Army. I have to believe that Roball and Braun will find better than these.” Lamont pointed at the line of men waiting to have their bowls filled from a huge cauldron.
“These are the ones who had no business to attend to. They heard the promise of two hot meals a day and wasted no time getting here.”
“It seems odd, doesn’t it?” Magdalena said. “The old men may be more valuable to us than the young—they remember the old Southlands, when its strength came from magic.”
“And don’t forget the dragons.”
Magdalena sighed.
“I never forget the dragons.”
Magdalena walked away. She passed by a field where groups of men trained with swords and bows. The south had no standing armies; only handfuls of men who enforced law and order in their villages. These posts were often self-appointed and based on size and strength. These men were now part of an army that included former members of the King’s Border Guard, who were all very young. Most of the locals were grizzled, older men who were embarrassed at being taught by children. A few fights broke out.
May the gods have mercy upon us, Magdalena thought.
She saw a flash of black shadow in the corner of her eye. She turned just in time to see a lone figure disappear into the trees. She recognized it at once.
The wolf.
The wolf that had saved them at Vallen.
The wolf that became a man.
The wolf that called her by the name that only two people had ever used—Maggie.
The wolf she believed to be her brother.
Magdalena hurried into the trees. She transformed into her wolf form and chased the black wolf to the north.
The black wolf was larger and faster. Magdalena chased his scent, which was unmistakable. It was different from the scent of a real wolf. She picked up a new scent along the path; that of burning wood.
Magdalena ran for hours. She crossed a river and picked up the wolf’s scent again. The smell of burning wood grew stronger. Magdalena ran until she came to the place where she had stopped just days before—the place where she had waited for Caleb.
She felt a tingling in her fur, the same way she had then.
Danger.
But this day, there was no whispering inner voice telling her to stay. She returned to her human form and walked on, stepping lightly.
Magdalena saw the first marker along the west face of the canyon wall; a triangle of crimson and gold cloth. She saw another, a hundred feet ahead. She rounded a bend and screamed.
In the middle of the canyon, a boy stood slumped over. A sharpened stake the size of a man’s arm protruded from the boy’s chest. And he was not alone.
Six other members of the Border Guard had been impaled by traps in the center of the canyon and along the eastern wall.
Magdalena shook her head as she chewed on her finger.
Why?
The safe trail is clearly marked. Why would they ignore the markers?
And why were they running…to the south?
Magdalena turned away from the horrific sight. She moved slowly through the canyon, only moving when she knew where the next marker was. When she reached a marker made from white cloth, she became the wolf again. She raised her nose into the air.
She could not pick up the scent of the black wolf at all. The smell of burning wood was too strong.
Magdalena continued walking north. She came to the edge of the forest where smoke still rose from the burning timber on both sides of the road. Magdalena changed back into a woman and walked on. She stopped when she saw the remains of the burned guard tower lying across the road.
That explains the soldiers in the canyon, she thought. But why run to the south—into the unknown?
Magdalena walked through the devastated camp. She saw at least a dozen bodies; most were only skeletons.
She saw something that almost made her heart stop.
The remains of a cannon stood near the west gate. Its barrel was bent almost in two. Magdalena crossed to the east gate. The barrel of that cannon lay in two pieces as if it had been bitten.
Magdalena saw something gleaming among the ashes. She pushed the ash away with her foot. She bent over and picked up a tooth that was as long as her forearm.
Magdalena heard the whinny of a horse. She whipped around. The rider pulled down the hood of a cloak. At the same time, Magdalena felt a sharp point at her back.
“Put your hands behind you. Try anything and I’ll leave you for the crows.”
Magdalena did so. The rider dismounted and walked toward her. Magdalena was confused. The rider was an old woman. Magdalena felt the ropes tighten against her wrists.
The old woman stepped in front of her. She spat on the ground.
“You.”
“Who are you?” Magdalena asked.
The woman slapped her. Magdalena hung against the grip of the man behind her.
“Is this who I think it is?” the man asked.
“You’re damn right it is,” the old woman said. “The witch responsible for every foul thing that’s happened for the last twelve years.”
The woman grabbed Magdalena by the hair. The woman’s angry eyes bore into Magdalena’s from only inches away.
“Including your father’s murder.”
Eight
The woman pushed Magdalena away in disgust.
“What do we do with her?” the man asked.
The woman paced.
“I don’t know. We’d do the entire kingdom a service by cutting her throat.”
“After saving so many lives, can you take one so easily?” the man asked.
“You’re the healer’s wife?” Magdalena asked.
The woman drew back her hand.
“Don’t…don’t you dare speak of him, you…you…!”
The woman covered her face with her hands. She pulled at her own hair.
“Mother…please,” the man said.
Mother? Magdalena thought.
“My Lady, you must let me explain—”
“You have nothing to explain!” the woman scream
ed.
“There is no secret to your deeds! You brought the judgment of the gods down upon us all when you joined with the mad queen! What have we endured because of you? The rule of a vicious tyrant! A man who brought a monster to our land—the monster that killed my Arthur without a second thought! A man who dedicated his life to caring for others—gone in one moment at the hands of a freak who hunts the dragon—for filthy coins!”
“You don’t understand, My Lady,” Magdalena said. “Simon and I have come to an understanding. We are assembling a resistance as we speak—”
“Shut up!” the woman screamed.
“An alliance?” the man asked. “What is this about an alliance?”
“Do not listen to her, Adam! She is a sorceress! They use both truth and lies as weapons!”
“Listen to me, Adam,” Magdalena said. “We defeated a force of the Border Guard only days ago. Simon Morgenwraithe remains a dragon by his own choice. We are recruiting an army in the south, headed up by Rolf Roball and Sir Edmund Braun. Viceroy Lamont is with us as well.”
“Liar!” the old woman said.
“A revolution—with the queen’s father involved? You expect us to believe that? Are you mad?”
“You must know that Lord Lamont has no love for Lucien and Lord Sterling. Yes, his daughter is the queen. But Lamont knows Jaclyn will live and die in misery if something is not done.”
The old woman’s shoulders drooped. She covered her face with her hands.
“Mother?” the man said.
“I beg your pardon, My Lord.”
Adam flinched when he felt a sharp point at his back.
“Ah, ah, ah!” the man said. “Don’t turn around. That can only make an uncomfortable situation even uglier. I must insist that you release my friend. She will not harm you, and neither will I.”
“Where did you come from? Who are you?” Adam said.
“That is not important, Adam. You’re wearing a badge. What position do you hold?”