Rivalyn

by Rachel James

  Niall quirked his eyebrows. “He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I doubt he even stayed on the mountain all those years. He said he’d been searching for the Sacred Sword before you did.” He gazed down at her, “Alys,” he said tenderly, “You’re shivering.” He pulled at the chains they were joined to, drew closer, wrapped his arms around her, and rested his chin upon the top of her head. He wiped the tear that slid down the side of her cheek and kissed her forehead.

  “I wonder if he only gave me my mother’s short sword because it was no longer of use to himself.” She sighed. “What are we going to do?”

  The sound of footsteps and muffled voices transcended along the corridor. Alys instinctively backed further into Niall’s arms as the door swung open. She didn’t recognize the soldiers, but Niall seemed to.

  “Wait,” she shouted as they untied his shackles and dragged Niall out the cell. “Where are you taking him?”

  The look in his eyes alarmed her. “Niall?”

  “I love you,” he yelled, as he was pulled from her grasp.

  Her pulse quickened, and she lurched forward to grab his arm, but her chains yanked her backward. “What is it?”

  She looked again at the soldier and blinked. Realization weighed heavily upon her. That was no ordinary soldier, but the executioner. “Nay!” she screamed at them. “Why are you doing this?”

  As the iron gate swung shut, the sound reverberated through her bones, and her body jolted like lightning had just struck her. Her father had died. She had lost the sword, and now, Niall too. There was naught left to fight for. Calipher had won.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The whip struck once more, ripping at his flesh, and Niall fought against every fibre of his being to cry out. There was no pain like it. He’d been in many a battle, suffered multiple wounds to his body, but this surpassed them all. He wavered at each strike, and the rope that tied his hands and feet gnawed away continuously. He closed his eyes and thought of naught but Alys. Did she know he was still alive?

  The thrashing stopped. He lifted his head to see that the executioner had the whip stuck within the wooden flooring and began cursing under his breath.

  Niall stared at the crowds that had gathered in the public square. Common folk, soldiers, nobility...they were all there.

  His eyes fluttered, tiredness claiming him. He had no more fight. Through blurred vision he watched the people disperse, one by one, losing interest in the spectacle. The executioner muttered something about coming back in the morning to finish the job, but Niall didn’t care enough to pay him any heed. Soldiers still guarded him at every corner, and he smiled inwardly at the irony. Like he could fight them now.

  Rain began to fall, the water soothing to his skin. The late September air now turned chilly, and as the sun disappeared behind the skyline, he shivered. Darkness enshrouded him.

  Alys touched the wall and ran her finger along the tallies. Seven days. Her throat was parched and hoarse from crying out. She stared at the mouldy food sat on a platter by the door. She was so hungry, but would not eat it. Instead, she picked up a soft stone and sketched Niall’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember his features. Why had God allowed this to happen?

  He was called the Almighty One for a reason, and she had no right to question Him. But she desperately wanted answers.

  Scribe on the tablet of your heart.

  Sighing, she began to write, and with each word she recalled, the pain eased a little more. She remembered a passage from the Psalms...

  I am afflicted and in pain; Let your salvation, O God, set me on high! I will praise the name of God with a song; I will magnify him with thanksgiving...

  She wrote all the things she had to be thankful for. It was difficult to do when all was lost. At least, if she died here in this cell, she was certain of spending eternity in heaven.

  Cabal stood in the crowd, with his hood raised, staring at Niall in the public square. He clenched his jaw as the executioner whipped Niall repeatedly. This was just the first stage of his execution. The hanging was scheduled for the following morrow. How could he have trusted Calipher?

  Shieldok soldiers surrounded them and were stationed at every exit. What had Calipher negotiated with Bordan to hold such power over them?

  He eased his way back and headed for the tavern, not able to stage a rescue in broad daylight. The inn was busy with common folk and traders, and he found Turi waiting for him at the rear.

  He slumped down on the wooden bench.

  “You have round-up your men?”

  Cabal grimaced. “Mayhap a dozen soldiers are willing to defect, but my questions are drawing too much attention. I fear we must strike tonight before Calipher discovers our plans, and Niall is executed.”

  Turi took his time to answer. “Very well. My archers will take out the Shieldoks that guard Niall, and retrieve him, as planned. This will cause a distraction and allow you to enter the cells. You are sure you can get in?”

  Cabal swallowed. His plan held no such certainties, but he nodded. “Do not wait for us, but head north. Take the Lady Meredith and Ariana with you, they can tend to Niall. Who knows what kind of wasp’s nest we’ll stir by our rescue. The safest place for us now is at the fortress.”

  Turi quirked his eyebrows. “It is, if the warrior monks did indeed take possession of Castraholm. Let us hope Reginald is slain, or else we’ll be walking from a spark and into the fire.”

  Cabal exhaled. “God be with you.”

  Turi patted his arm. “And you, my friend.”

  Alys caught her breath as a sound came from outside. Her body tensed, and heart thumped loudly. Was it her turn?

  The cell suddenly filled with soldiers. “Cabal?” she exclaimed, not quite believing her eyes.

  Cabal held a finger to his mouth and then signalled to the others to remove her chains.

  “Can you walk?” he whispered.

  When Alys stood, queasiness claimed her. “I just need a moment.”

  Cabal glanced at the cell wall, and his eyes widened.

  Self-conscious, Alys drank in the sight of her wall of Scriptures. Cautiously, she looked back at him. “’Twas the only thing that kept me going.”

  Cabal nodded, understanding showing. “Come. We have little time, my lady.” He picked her up.

  It was dark outside, but the light of the moon dazzled her. A horn sounded.

  Alys caught her breath as the guards came after them.

  “Let’s go,” shouted Cabal. They thrust her into a wooden cart, and along with several other soldiers, they stormed out the entrance and into the city, leaving a commotion behind them. With the remaining palace guards alerted, their arrows flew at them.

  They broke past the city gates and rampaged through an open field. “Where are we heading?” Alys asked as the wagon sped over rocky ground, but no one answered her. They looked to be going north. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat as they left her home, and the memory of Niall with it. She tried to focus her mind on something else and glanced at the few men. Were these all they had? She was thankful for their loyalty, but they could not defeat Calipher and the entire Rivalyn army with a few band of men.

  She felt weary, and her head began to spin. Alys fell back, numbness claiming her. Before long, the stars in the night sky were replaced with the morning light.

  Alys sat abruptly at the sight of Clythburgh, or what remained of it. She gasped—her hands flying to her face in shock. The entire place had burned to the ground. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  As if sensing her concern, Cabal rode up beside her and cleared his throat.

  “You need not worry, my lady. The villagers escaped in time. They are at Castraholm now.”

  Her eyes widened. “Castraholm? Cabal, ’tis not safe. Lord Reginald—”

  “—is no more. He raided Clythburgh in search of you, but the village-folk seized control.”

  She rubbed her aching temples. She wasn’t thinking straight. How was it possible f
or such a stronghold to be defeated?

  Cabal continued, “The beacon was lit, to summon the monks.”

  Alys swallowed, taking all this information in. “We should have stayed and helped.”

  “The monks saved Clythburgh, and now that Castraholm is reclaimed, the guardians are gathered...in support of you.”

  Alys clutched her stomach to still the unnerving flutter. “But I do not have the sword. I cannot be their ruler.”

  “You found it, my lady. That is enough for them.” Cabal motioned to the soldier to still the cart, and then he leaned over to a trunk in the corner. “I tried to get the sword back for you, but Calipher would not let it leave his side. However, I could get these...” He opened the box and pulled out her armour.

  She gasped. “Where on earth did you find…”

  “Left in the prison. Not even locked away. They didn’t know the treasure they possessed.”

  Alys rummaged through her armour to make sure everything was there. She closed her eyes. Thank you, God.

  “Shall we journey onward? We are almost at Castraholm, and we should make it by nightfall if we hurry.”

  “My mother is there?”

  He nodded. “God willing.”

  “Then, aye, proceed without delay.”

  “Your ladyship,” greeted Girard. “Come, you must be weary.”

  At the sound of their arrival, Niall shooed away the physician attending his wounds, and he staggered into the hall.

  She’d lost weight, her face gaunt with dark circles under her eyes.

  Alys stopped when she saw him, and her eyes widened. She dropped her belongings and ran toward him. She pushed the shaggy hair away from his face, and stared into his eyes, then patted his body examining the chaffing around his wrists and ankles. For a long time, no sound escaped her lips. She searched his face, and finally, her voice cracked with emotion. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

  Her words were his undoing. Even though every part of his body screamed out in pain, he drew her into his arms. “Nay, sweet lass. I said I’d not leave you.” He tenderly kissed the top of her forehead and squeezed her tight.

  The guardians assembled around the large central table and Niall eased Alys from his grasp, guiding her to sit.

  “Forgive me,” said Alys, tucking her hair behind her ears, and wiping her eyes. “This is a lot to take in.”

  Niall perched next to Alys. The physician hadn’t finished with him, but it could wait. Instead, he signalled to Girard, who’d convened the guardians together, along with Cabal and Alys’s mother.

  Girard stood and addressed Alys. “My lady, we were commissioned by your grandfather, and later your mother, Queen Aloedia, to protect the ruler of the kingdom. You have proved to us, that this is you.”

  Her head jerked. “You knew who I was? All along?”

  “Nay. Only of your existence.”

  Niall rubbed his beard. “Then how did Calipher...?”

  Cynbel tutted. “Druce confided in him, I do not doubt.”

  Alys accepted a goblet of wine from Ariana and sighed. “The facts, my good men, are this: Calipher has the Sacred Sword, and therefore command of my army. He also claims an alliance with the Shieldoks.” She glanced around the table. “What are our options?”

  “We have the forest folk,” said Turi.

  Cabal drummed his fingers against the wood. “And the common people.”

  Niall winced. “The villagers? Not all are trained—”

  “Not yet.”

  Niall eased the throbbing pain from his shoulder. “Our best course of action is to further fortify Castraholm and prepare for a siege. It will not be long before Calipher comes for Alys, and he will want to destroy any kind of rebel army.”

  Alys angled her face toward him. “Logically, it makes sense, but I want to be on the offensive, not the defensive.”

  Niall paused. “You wish to take back Ryvilla?”

  “Nay. Declare battle. On our terms, at a place of our choosing.”

  There were a few grumbles around the room.

  Niall leaned on his clasped hands. Calipher’s army was vast. To go against them would be suicide. He turned to Alys. “We need to raise an army... Angularem is a small kingdom, with only a hundred or so knights...” He looked at her, as defeat displayed in her eyes. That would not do. Even if it meant sacrificing his own soldiers, they had to give it a try. “But...a hundred of my warriors are worth a thousand foot soldiers. I can send word to them. It may take some time...”

  She smiled, and it melted his heart. Truly he would go to the ends of the earth for this woman.

  Alys walked through the hall, observing the people before her. Music filled the air, fire embers crackled, and Wealdmen mixed with common folk. ‘Twas such a sight. Across the room, she spotted Niall and blinked. He walked toward her, clean shaven, and hair trimmed. Now rid of the soldier’s uniform, he instead donned a smart tunic. She caught her breath. She knew he was a king, but until this moment, he did not look it.

  She headed for the raised chair on the dais, and one of the servant girls offered her a goblet.

  Niall neared, and she held out her arm, motioning him toward the seat next to hers.

  “What is it?” Niall asked.

  “I received word that Calipher is crowned by the council.”

  “It’s what we expected.”

  “I know, but...” she toyed with her sleeves. “Is it too late for me now?”

  “It’s never too late for God to intervene.” He gazed around the room. “And we could certainly do with a miracle.”

  “’Tis my constant prayer,” Alys said under her breath.

  She sighed and nestled into the fur-lined chair. She had to let go and give her anxieties over to God. “I’m learning to lose control a little more each day, and trust that the Almighty has it all in hand.”

  “A hard lesson for a leader.”

  Alys exhaled through pursed lips, “I surely know it.” She angled her face to his. “You miss it, don’t you? How did you ever survive being my bodyguard for so long?”

  A small smile formed. “Oh, I’ve had worse to look at.”

  She dug him in the ribs, and retreated quickly, so he could not return the teasing.

  Niall patted down his tunic and pulled out a piece of paper. “That reminds me,” he said, as he passed her a parchment. “A message from Cynehofa. Ode is assembling an army—they declare fealty to our cause and march to us on the morrow.”

  Her eyes widened. “I thought Wilhelm and Osgar had taken control of Dyrah.”

  “They have, but it seems Wynflaed has been stirring a rebellion. If we join forces, we’ve more chance of overthrowing the South’s invasion.”

  Alys shook her head in disbelief. “I wonder what Eadward would say now if he were alive. I’ll warrant, no one knew that one man’s death could lead to so much disarray.”

  “Indeed.”

  Taking a quick sip of her wine, she cast the goblet aside and got to her feet. “Come,” she said as she held out her hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  Niall followed Alys out, and they headed through the corridors and down to the crypt. Alys grabbed a torch from the wall and carefully descended the stone steps. The musty scent of ancient, untold stories impacted her once more. “I found my parents.”

  They passed several old graves until they got to her mother and father’s at the very end of the underground chamber. A stone carving of them lying side by side, arm in arm, contained their bodies.

  A tear slid down the side of Alys’s cheek, as she re-traced her fingers along the coarse edge of the tomb. This was the closest she’d ever get to them.

  Niall knelt to read the inscription. “They died here...defending Castraholm.”

  He rose and pulled Alys into his arms, and she leaned in, so glad of his comfort.

  “But this is not what I wished to show you, at least, not all.” Alys turned away, to reveal the chest sitting beside her parents�
�� resting place. “King Lamorak’s armour.”

  The heavy lid creaked as she opened it. Inside, was a silver-coloured breastplate, helmet and matching shield.

  Niall let out a low whistle as he carefully removed the articles. “It has the royal crest, to match yours.”

  “I want you to have it.”

  “Alys—I couldn’t, this must stay in the family...” He paused and stared at the emblem, and his thoughts returned to Cynbel’s words. Was this armour important? He glanced to Alys. It certainly was to her.

  “Thank you. I’ll endeavour to wear it with honour.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The guardians had commissioned Niall to train the troops, and with such little time to teach sword fighting, they instead used everyday weaponry—axes, spears, whatever the common folk had in their possession. Alys sighed as she watched them. Was a pity that this had to be done. Men, who had only just a few weeks before, tended their flocks or toiled the ground, were now giving up their lives so that she be queen. Hardly seemed fair, but she was prepared to sacrifice her own life for the cause.

  Mayhap they needed a little inspiration to motivate them. Unsheathing her sword, she challenged Cabal to combat. The man didn’t need much persuasion.

  She fought him well, and despite her smaller frame, she blocked his advances, using her body weight, as Calipher had taught her— to dodge, spin, get low and move with stealthiness.

  Cabal held up his hands in mercy. “All right... I do not wish to challenge you to the death, I couldn’t do with royal blood on my hands. Anyone else care to take on her ladyship?”

  “I will,” said Niall.

  Alys spun round, exhausted. She took a deep breath and held her position. Niall swung his sword with expert strength. She prepared herself for impact, but a ram’s horn sounded, causing Alys to drop her blade in surprise. She glanced at Niall, then out to where the sound was coming from. Could it be Calipher?