The War Queen

by Jane Merkley

  She sat on the ground just outside the tent, able to ignore the pain in her newly stitched arm with an agonizing daze of anguish over what she had done for Byrone.

  He’s going to take Blindvar, Luthsinia, and make himself king. I’m allowing him to become king.

  She recognized Torren running toward her. All the horses must have scattered because he was on foot. He was breathless when he reached her and she wondered if he was going to spare any breath to keep himself alive. He looked at her and she jabbed a finger over her shoulder. He almost tore the tent flap off trying to get inside.

  Jasper found her next and before she could question, he threw his arms around her.

  “Gildeon did it!”

  Anguish at Blindvar’s fate still sizzled inside her so it took her a moment to register what he had said.

  “Jasper, I need to breathe.”

  He obeyed but it was clear in his face and body that his joy was immeasurable. “Gildeon caused Huilian to go away and his army fled!”

  Altarn managed a weak smile. “We’ve won.”

  “Yes, Lady, but why does your smile look forced?”

  Because Byrone is going to take Blindvar if he lives. “Because Byron is hurt and may not live.”

  Jasper’s face fell and Altarn couldn’t even force her face to match. But Jasper did not notice past his own despair. Even Jasper loved the man! Torren came out of the tent and Altarn barely had time to see tears on his cheeks before he encased her in an embrace more intimate than Jasper’s. Her armor saved her from being totally crushed.

  “Thank you,” he whispered through a sob. His cheek was pressed against her own and she felt wetness there. “If he dies, Ruidenthall owes you for at least trying to give him another chance at life. A great man like that does not deserve to rot on the battlefield.”

  Altarn gingerly returned the embrace, tears threatening her own eyes because of the sheer love this man had for his friend. She looked over her shoulder and saw the gathering Ruids and Blindvarns watching. Watching her. Word of Byrone’s possible demise had caught like a wildfire and it was quickly circulating that Altarn had carried him out.

  Torren released her and went back into the tent.

  The people settled themselves on the ground, gathering about the medical tents so soon hundreds were waiting to know of Lord Byrone’s fate.

  An hour passed. Maybe two. The beginning of a tense third. Was this man so great as to compel her own people? Dirty, weary, they would wait for him?

  Altarn leaned against the tent, too weary herself to leave, mostly anchored there to know if the destruction of Blindvar was in her future.

  Finally, the tent flap opened and an exhausted healer stepped into the first glows of morning. The earth itself held its breath and hundreds of eyes were fixed on that single point of hope.

  “He will live!”

  A single shout of relief and joy exploded across the hilltop. A tortured sob escaped Altarn and she stood and walked away from the tent. But a sound was birthing behind her. She slowed because that sound was her name, a hundred of her name, a thousand of her name, over and over and growing in strength as the assembly about chanted it.

  “Altarn! Altarn!”

  The noise was deafening, and the tears that came she claimed were from the pain in her stitched arm. But however she denied it, she knew at that moment that it was worth rescuing Byrone because his people, her people, loved him.

  Ash and Ember

  Byrone was transported back to the city with the rest of the wounded. Altarn remained with Torren who saw to the disassemble of the camp and to gather and discover the identity of the dead. The bodies were piled and burned and many things weighed heavy on Altarn’s heart. They followed two days later. Songs of victory followed them all the way to Greatmar, despite the heavy burden of knowing some were not returning with them.

  The Blindvarn refugees and Ruid citizens had a feast and large bonfires ready for them when they rolled in. Wives quickly found their husbands and children cried for joy. Altarn watched Jasper embrace his wife and Kyree her husband and a small ache increased the void inside Altarn. There was no one to welcome her home.

  She placed herself in the cold commander’s tent in the camp, dropping her meager bag on the cot and laid on it like a pillow. Her heart assailed her with regret over losing Jessom. Not that she missed him, but she missed the feel of a hand in her own, missed the occasional embraces she would earn. Missed having… she didn’t even know what to call it. The word love wasn’t in her vocabulary. But that was it. With a heavy heart, she missed having someone love her, and in a few quick thoughts she realized no one ever had. The men she dated never showed any actual love for her. More of an advanced form of like.

  The void howled inside her. She curled her knees into her chest. It was the coldest and darkest night she had ever known.

  The bonfire roared into the clear dark sky.

  The three Blindvarn priestesses and two Ruid priests joined in prayer to bless the fire. Altarn didn’t sleep the night previous and was bone tired but remained standing next to Torren at the head of the fire who had taken Byrone’s place at the service. He was tired too, and together they shared the same thread of strength that emanated weakly between them. One by one, each name of the fallen were written on a piece of paper, blessed, and tossed into the flames.

  This humble procession last three hours. The last paper was brought, and the grieving assembly remained, watching the fire die to a pool of ash and ember. Then as one body, they left. Altarn and Torren were the last to leave. He turned his way to the castle. Altarn headed back into the refugee camp. She still had her room in the castle with access to fresh clothes and a hot bath... but she didn’t know if she could stomach running into Byrone.

  Why did you rescue me? You know I’m taking your land.

  She stepped into the command tent. Still as cold and empty as when she left it. Her teeth chattered as she stripped out of her armor, and then her clothes as well, wrapping up in three blankets before laying down. She had relocated all her belongings out of the castle before they marched out, so she would be able to use the soaps she brought to do a quick towel bath in the morning. She was still lathered in sweat but she didn’t have any heart or energy to wash yesterday night and she still felt indifferent to it now.

  So she slept, at least tried, and woke three days too soon. Today her soldiers and donated Ruid soldiers would ride into Blindvar to flush out the remaining enemy. She swallowed her sleeplessness and got out of bed to finally wash as she would not have a better chance at it for a few days to come.

  Jasper was to stay behind to move the Blindvarns back across the border once they got word it was clear. Torren met with her in the morning and his large grin bothered Altarn to the core because it reminded her that happiness could still exist beyond her misery, as if to taunt her because she could take no part of it.

  “Byrone is still on the up climb, thanks to you.”

  Altarn grumbled something insignificant and tossed her travel bag of meager belongings and her chain mail sack over the horse’s rump.

  Weariness glowed from the soldiers’ eyes as they reined their horses into formation to march. But despite the look in their eyes, there was no doubt in their limbs that they were impatient to kick the enemy out of their home. They had gathered three thousand troops total. The rest were too wounded to be anything but certain casualties. And there were no more horses to be found.

  The soldiers repaired further during the five days it took them to reach Blindvar. Some of the enemy had decided to take up residence in the abandoned towns. Since the death of their fallen angel, they had taken a back seat to conquering more than they had, but since they had conquered one place already, why not claim it permanently? However this thought, they weren’t devoted to the cause anymore upon seeing the Blindvarn and Ruid soldiers roar into town.

  Those not quick enough to leave were shot or sliced down. They chased them to the ocean where their ships were
docked. Altarn stopped the chase to make it appear that they would let the enemy flee to whatever country they came from. Once their ships had set sail, Altarn commanded her archers to set fire to the ships and they watched in bitter silence as they sank.

  The next three days, they rode up and down Blindvar to make sure the enemy had not lingered. But the enemy had basically cut straight through from the point of disembarkation to Ruidenthall. Their angel must have convinced them they would enjoy the pleasures later but only after they secured his last piece of soul.

  And so it was finally done. The Ruids took advantage of the temporarily abandoned buildings to recover for two days before beginning their journey back into Ruidenthall.

  Altarn rode alone up the long road to her manor house. She took longer than needed at the stable with the horse, removing the tack, rubbing and brushing him down, laying a fresh layer of hay. Her house was a vault of bitterness and she was not ready to wear that heavy coat again.

  And she was right. When she finally stepped into her house it stabbed her; daggered staves of loneliness. She choked at the suppression it bore on her. The empty house was merely an expansion of what she was holding inside her. There was no one to welcome her home here, either.

  But she was so weary that she couldn’t even pretend to be lonely at the moment. At least not too much. She had been lonely for a while now. The only difference now is that she actually noticed.

  She sunk onto her bed, falling onto the pillows, momentarily delighted when she scooped Lotus into her arms to fill the aching empty space there. Tucking her dirty boots beneath her, she slept.

  Byrone’s Necklace

  If she felt lonely, it was compounded by the fact that she was the only living soul in a five mile radius. Now that sleep had cured her sickness of weary, it disgusted her that she even had the capacity to be victim to loneliness. She always believed she wanted to be left largely alone and not have to be beholden to anyone or anything. But as she milled about the house, making her own food, drawing her own bath, it occurred to her that it scared her with the thought to die alone. Would anyone remember her? Would anyone care? She shoved the offending thoughts away, sheathing her emotional sword.

  By the end of the eleven days it took for the Blindvarns to return, Altarn was sitting on the front porch of the State House watching down the road and waiting for her household to arrive.

  The first head she saw was Perseth. Despite their mutual dislike for each other, Altarn was overcome with joy to have another human on earth with her, even if it was the very man she had often dreamed of poisoning. She would have even run to embrace him, but Kyree appeared just behind Perseth and so Altarn ran to her instead.

  Her friend embraced her and Altarn hated herself for the tears that fell, but Kyree whisked her away back into the house before anyone else could see.

  She decided Kyree would miss her if she died.

  But now that her house had returned and she could go back to wishing she was alone again, she had room to worry about Byrone’s promise.

  She received a wedding invitation from a Jaryd Emriter and a girl named Lyah. The name Jaryd sounded familiar but she couldn’t remember from where. She had no desire to go, but it would be terribly bad graces for the Lady to turn down an invitation when she was specifically asked to attend.

  So she did, but made half her house and court members attend too. As she laid eyes on the sharp looking groom, she remembered he was the ranger who had arrived with the three priestesses in Greatmar and with the mentally unstable… was that her? Her hair and disposition were remarkably different but she looked sixteen and her face, though joyous now, looked similar to that of the girl they had called Lorn.

  Altarn hated to admit she felt jealous at first as she watched the sacred ceremony of marriage, but that was soon replaced with the simple joy that she shared with the couple as she watched them watch each other. The girl glowed with light, as if she had been re-born into a world of her specific choosing.

  The ceremony concluded, Jaryd scooped the young bride into his arms and the guests cheered and threw flowers at them as he ran her out.

  Altarn was still picking flowers off her as she rode the five miles back to her house in Ashnar.

  Every day she looked out the window to the winding road curling away from her house down from the hilltop, expecting every time she did to see Byrone and a legion of his men marching up it. But three months passed and nothing presented itself to fortify his threats. But she supposed he had to heal first. A devastating injury such as his he might not ever be whole enough to lead an army. Unless he had someone do it in his place. Would Torren do it? Torren faked an assault on her for Byrone. Was he such a puppet to do worse than that?

  But a crow flew to the window today and her heart sickened. It was the same crow Byrone had used in the past to send her demeaning letters.

  She didn’t want to let the crow in but she decided it was better to be warned of his coming then by surprise. She let the crow in and sent it away again, laying the wax-stamped missive on her desk. She wanted a witness when she opened it so she could act horrified at Byrone’s declaration of claim, so it would make her look like a victim.

  She hemmed about for a while until she heard the door open. She grabbed the missive and broke the seal as Kyree stepped in.

  “I just received a letter from Byrone. You’re welcome to hear what it says.”

  Kyree wiped her wet hands on her apron and approached the desk. Altarn had always made her privy to these letters so she would not be alone in her misery.

  Altarn fortified her resolve and opened the crisp folds of the paper with a deep breath.

  I am coming for a visit to celebrate our victory. I should arrive in five days.

  Lord Byrone of Greatmar

  Celebrate my victory with Blindvar as the prize, you mean, Altarn thought bleakly.

  Apparently Kyree thought the same. “Do you think he intends to make his conquer? Should we warn the troops?”

  Altarn sat numbly in her chair at the desk where a stack of previous missives from Byrone were laid like a slain body gutted open because foulness was still spewing out.

  “The only proof I have is his word.” Altarn kneaded the tips of her fingers into her scalp. “And he will deny it if I confront him in front of anyone else. And no Blindvarn is going to arm themselves against Byrone after it is because of his troops that we have Blindvar again.”

  “Are we to bow to him as his army marches in?”

  Altarn dropped a sigh that was too heavy to keep any longer. “What else is there to do if we are the only ones who know what he is up to? And who knows? Maybe he is just coming for dinner.”

  Kyree rolled her eyes and stood. “I’ll go tell everyone the good news, then I’ll come back and pack bags for a quick escape just in case.” And she left.

  Altarn hemmed and worried over his arrival, robbed of her sleep because of it for five days. Another bird arrived saying they were an hour out, and Altarn paced in her room furiously enough to make a fish sea sick watching her until Kyree came to fetch her so they could meet the Lord of Ruidenthall as he came up the road.

  Altarn looked in her closet for something suited for such an occasion, but made a face at all her dresses. The pants she owned were patched and worn from training. She was revolted to see what she had been before she left because of how different she felt now. She did not want to present herself before Byrone as a “princess” but, unfortunately, that is all Altarn owned. Byrone, she grudgingly agreed, was right.

  She chose a dress that was as unassuming as she could find, and braided her hair over one shoulder. Taking several, many, and more fortifying breaths, she marched out of the room, then returned to grab her knife.

  And so Altarn stood with the rest of her house and fidgeted relentlessly. She strained to hear the thundering of solider boots and the clash of armor, but fifteen horses rounded the final turn in the cobbled road at an easy pace.

  They were not in armor a
nd were travel dirtied and the desire for food and baths shown so furiously from all their eyes that Altarn could see it even at this distance.

  Her house bowed their heads respectively on either side of the road as Byrone’s entourage passed between them. Altarn waited for him at the end with Jasper and the head of her court, holding his blue eyes as he approached and stopped his horse before her.

  He gave a single, brisk nod. “Lady Altarn.”

  She mimicked the gesture. “Lord Byrone.” She was proud of herself that her tone did not carry the distrust in her heart. “Welcome to my state and my house. I hope your visit will be pleasant. Baths and beds await you all and a dinner tonight after you are refreshed. My servants will take care of you and your horses from here.” Altarn dipped her chin again in parting and turned to trek back up the hill to her house.

  She looked again briefly behind her. Three of Byrone’s men had dismounted and were clustered around his horse. She could see the irritation as he struggled to dismount off the left side. It was clear his right hip would not yield to certain motions so his dismount looked more like a climber holding to the top edge of a mountain whose foot was still stuck on top. It was hard to see a man of battle grace degraded by an awkward ailment. She saw a crutch flash through the air before it caught his landing on the ground.

  Byrone’s entourage whooped with pleasure as they thundered inside on their way to their respective rooms and baths. It did appear as if they actually were here for a visit, and Altarn was disturbed by it.

  The Ruids arrived to dinner refreshed and clean and a few coy smiles betrayed the faces of some of her female servants who stood by to refill their wine goblets.