by Edward Cox
A noise came from outside.
The cell door unlocked.
Redheart got to her feet, head mere inches from the ceiling, and backed up against the far wall as the door opened.
Torchlight spilled into the cell, followed by two Ulyyn guards, armoured and wielding spears. They stood either side of the door, their weapons pointed at the prisoner. Queen Amyya stepped inside. Redheart dropped to one knee and bowed to the Ulyyn monarch.
With a gesture from her hand, Amyya bade her rise.
She was dressed as she was earlier, in robes that appeared to be made from material of the forest. But there was no anger on her small, green-tinged face. She expressed a degree of sympathy. She offered Redheart a wooden bowl, filled with steaming food. Redheart’s stomach growled when she took, but she did not eat.
Amyya spoke in her own language, giving an order that the guards were hesitant to follow at first. She spoke again, her clicks and grunts harsher this time. The guards looked at each other, bowed to their monarch, and then left the cell, leaving the door open.
Amyya pointed to the bowl of food. “Eat,” she said.
It was some kind of thick broth, smelling of the forest. Redheart lifted the bowl to her lips and ate hungrily. It tasted earthy. Wholesome. Filling.
Queen Amyya waited until she had finished, and then offered Redheart a small object which she held out between thumb and forefinger. Redheart wiped her mouth, placed the empty bowl on the floor, and accepted a stone of yellow glass, small like those set into rings. Confused, she gave Amyya a questioning look. By way of explanation, Amyya pulled a similar stone from her ear, which she then pushed back into place, gesturing for Redheart to do the same. Tentatively, the knight pushed the stone into her ear.
Amyya spoke. Her language clicked and grunted. The stone vibrated inside Redheart’s ear, and she understood what the queen was saying.
“You Boskans are known to the Spirits of the Forest. They tell me you are women of honour.”
Her voice carried a soft lilt that didn’t match the movements of her mouth or the sounds it made. Redheart didn’t know what manner of magic made her understand this woman, but she had to resist the urge to pluck the stone from her ear and throw it far from her.
Amyya, obviously impatient with the Boskan knight’s trepidation, repeated her question a little more forcefully. “You are women of honour, yes?”
“We… We are,” Redheart said.
“Yet you would ally yourself with an abomination such as the feliwyrd. This is strange.”
Unnerved to have the Ulyyn’s voice in her head, Redheart nodded. “It is a complicated story, Highness.”
“You said many things to me earlier, things that I was too angry to acknowledge. You tried to tell me of a lost boy?”
“Yes, the son of my duchess – his name is Elander.”
Amyya began to pace in front of the open doorway, her hands clasped before her. Redheart was struck by how small and delicate the Queen of Uljah was. She barely stood as tall as Redheart’s chest, and her thoughtful expression seemed to belong to the face of a child.
She said, “When I was a princess, I too was lost. And I would have died had Abildan not saved me.”
Redheart was surprised to say the least. “Abildan saved your life?” This situation grew stranger by the moment. “I thought she was your enemy.”
“Yes, she is always that.” Amyya stopped pacing and gave Redheart a small smile. “As you say, the story is complicated. You told me earlier that a great evil has come to these lands, but it was not Abildan that you spoke of, was it?”
“No.” Redheart felt a surge of hope. “A Wyrd of Mya-Siad has come to the Great Forest.”
Amyya’s smile disappeared. She stared at Redheart for a long moment, deliberating.
“Many years ago the Wyrd tried to kill me, but Abildan saved my life instead. By accident. The feliwyrd has let you believe that the leaf talisman is a token of friendship. It is not. There is no word in your language for the talisman’s Ulyyn name, but you must think of it as a double-edged blade.”
“Highness, the Wyrd-”
Amyya cut Redheart off with a raised hand. Her tawny eyes drifted up into memory. “The Spirits of the Forest teach us that to place one’s own life in mortal danger for the preservation of another’s is the greatest honour one can bestow. We revere this teaching, even for an abomination like a feliwyrd. It is a… saintly act, you would say?” She waited for Redheart to give an uncertain nod. “The leaf talisman was given to Abildan to acknowledge the debt of life which I owe her. In return, she may ask one favour of the Ulyyn.”
Again, Redheart tried to interject. Again, Amyya silenced her.
“To claim her debt, Abildan must return to the Ulyyn. She may ask her favour, and it will be granted. However, she must also stand trial for her crimes. This is the way of Uljah. Abildan saved me but intended to kill me, and the Spirits of the Forest will not pardon that. The feliwyrd is marked as a hero and enemy both. The talisman represents her reward and execution, and hers alone. The debt is not yours to claim, Sir Redheart.”
Redheart’s mouth opened, but no words followed.
“The Elders of Uljah are gathered and waiting,” Amyya said. “I will take you to them now. They will hear your story and decide what to do with you.”
With a cold swell of despair, Redheart dropped to her knees and bowed her head. “Queen Amyya,” she begged. “I am not your enemy. I do not know why Dun-Wyrd had come to the Great Forest, but the Bone Shaker has abducted Elander. He is just a child!”
Amyya approached Redheart, lifting her face to meet her own with a small and delicate hand. She expressed sadness. “I know your heart is true, woman of Boska, and I share your pain.” Her voice trembled slightly. “A prince of Uljah is missing like your Elander. His name is Kyjah. He is my son.”
Redheart got to her feet. “Abducted? By Dun-Wyrd?”
“Perhaps.” Amyya composed herself. “When the Spirits of the Forest last visited my dreams, they warned me that a stranger would come to Uljah. They told me that my son’s fate would be tied to her. For this reason, I will do all I can to help you when you stand before the Elders.”
Without further word, Amyya left the cell. Redheart stared at the empty doorway until the Ulyyn guards entered. The points of their spears urged her out. More confused and desperate than ever, Redheart followed the queen.
Fifteen
The Risen
Vladisal stood at the head of the company. Üban, Luca and Dief formed a line behind her. Behind them, thirteen knights and five archers awaited orders from their captain, silent and still. Only the sound of crackling campfires disturbed the night.
Vladisal could feel the tension in the air, the fear, the horrified expression of every woman as they watched the corpses of Sir Theodora and Sir Brennik claw free of their graves.
Clumsily, the dead knights rose. Dirt and leaves clung to their armour. Their faces were ashen, slack, devoid of emotion, betraying the first signs of rot. Eyes closed as though asleep, Theodora and Brennik swayed gently on their feet.
“What madness is this?” Üban growled, but the old knight already knew the answer, as did Vladisal and every woman present.
“Dun-Wyrd does so like to play her games,” said Abildan. The feliwyrd emerged through the crowd and stood alongside Vladisal. She studied the ghouls. “Even the slightest sting from a tree-demon will reduce a woman to this.”
Perhaps reacting to the sound of Abildan’s voice, the dead knights opened their eyes to reveal ghostly blue lights. Sir Brennik balled her hands into fists and relaxed them again, as though remembering the strength of life. Sir Theodora opened her mouth and gave a low, pained groan.
A murmur of worry rippled through the company, coupled by the clank of armour as several knights stepped back. Vladisal held her ground - as did Üban, Luca and Dief. Even when Theodora and Brennik choked on the roots which slithered from their mouths, tasting the air like the tongues if snakes,
they did not move.
“Fire would have rid their bodies of Dun-Wyrd’s magic,” Abildan said, and she drew the sabre from her back. “But removing their heads will work just as well now.” She looked at Vladisal and shrugged. “Shall I?”
“Stay your blade, Abildan,” Vladisal said. “This duty is not yours to perform.”
She drew her sword with a sharp ring of steel. Vladisal’s loathing and despair disappeared, falling flat to the dejection of utmost misery. No one said a word, no one tried to stop her, as she raised her sword and stepped towards her reanimated knights.
“Here is the peace that Dun-Wyrd would steal from you,” she said in a strong, clear voice. Her blade took the head of Sir Brennik. “May the Mother God welcome your souls into heaven,” and Sir Theodora joined her sister knight back in the ground, headless and at rest.
In the following silence, not even Abildan had a caustic remark to utter.
Vladisal felt Üban’s hand on her shoulder.
“Had to be done, Vlad. No shame in your actions.”
“This is not ended yet,” Vladisal replied darkly, her voice stone. “Dun-Wyrd’s tree-demons could be upon us any moment.”
She turned from the graves to address the company. In the flickering light, fear and hopelessness shrouded each of their faces. Vladisal’s misery became wrath.
“Light more fires!” Her order came as a loud, harsh bark. “Set a perimeter! Watch the trees! If the Bone Shaker thinks she can so easily frighten us, then she knows nothing of Boskan women!”
Inspired to action, the knights set about their captain’s orders with haste and proficiency.
Vladisal turned to her three friends. “Luca, Dief, organise the women. Üban, position the archers.”
Luca and Dief strode off, shouting more orders. Before Üban followed them, she clapped Vladisal on the shoulder. “Welcome back, my captain.”
Abildan remained. Her thin lips were twisted into a half smile.
“Something amuses you?” Vladisal said levelly.
“A rousing speech, but your women waste their time.” Abildan lifted an eyebrow. “Dun-Wyrd has no need to send her army here tonight. Her monsters are already hiding in your camp.”
A cry broke out among the milling knights, followed by several more. A commotion began. Üban called for her captain, and Vladisal rushed over.
The women had formed a circle around two knights. Sir Mervya was on her knees, holding the side of her neck. Blood leaked from between her fingers, and there was a look of shock in her eyes as she gazed up at Sir Finn.
Finn backed away from her sister knight, disgust and confusion decorating her face. There was blood around her mouth. She gagged and spat a fleshy mass onto the ground.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Vladisal demanded.
“She… she bit me,” Sir Mervya said, a trembling finger pointed at Finn. “Tore a chunk out of me.”
Vladisal made to approach Finn, but the knight drew her sword, pointing it at her captain. “Stay back!” she shouted.
It was a warning, not a threat.
“Finn?” Vladisal said.
“It hurts,” Finn sobbed. “It’s like fire in my veins.”
Groaning in pain, she dropped the sword and doubled over, vomiting blood onto the ground. She then straightened, abruptly, arching her back, opening her mouth wide. And then, with all the fury of the hells, Finn screamed at the night sky.
Sir Mervya scrambled away. The knights stepped back, widening the circle around Finn, some of them drawing weapons. When Finn’s scream died, her head hung slack, as though she slept while standing.
A stunned stillness followed. Vladisal looked to where Üban stood between Luca and Dief behind Finn. The old knight stared back at Vladisal, teeth clenched.
Sir Finn looked up. Blue light shone from her eyes. More weapons were drawn. A line of blood ran from Finn’s mouth and down her breastplate, but she did not groan. No roots snaked from her mouth.
She turned full circle, scrutinising the band of knights surrounding her with a smile that was cold and cruel. She faced Vladisal and the light of her eyes flared.
“Sir Vladisal.” Finn’s chuckle was low and whispery. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”
Her voice was thin and dry, and most certainly not belonging to Finn. Rage clawed up Vladisal’s throat; she knew who was addressing her.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, I think it’s high time we had a talk, don’t you?”
“You and I have nothing to discuss, Dun-Wyrd.”
At the mention of that name, any woman who had not yet bared arms did so keenly.
“Are you really so sure?” Dun-Wyrd said through Finn’s corpse. “It seems that we have much in common these days.”
“Be gone, Bone Shaker,” Vladisal spat. “Leave my woman’s spirit in peace. We will meet soon enough, but never on your terms.”
Finn considered that. “For all your brave words, Sir Knight, you must realise that you are only leading a band of frightened girls lost in the woods.”
“You do not frighten me!” Vladisal snarled.
“Nor I,” Üban bellowed.
“Or any woman here,” Luca added.
Dief hefted her hammer but said nothing.
The rest of the knights found courage in these declarations. Vladisal could read it in their body language.
Finn’s corpse gave a cursory glance over her shoulder. “Nonetheless, I will extend a onetime offer to you and your brave women. Leave the Great Forest, tonight, and I will hinder you no more. Stay, and you will join my army.”
Vladisal pointed at the Bone Shaker with her sword. The blade was stained with the blood of Theodora and Brennik. “We will leave after you return Elander to us.”
“Ah, yes - the boy. Would it make any difference to your decision if I told you that he was already dead?”
Vladisal felt cold and her voice shook. “If that is true, then I will not leave the Great Forest until I have your head in a bag.”
“Courageously spoken, Sir Knight, but I don’t take kindly to threats.” The blue light of Sir Finn’s dead eyes pulsed. “Your pride will condemn every woman here.”
“Fear us, Bone Shaker!” Vladisal shouted. Her tone was iron. “We know what you plan, and we know how to stop you.”
Dun-Wyrd clasped her hands together and laughed with genuine humour. “You believe you can stop me? Why? Because an assassin of Mya-Siad has joined your cause?” Sir Finn’s corpse turned in a circle again, searching the ranks of knights. “Where is the feliwyrd? I know she is among you, but I do not see her now.” She sighed at Vladisal. “Abildan is a liar, a trickster. She is here to serve me, not you.”
“Then by all means,” Vladisal said with low tones, “call her to your side.”
“You fool,” Dun-Wyrd hissed. “Never forget that the feliwyrd are bred to serve the Wyrd. It is in Abildan’s blood-”
Sir Finn’s head snapped back. Dun-Wyrd’s voice cried out in pain and surprise. The corpse sank to its knees. The cry faded, as did the light in Finn’s eyes. The flight of a crossbow bolt protruded from her forehead.
Abildan walked into the circle. She hooked her single-handed crossbow onto her belt and strode up to the dead knight. With a foot, she pushed Finn onto her back, then turned to Vladisal.
“Elander is still alive,” she said, her feline features demonic in the firelight. “Be assured of that.”
Around Abildan, the knights seemed to close in menacingly. The way the feliwyrd had dealt with their sister had turned fear to anger.
Misreading the source of their chagrin, Abildan said, “Tell your women not to be fooled. I am here to kill Dun-Wyrd, not serve her. Tell them now, Sir Vladisal.”
Vladisal’s eyes lingered on her fallen knight “You do not order me, Abildan.” Her lip curled. “Sir Finn was a woman of Boska, and it was not your place to give her spirit mercy.”
“Mercy?” Abildan cast her yellow gaze around the company. “Understand m
e,” she said to all, “Dun-Wyrd’s magic is carried by her army. It is a disease nourished by blood. It is spread by spores that hide in the mouth-roots of every tree-demon. They can pass infection by causing the smallest would. Any woman here stung by a tree-demon will share Sir Finn’s fate.”
Abildan looked at Sir Mervya who still knelt, clutching her neck wound, her face panicked. “And when your eyes glow with the blue light of the damned, I will not hesitate to give you my mercy.”
“How dare you.” It was Üban. The old knight confronted Abildan, sword in hand. “You and Dun-Wyrd do not decide our fate.”
“No,” Abildan said heatedly. “That is the duty of your cursed Mother God.”
Üban gave a cry of rage and raised her sword.
“Üban!” Vladisal shouted.
Too late. Üban prepared to strike down, but the feliwyrd was far quicker than the aging warrior. While the sword remained in the air, Abildan drew her sabre and touched its keen blade to Üban’s throat.
“Could you do it, old woman?” Abildan hissed. “Could you give one of your dearest friends peace from the horrors of Dun-Wyrd’s magic?”
Üban grunted, frozen with her sword raised above her head.
Stillness. Not a knight stirred. A heartbeat passed, before Luca’s voice disturbed the moment.
“Where’s Dief?”
The big knight was no longer beside her friends. Vladisal looked around the camp, seeing her nowhere.
“Sir Dief has fled into the forest,” Abildan said. She removed the sabre from Üban’s throat, and the old knight stumbled back. “She was stung during the battle last night, but told no one. This night has shown her what end that wound will bring her.”
“No,” said Luca. “We have to find her.”
She called Dief’s name, and then again more urgently.
“Let your friend go, Sir Luca,” Abildan said. She addressed Vladisal and Üban. “Sir Dief has spores in her veins and she feels the calling of Dun-Wyrd’s curse. I would advise letting her chose her own end while her dignity remains and she still recognises you as sisters.” She slid her sabre into the sheath on her back. “And ask yourselves, who else among you is infected with the Bone-Shaker’s disease.”