Seirsha of Errinton

by Shari L. Tapscott

  I extend my sword. “Release me.”

  “Finish me,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes barely seeing.

  All my courage fails me, and my sword falls to my side. “No—”

  Suddenly he pulls a dagger from his side and lunges at me, attempting to dig the blade into my leg. Fury and terror rush through me, and I kick him with my free foot. His head snaps back, and I yank free. He rolls over, and a sound escapes his lips that chills me to my core. Then he’s motionless.

  Not lingering to see if he still breathes, I pull myself from the ground. My heart sounds in my ears. I’m close. So close. Then an arm catches me. I struggle, kicking as I swing the sword backward.

  “Seirsha!”

  I gasp when I hear Rigel’s voice next to my ear, and the fight leaves me.

  “What are you doing here?” He yells to be heard over the chaos, and he’s furious, livid to find me amidst the fighting.

  The battle rages around us. So many are lost; they lie on the ground, their faces veiled with death. It’s surreal, worse than any nightmare I could have dreamed on my own.

  Yet, as Rigel holds me, the background fades away. There’s a gash in his arm; his cheek is bloodied and bruised. Sweat streams from his brow, and he’s filthy.

  But he’s alive.

  “Argus found me in the mist,” I yell back. “Father—”

  From next to us, Dryal roars a warning. He leaps in front of a man who’s spotted Rigel. The man falls.

  “Get her out of here!” Dryal glares at me as if it’s my fault I’m in the fray.

  A tawny male dragon swoops to the ground next to us, knocking several men off their feet as he lands. With his wing, he shoves Father’s men aside, tossing them as if they are nothing more than insignificant vermin. Then he says, “Bowen’s men are surrounded.”

  Rigel strides to the dragon and nods to the beast’s back. The creature gives him a long, disbelieving look, but then he hunches over, allowing Rigel to climb astride.

  “Watch her!” Rigel motions to me as he rises into the air.

  Dryal steps to me. “With my life.”

  Rigel meets my eyes, pinning me. “Don’t do anything foolish, Seirsha.”

  He flies into the air, high above us.

  “I love you as well,” I whisper.

  I watch in awe as the dragon shoots ball after ball of fire into the sky. Though nearly impossible to see in the dim daylight, the orbs scream as they travel through the air. With no warning, the flames explode with deafening crashes.

  I cover my ears and cringe away from the sound. The men around me do the same, and every eye turns to the sky.

  The dragon flies lower, and his wings catch the wind so he may hold himself in place.

  “You are surrounded,” Rigel calls out. “Surrender.”

  The fighting has temporarily ceased, and Father’s men shift, uneasy.

  “You are caged in. Should you continue to fight, this will be the day of your death.”

  Not far from me, a knight eyes the dragons that continue to circle. Filthy and exhausted, he throws his sword to the ground. The movement sets off a chain reaction. I watch, unable to breathe, as the men around us lay down their weapons.

  “Bowen!” Rigel calls to the masses. “You are defeated.”

  I wait for Father to answer. Where is he? A cold shiver runs through me like a snake in my belly. Has he died in the fight? Could he already be dead and none have realized?

  But no. Not far behind me, Father calls out, making himself known. Dryal turns to the voice, putting himself between me and the ruined king. The action is barely necessary.

  Father walks with a limp, and he clutches his ribs. His face is haggard, and he struggles for painful gasps of air. Ignoring Rigel, he sets his eyes on me. “This is your doing.”

  He motions about him wildly, his dull, icy eyes on me.

  I take a step back, shaking my head.

  “Yes!” he screams, half mad. “Wizard!”

  The men near him stumble back as the wizard materializes at Father’s side. Unlike what I had pictured in my mind, this man is young, strong. His eyes are as black as his hair. In them, I find an emptiness that terrifies me.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?” the wizard says and then smiles. “Though I suppose that’s not accurate anymore, is it?”

  Father’s eyes don’t leave mine. “I wish for a final trade.”

  A small smile tips the wizard’s lips. “What are you willing to exchange?”

  “Seirsha’s life for the power to defeat Rigel’s thousands.”

  Dryal grabs my arm, pushing me farther behind him as if that will save me.

  The multitudes watch the exchange, many fascinated even as they are repulsed. With a flash of scales in the light, the tawny dragon drops to the ground, and Rigel leaps from the beast. The wizard, sensing Rigel’s intent, holds a hand toward him. Rigel freezes, suspended mid-air. He fights against the enchantment, but it’s no use.

  The wizard turns back to Father and shakes his head with mock regret. “She is no longer yours to exchange.”

  Father shakes as his anger consumes him. “Another ten years of mine.”

  “No!” I pull free from Dryal. “You’ll die!”

  The wizard smiles. “Done.”

  He waves his hand and darkness envelopes Father—not a mist or a cloud, but a great, gaping void. Unnatural, unearthly screams fill the valley, swirling like banshees. The darkness spreads as if the void is sucking the light into its great, gaping maw.

  The earth heaves under us; we stumble and fall. As the ground trembles, Rigel is freed. He crawls to me, yelling my name, and then he throws himself on top of me, attempting to shield me with his body. The darkness churns around us. I can hear nothing over the deafening, soul-chilling shrieks.

  Then there is nothing.

  Like morning chasing away the night, the darkness slowly lifts. I struggle from under Rigel’s weight. Far from me, men slowly rise from their crouches and cautiously take in the scene. I gasp. Hysteria builds in my chest, threatening to drown me.

  In a perfect arc, with Father at the center, all lie as if asleep. But they don’t sleep. They are dead. Father fell where he stood, his hands gnarled and spotted. His hair is thin, and what remains is as white as fleece.

  I gasp a breath, trembling. I push against Rigel’s weight. Dryal, who had thrown himself on top of us both, rolls away. Eyes still open, he stares into the nothing. I babble a string of hysterics and pull at Rigel. He lies face down, still protecting me.

  “Wake up.” Hot tears run down my face.

  Eyes closed, he doesn’t respond.

  “Wake up!” I scream, shaking him.

  “You are lucky, Your Highness.”

  I turn to find the wizard watching, that sick smile still gracing his face. I shriek at him, my blood frozen even as it boils. “You!”

  “Your father only had three more years. If it had been four, you would have died. If he had had ten left, I would be standing in this valley alone, speaking to myself.”

  I drag myself to my feet, fueled with fury alone, and lunge at him. I will kill him. The man laughs, raises his hands, and vanishes the same way he came.

  My hands slide through the air, and I fall to the ground. With nothing left to live for, I crawl to Rigel and clutch his still form in my hands.

  My tears fall on his mail-covered chest as I scream into the sky.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A quiet knock sounds on the door to the kitchens, but there’s no one to answer it. I’ve sent them all away. Ignoring all but the task in front of me, I continue to knead the dough. The action soothes me in a way nothing else has.

  The door opens, and Pippa steps in. “It’s time.”

  I murmur an acknowledgment but continue kneading.

  Pippa hesitates by the door and then comes to me. She stares at the dough for a moment before she pulls me from it and wraps her arms around me. It’s awkward, and it feels as if she rarely embrac
es people. I let her comfort me, for her sake more than mine, and then I draw back.

  With her voice quiet in the large room, she says, “It’s all right to mourn.”

  How long ago was it that I brought her in here with Bea? So much has happened since then. So many people I loved are gone.

  We stand together in silence for several moments before I finally find words for my thoughts.

  “So many lost their lives,” I say, and then I fight the tight feeling in my chest and meet her gaze. “But it’s Rigel who consumes my thoughts. It’s him who I yearn for.”

  She blinks quickly, her eyes wet. “I know.”

  “Do you think that’s wrong of me?” I whisper. “Like I don’t care enough about the others?”

  Pippa shakes her head, her pretty brow creasing. “I don’t think so.”

  I look away. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  She watches at me, ready to argue, but then finally nods. I didn’t expect her to leave without a fight, and the sound of the door closing behind her strikes me as incredibly sad. For a moment, I stare at the dough in my hands. Another memory comes to me, this time of Rigel and me standing at this very spot. I close my eyes to shut it out. A single tear slips from my eye, and I wipe it away with my sleeve.

  With careful, slow precision, I finish the dough, stretching it to a perfect circle, and then I place it on the stone to rise. I wipe my hands clean and then step into the hall. The kitchen maids loiter, waiting for me. Their quiet chatter ceases, and their gazes drop to their feet.

  It’s all right. I don’t know what to say to them either.

  Now that I’m finished, they filter into the room and hurry to prepare the funeral meal.

  Malcolm waits for me by the door to the chapel. He nods when he sees me, and the guards open the doors. A hush falls over the crowds, and they stand.

  Malcolm escorts me to the front. I stare ahead blankly. Though I don’t want to look at the two caskets in front of me, they’re all I see. Pippa and Archer wait in the front row. Malcolm delivers me to them, and I sit.

  I try to listen to the bishop, but the empty spot on my left consumes my attention. The service is simple, just as I requested it to be. Though only two are present, we honor all who were lost that day. I dab a handkerchief to my eyes until the fabric is soaked and my skin is raw.

  Pippa nudges me softly. I’m expected to rise—to pay my last respects. Feeling more alone now than I’ve ever felt in my life, I go to Dryal first. A trio of players begins a slow farewell melody. I set my hand on the polished wood casket and close my eyes. He threw himself over his king and queen, giving his life to spare us.

  I remember the chess game, the night before Rigel’s planned execution, and even the look in his eyes when he couldn’t save me in the courtyard. I will miss him. But he died a hero’s death. He would have liked that.

  “Goodbye, Dryal,” I whisper.

  The next casket is infinitely harder. I had demanded the lids be closed. The thought of him in there is horrifying. In my mind’s eye, I will always picture him veiled with death. With my back to the crowd, I stand over the casket. Grief racks me, and I stand, paralyzed.

  The bishop looks up, reaches across the casket, and briefly sets his hand over mine. “Time will heal this wound.”

  I nod, not wishing to speak of it.

  He stares at the casket as if imagining the man inside. Quietly, he says, “He could have been a good king.”

  I take a deep breath and look up. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  Empathy flashes across the man’s face.

  Without a word, I turn and walk from the chapel. A cold breeze greets me as soon as I pass the stone threshold. I glance to the west where dark clouds gather and are moving in quickly. A snowflake falls from the sky, and it’s soon joined by another.

  Summer, brief as it was, is over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A cry wakes me. I groan, but when I open my eyes, I see it’s well past sunrise. I lie here for a moment, relishing the feel of the warm blankets, but the cry becomes more insistent. I push back the covers and pull a dressing gown over my nightclothes.

  With the floor cold on my bare feet, I walk to the next room. Standing in his bed with a blanket clutched in his hand, my son blinks his bright gray eyes at me. His cry fades. He hiccups once and then grins.

  The little boy babbles nonsense, scattered with an occasional “Mama,” and he’s fully content to carry on a one-sided conversation while I wake.

  I carry him to a chair by the fire, and together we sit. I tuck the blanket around him to shield him from the chill of the room. Soon he’ll want his morning meal, but for now, he’s content to be held.

  Born almost exactly nine months after the battle that changed my life, this little boy—our future king—is my sunshine. I stroke his black hair, which is so much like his father’s, and listen to him chatter.

  It’s been three years today. I don’t like visiting the graves, but somehow it feels wrong not to.

  The sun peeks through the thick clouds, illuminating the room for a moment. It’s colder this year than it was that year. We’ve already had a dusting of snow. Leonard—named after his long-past grandfather—and I take breakfast in our chambers. After we’ve eaten, I bundle little Len up, wrapping him in more layers than is probably necessary. Then we venture into the morning.

  Malcolm, my personal guard, accompanies us and shares bits of castle gossip. The dragons are quarreling over a hot spring. Vernow is demanding a cheaper price for our drachite armor. Kara somehow managed to dump a bushel of flour in the kitchens yesterday, and Rella was livid.

  The last one makes me smile. Rella can never stay mad at Kara for long. Not only is she darling, but she looks just like Bea.

  Malcolm holds back when we enter the cemetery, and Len and I enter alone. He toddles along, holding my hand. He points to stones he thinks are interesting, not fully understanding what they represent.

  I pause in front of Dryal’s and trace his etched name with my finger. As I stand here, I remember Bea as well. Having died an assassin’s death, she received an unmarked grave in the lower cemetery. It doesn’t feel right to remember my dear friend there.

  After several minutes, we move to the back where the king’s graves stand in a line.

  “Father,” Len says, pointing at the newest stone at the end.

  “My father,” I correct as I lay my hand on the stone. “Your grandfather.”

  Leaves rustle. Still lost in thought, I don’t turn. Len squirms, reaching for the man behind us. The little boy is much more interested to see his own father than talk about mine—a man he never knew.

  Rigel sweeps his son up and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I thought I might find you here.”

  “You were busy this morning.”

  Rigel grunts. “Dragons.” He musses Len’s hair, making the child laugh. “Adrinel is being difficult.”

  “Isn’t she always?”

  I watch Rigel play with Len. He tosses the boy lightly in the air, and Len squeals with glee. With the memory of the day I almost lost Rigel fresh in my mind, my heart clenches. The battle will forever be ingrained in my memory.

  Weak and delirious, Rigel woke to my anguished screams. Dryal had saved us both, but Rigel had shielded me from the remaining darkness. He was under Kendal’s constant care for months, leaving me alone in my grief to learn how to rule Errinton as the queen I never thought I would—or perhaps wanted—to be. When I discovered I was carrying Len, I didn’t know if Rigel would recover to meet his child.

  But he did.

  Len squirms, and Rigel sets him free. The boy scampers off to examine twigs and rocks. I watch him, my heart content.

  I’m startled by a thump against my stomach. I rub the spot. “He kicked.”

  Rigel kisses my temple. “She kicked.”

  “Kendal says there’s no way to know if it will be a girl or a boy.”

  He turns and wraps his arms around me. “She
’s a girl.”

  I shake my head but smile. “So you say.”

  A snowflake drifts from the sky and is soon followed by more. As the snow blankets the ground, a gentle hush settles around us.

  Like a sentry, a silver dragon perches on a turret, his eyes on the village below. Content that all is as it should be, he spreads his wings and leaps into the sky. He’s soon camouflaged by clouds, but I watch him until I can spot him no more.

  Rigel scoops Len up, takes my hand, and twines his fingers through mine. He leads us away from the cemetery, away from the dark memories.

  The castle sits in front of us, no longer the prison of my youth but a sanctuary. I glance over my shoulder one last time, looking at the stones and saying a final goodbye.

  In Errinton, where all I knew was darkness and disappointment, I’ve finally found happiness and peace.

  The Final Chapter in The Eldentimber Series

  Available July 8, 2016

  Click here to view on Amazon.com

  About the Author

  Shari L. Tapscott writes young adult fantasy and humorous contemporary fiction. When she's not writing or reading, she enjoys gardening, making soap, and pretending she can sing.

  She loves white chocolate mochas, furry animals, spending time with her family, and characters who refuse to behave.

  Tapscott lives in western Colorado with her husband, son, daughter, and two very spoiled Saint Bernards.

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