by Kai Kazi
“Come to me. Bring the child and I shall set you free…” Shaitani appeared by her side, or perhaps she had always been there,
“Why are you doing this?” Avondale clutched her stomach but found it flat and strong. No aching stretch-marks groaned beneath the scratching fibres of her dress, no life kicked and squalled for attention. Panic flared bright as the sun, “Where is my baby, tell me!” She surged forward, pinning Shaitani to the floor with sudden strength, but she was gone. Behind Avondale as if she were only a shadow,
“He was never yours, girl,” Shaitani whispered, “you stole him from me.”
“Give me my baby!” She wailed reaching for Shaitani as she faded,
“Come to me, girl. I will free you from the world of men.”
Men.
“Aiden!” She screamed into the battle, but he was gone, and his sturdy companion lay dead in the dirt, clutching a dented, mud caked crown, “Aiden!” She called for him, but her hands stayed on her stomach. A girl crawled away from oncoming demons, her dress ripped, hands bloodied, her hair had been torn in ragged chunks from her head. She looked to Avondale as they fell on her, but slowly her face twisted into a wide, unnatural grin and the skin sloughed off to reveal Shaitani,
“Come to me.” She said, “I will give you what you most desire.”
Avondale sank to her knees,
“Give me my child.” She whispered, lips numb, body shaking and covered with cold sweat. Shaitani frowned, and melted away, leaving only the girl. No longer screaming. Limp and unresisting in the face of her violation.
“Avondale?” A voice echoed around her, heat seeped into her face in broad strokes…
She lifted her hands to fend off the wet, warm advances of a hound,
“Avondale?” Sonja was standing above her, “are you alright?”
“Where is he?” She sobbed,
“Aiden is at the front.” Sonja said, but Avondale shook her head and reached for her stomach. When she found it round and hard she sobbed harder than before, rubbing it furiously,
“She took him, Sonja,” she said, “she took my baby, and no matter how I called I couldn’t find her.” Sonja perched on the bed,
“It was a dream, love.” She said, and Avondale nodded, patted the head of one ragged dog with her free hand. She gasped suddenly,
“Aiden,” she said and threw the covers back, making the hounds rumble in irritation, “oh, Sonja we have to send a messenger to the front… I dreamed… I dreamed he was dead.” She said, “but it was not only a dream. She spoke to me. It was a threat I think, or a prediction. She wants the child, she-”
“Who?”
“The witch. Shaitani.” Avondale said, chest heaving, “Sonja I know it sounds like I’ve gone mad, but I swear to you I saw her as clear as I see you now, and she told me to bring the child to her. She is there, at the front.”
Sonja bit her lip,
“Then we had better call the council, no?” She said eventually, “Shannon!” She had barely turned her head back to Avondale when Shannon entered the room, sword drawn, “put that away fool,” she snapped, “and call the council.” He blinked, looking between them,
“Call the council, Shannon,” Avondale said, with more kindness, and reached for a loose, heavy dress that she had taken to wearing for comfort and warmth, “tell them I will be waiting in the library.”
The library had always been her favourite room in the castle; it was small, proportionally, but warm and well organised. The seats held her aching body well, easing the pressure the child put on her muscles and joints, and the smell of the old parchment and vellum took the tension from her shoulders.
“You called, highness?”
“Ronald,” Avondale raised her head suddenly, daze dispelling. The spymaster tilted his head and took a seat near her, “did your men find out anything about her?” He nodded, looking around, “just tell me. Debrief the others later if you must.” He raised his brows and sighed, leaning on one arm of his chair,
“Very well… she, if you can call that thing a woman, is very old it seems. Part of a cult dedicated to one of the Princes of Chaos, a relatively new one in the grand scheme of things. It seems they built up around her in many ways.”
“She is a demon?” Avondale clutched her stomach, leaning forward,
“God no,” he laughed, “nothing so terrifying. Well….” He rubbed his face, “in the past there were dragons across the globe, and there were creatures like her. Weyvren. A shape-shifter breed with a particular talent for magic that has always been linked with dragons and draconolgy. Some said that they grew into dragons, other that they were the result of the rape of virgins by dragons. In any case she’s not human.” Avondale nodded,
“Eramys said as much,” she said, “what else do you know?”
“Of her past? Nothing,” he said, “but the cult itself is easier to find information on. It seems their initiation is years long, and rather… deranged.” He bit his lip,
“Lord Ronald, I am your Queen, not a woman, not now. Tell me.” She said,
“Well,” he sighed, “initiates are required to make certain personal sacrifices, and throw away certain dignities. Copulation features… heavily… both with other members and… animals. It seems they are required to… the final step is to kill the child they bear.” Avondale covered her mouth, closed her eyes and clutched her stomach, “Forgive me,” he said, standing to hand her a handkerchief, “I should have kept my silence.”
“No,” she said, “no, it’s… she came to me in a dream. Asking for… now I know what she wants with my child.” She said simply, and Lord Ronald paled. The other councillors swept in with bleary faces and dishevelled clothing. As they stared at her Avondale realised that she had no idea what she wanted them to do. Sonja gave her a firm nod.
“How long will it take to ready our troops to aid Archibald?” She said,
“How many?” Tan Gully said groggily, and she found herself at a loss; no questions, no argument. It seemed that they were, for once, on the same page,
“It is of little matter,” she said, “it is more important that they reach the front with haste, and that they are veterans of the battle of Bledd.” They frowned quizzically, “I have reason to believe that Shaitani is at the front, and that she is working the same magic she did on the men of Bledd.” The men shared glances, then, and their eyes sharpened.
“Horsemen, then,” Habd said, “and close combat veterans.” They all nodded, “They may need new equipment.”
“Give them anything they need,” Avondale said, “and send them as quickly as you can. In the meantime send a messenger to get the latest news,” her stomach clenched, that dented, bloodied crown, “and call forth the reserve guardsmen. We cannot be too careful.” They nodded agreement, but she was already waving them away with a pale, cold hand, “Sonja, help them.” She said, “Choose the men you see most fit.” Sonja nodded and hovered for a moment before following them out.
Avondale dozed lightly, jumping when a feather light touch landed on her shoulder,
“Oh, Shannon,” she murmured wearily, “you’re still here.”
“Of course, my lady,” he said, and she smiled. She liked how he said that. ‘My Lady’, rather than ‘highness’ or ‘your majesty’. It made her think of Greendale, “I will always be here.” He said, and she turned to look at him,
“I am glad,” she said, “I will have need of support, I fear.”
“And you have it,” he said, “and I think it’s time you returned to sleep. You seem weary.” Avondale shook her head and sat up,
“I cannot,” she said, “I dream horrors every night, Shannon,” she said, “I see blood, and death, and so many faces.” She closed her eyes, covering then so that the tears fell unseen. He clasped one of her hands in his own and rubbed it between them, putting heat back into them.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said, and she believed he truly was. Why, however, was another matter. He seemed to hear the question un
asked, “you remind me very much of my sister, my lady,” he said, “I know you are not one and the same, but I see her so little…” he trailed off,
“I understand,” Avondale said, “sometimes I see Greendale in you.” She admitted, and he smiled,
“A great compliment, my lady, and undeserved.” He said,
“No. Greendale liked you, Shannon, he told Bran that you would make a fine guardian one day.” She held her stomach, “Much like my father told me I would be a great Queen one day. We, neither of us, were ready for this I fear.” She said,
“Though I have had a decade more to prepare, give or take” Shannon said with a smile, and Avondale laughed. She shrugged; it was true.
“I am sorry I put so much on you,” she said suddenly, “how your wife must be frustrated. I expect you to be a guard and a guardian and a messenger and a companion.” Shannon smiled, eyes crinkling,
“I am honored to be those things, my lady, and Carlotte feels that you need Sonja and myself to steady you. ‘you take good care of that girl,’ she says to me each time I leave, ‘she’m have no one in the world, now, but that damn hound lord and you’m, and poor lordly companions you’m make, but needs must’.” He affected a feminine, but powerful voice, and Avondale laughed,
“She sounds fearsome.”
“She is,” he said, “but she cares for you, in a distant way… most people in the kingdom do, I reckon. They know you’re doing your best, my lady. Just keep doing that and we’ll get there.”
Get where? She nodded, rubbing her hands together,
“This is the most you’ve ever said to me,” she said eventually, “I was starting to fancy that you were partially mute.” Shannon shrugged,
“You say what needs to be said and stay quiet for the rest.” He said, and extended a hand to her, “Now off to sleep, if it pleases you. I’ll send Donan to guard you tonight.”
CHAPTER XIII
“Father!” Aidens voice was snatched away by the din of the crowd as he pushed through the survivors. The port and forward camp were overrun, and so the rear guard were forced to make room for those who had fled the oncoming demons, “Father?”
Everywhere he turned there were makeshift holding areas for the injured and dying, healing men and women rushed from man to man, and bonfires were crackling away with cauldrons of boiling water over them, and bloodied rags and bandages burning within them.
“Prince Aiden!” Sergeant Combs came from the crowds like a God of war; his torn and bloodied uniform did nothing to lessen his impressive presence, “we have to move. The demons are pushing forth.”
“Where can we go?” Aiden said. His head throbbed and pounded, blood trickled down his neck.
“A line of defence is to be set in Venece. The reserve guard have their base there. Your father planned for every eventuality.”
“Where is my father?” Aiden gripped his shoulders, but Combs shook his head,
“I have not seen him, my lord, but he is sure to be there. The council retired there after the first shield wall broke.” Combs said,
“Then that’s where we’re going, you there,” Aiden called to a passing squire, “we require two fast horses. Now.” The boy gaped,
“Do as the crown Prince bids!” Combs roared, and the boy scampered away. Aiden swayed as a wave of nausea engulfed him.
“I wish I were with Avondale,” he said, catching himself too late, but Combs didn’t sneer. He smiled wanly,
“Aye,” he said, “I’d say my wife is a better prospect than this, too.” He clapped Aidens shoulder firmly, “We’ll see them again.” He said, and Aiden wondered if Combs had ever thought they would not. He looked at a man lying nearby, right leg missing he groaned for water, but no one came. Aiden motioned a healer to him.
“There but for the grace of God,” he said, and let the realisation sink in. He rubbed his chest.
The horses were less than prime, but Combs climbed onto his without question. The ride was hard, and the roads were littered with soldiers on their way to Venece, and by the time they clattered into the town Aidens hips and legs ached as if he had been beaten.
“Where is the council?” Combs barked at a group of soldiers; they pointed in mute shock toward the market square. Aiden sighed in relief and followed Combs broad back with drooping eyes. The wound on his forehead had sealed, but still throbbed, and the road under his horse had become dull and fuzzy. The market square was grander than Aiden could have expected, but it was in a state of extreme disarray, understandably. The church at the north end of the square was so great as to seem like a cathedral. Aiden remembered hearing, as a child, about the great child at Venece, but could not remember having seen it before. He blinked at it blearily as Combs called for squires and beer.
“Why is everyone crying?” Aiden said suddenly; many of the soldiers were in tears. They sobbed on stairs and in doorways, “you there,” he stopped a sniffling man, “what’s all this about.”
“The kings death, my lord.” The soldier said, clearly unaware of who Aiden was, “had no one told you?”
“No,” Aiden said, and gripped the reins tightly as his world crumbled, “no, I wasn’t aware.” The soldier stared for a few moments and then passed on, head low, shoulders rounded.
Combs turned to him, swivelled almost fully in his saddle, and opened his mouth just as the world toppled to the side and fell from under Aiden.
He opened his eyes to a world that felt alien; memories floated to the surface, but slipped away when he tried to grasp them,
“Are you well, highness?” A pretty girl came into view; she reminded him of Avondale, but younger still,
“I… where am I?”
“Venece monastery,” she said, and it came flooding back,
“My father…” he said, and his voice cracked. The girl looked at her hands,
“Yes,” she said, “I am sorry.” His eyes stung,
“Leave me… please.” He said and covered his eyes. She floated away to her other patients without another word. His father was dead. Dead. How was that possible? Eaglecross was ageless; everyone said how he hadn’t aged a day since Aiden was born. How he remained strong, and vital through the years. He was the rock foundation upon which Archibald’s recent growth and glory was built. And now he was gone. Aiden covered his eyes and sobbed as quietly as he could. Not for the first time in the last few weeks he ached for Avondale and the comfort she brought, but she was pregnant, hurt, angry, and… she was a Queen now. And he was now King. And the distance between them had grown unsurmountable. But he would have given his own right leg for just one day with her
“Highness?” Sergeant Combs was standing nearby, hands clasped in front of him, eyes respectfully averted. Aiden sat up,
“Did something hit me?” He asked and ran his hands over his hot, tender face,
“No, highness, I believe you fainted. Shock of the battle and the news, a little blood loss, too, perhaps the brothers say.” He said, Aiden nodded.
“What now?” He asked,
“Highness?”
“The enemy? Are they advancing?” Aiden said,
“Yes, Highness, but the traps and defences set by the K- by your father- are holding them for the moment,” Combs said, “unless reinforcements arrive it should pose little trouble to keep them out of the city.”
Aiden swallowed, nodded, and then stood. He staggered a little, but found his footing quickly,
“A courier has arrived from Avondale,” Combs said eventually, “he wishes to speak to you personally.” Aiden’s stomach twisted,
“Bring him to me,” Aiden said, hands clenched into sweaty fists by his sides, and sat on the end of the bed once more. The courier was young, lithe, and scared looking; picked for speed, not ability, “Yes?”
“Queen Avondale wishes me to tell you that support is en route, and she asks for news from the front? I asked for the King, my lord, does that mean…?” He trailed off slowly,
“My father is dead.” Aiden said, “I a
m the king now.” The words tasted like ash. The messenger bowed,
“My condolences, and congratulations Highness.” He said, “What would you have me tell my Queen?”
Aiden closed his eyes and worked his jaw,
“Tell her that the king is dead and the port of Dirge overrun,” Aiden said, mouth dry, “and tell her… tell her that the witch is working her magic once more…. and that the reinforcements will be well received. If Avondale can offer any other support, perhaps healers or supplies, that too would be gratefully received.”
“Yes, highness.” The courier bowed,
“And tell her… give her a letter from me.” He said and reached into his pack for the half-finished letters he had penned and scrapped over and over again, rolling them into a tube, tied with a leather thong, before he handed them to the courier.
“Yes highness.” The courier said, looking at him curiously,
“Well,” Aiden snapped eventually, “on you go.” He bowed and exited quickly. Aiden took three deep breaths, stood, and straightened his clothes before stepping outside to face Combs. He was being swarmed by courtiers but seemed unaffected by their foppish scorn.
“The King will see you when he wishes to, Lord Darnly,” Combs said with a wry smile, “I have no orders to find you, and until I do you will not bother the King.” Aiden let his shoulders droop; Combs was firmly on his side. He looked up, “Majesty, do you wish to speak with anyone here?”
“No Combs, but I do wish to speak with General Timon,” Aiden said,
“Ah, Majesty, Timon perished protecting your late father.” Combs said with an awkward grimace,
“Who now leads the army, then?” Aiden said,