The battle cry from the impressive army rolling out of Cillitran echoed deep into the Shyl Plains like a thunder that promised a great flood. The sun lit the blue empty sky directly overhead as clouds of dust threatened to swallow the city wall behind. Hundreds of men moved like a herd off to slaughter, pushing and pulling their giant catapults while the clanking and clamor of their shields and armor drown all sound in their wake. The march for the Lyyn Forest had begun with an order from the Queen only a short while ago and no time was wasted following her command.
Many thought they would not be returning.
The calvary of horses and swordsmen headed the march, followed by the bowmen, then the legion of fighting men carrying only axes or other weapons of swinging destruction, and then the mechanics and their catapults that towered three stories high, sitting on giant wheeled-platforms. Weapon makers were scattered in the midst, men who could whittle arrows and string bows along with sword and steel forgers.
It was going to be a bloody battle. The army of Cillitran expected and prepared for the worst against an Elven nation that would use magic and talismans. They would fight hard and fearless against the enemy that had slain their Prince and King. They would battle to certain death.
Ern Dwull was thinking exactly that as he sat upon his black horse, riding slightly ahead of his company, beady eyes gleaming into the Shyl Plains, thoughts focused solely on avenging the King. The Elves would know they were coming, he suspected. Their use of magic would allow them to see an attack approaching far before Dwull could see the Lyyn Forest. They would be walking into a trap, he thought. But he wasn’t letting paranoia get the best of him. He would find a way to make it work to his advantage. They were the underdogs after all—easily overlooked. It was their only advantage.
The Elves would pay. Ern Dwull would see to it.
A hundred yards behind him walked Lon Ruell and his bowmen. They were a tight band of friends and brothers, tough minded and very skilled in what they do. Unlike Ern, Lon did not distance himself with his company, choosing to trek with them side by side, for no other reason but because it was where he belonged. Dressed in his hunting garb of dark greens and browns, his bow strapped over his shoulder along with a full quiver of razor sharp arrows, his face was a mask of emotions. Also unlike Ern, it was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking.
Since Ern Dwull exited city walls with the announcement that the Queen had given the order to march, Lon’s thoughts had been focused on what he saw in the other’s eyes, what Ern was keeping secret. Lon had tried to dismiss the look, thinking that maybe Ern had a lot on his mind. Maybe it was just the fact that going off to war without the King felt odd and wrong to Ern. He was feeling that himself. Maybe it was the stress from the role of leadership Ern was undertaking in the King’s absence. But Lon thought there was more to it. There was something in Ern’s eyes that he wanted to keep from him, something troubling. Whatever it was that he was keeping secret, Lon knew it was serious.
“Captain,” a voice spoke to his side followed by an outstretched arm holding a flask of water. Lon smiled and took the canister, drinking only what was necessary, then handing it back to his comrade with a nod of gratitude. He began wishing that Ern would learn to trust him as his own men did.
The heat of the afternoon faded with the blueness of the sky as dusk approached, splashing reds and yellows across the horizon while cool air swept down from the Caltar Mountains. Cillitran’s army kept on until there was no light left to see, and then made camp in the grass of the Shyl Plains. Watch-posts were set around the perimeter, and small cooking fires dotted within. Conversations were lite as men huddled around in small groups and spoke of whatever they could to distract the present situation. As night grew deeper, the sky blackened without the moon’s presence, though one end to the other was dotted a million times over with faded stars.
It was then that Lon Ruell decided to find Ern Dwull. He walked to the head of the front and found the commander sitting alone, sharpening daggers, maps unrolled beside him. He didn’t look up from his work at Lon’s approach, dark eyes focused, face etched in shadow.
“Slow trek,” Lon stated, looking past Ern into the night.
Ern kept working. “No hurry. We’ll need our strength.”
Lon looked down at the other’s face. “What is it? What’s troubling you?”
Ern stopped. He looked up to Lon, whatever expression he had was only known through his irritated tone. “Why would you ask me this?”
“I’ve known you for a long time, Ern. I can tell when something is bothering you. And since we’ve left the city, something has.”
Ern Dwull stared up for a few moments, saying nothing, then looked back down to his work, placing his daggers in sheaths. “I have much to be troubled with, Ruell. Nothing that this war will not settle.”
“It is not the war,” Lon shot back quickly, watching the other’s head look up just as quick. “You are not alone, commander. You have brothers here to rely on.”
They stared at each other for a moment, then once he realized that there would be no response, Lon turned and walked back to his regiment. Ern Dwull watched him disappear in the darkness, then prepared for bed wondering if he ever could let someone in.
Before retiring to bed himself, Lon Ruell made his way through the giant camp wishing those still awake to have deep sleep, working his way out to the spotters and watch guards posted beyond the perimeters wishing them the same. It was something that he had saw King Andelline do once before, something that showed respect to those who would give their life for you.
With the King and the Prince gone now, he and Ern had taken leadership roles in the army. Once they were at the point where attack was beneficial, they would get their captains and would all meet to discuss the best strategy. It would also be discussed what, if any at all, news they would send back to the Queen. They had decided to inform her of their progress, though Ern heavily voiced concern on letting her decide any matters of their doings. She was a Queen, he said, she knew nothing of war tactics. In the end, they had agreed with Ern. For the time being, they would send only word to her.
Lon finished his rounds and was making his way through the camp to his own blanket, nestled in the midst of his men, who he thought would mostly be asleep. His mind began drifting back to the Queen. He wondered how well the talks went with the sorcerer that had arrived just before the march began. He wondered if she would send him to aid them, like they all were expecting. She would choose to remain behind, safe in the castle walls where she belonged. He wondered if she would choose to marry again, if Cillitran would ever have another king. Sienna would mourn for a while before she would be able to even consider moving on. It would be a long time, he guessed. He may not live to see another king.
He reached his blanket near the midnight hour and lied down quickly. The air was cool, quiet. Thin clouds were swirling down from the Caltar Mountains now. Lon Ruell pulled his jacket together tightly and closed his eyes. Sleep came in and tore him away from his thoughts of the Queen.
It was just before dawn when the clanking of the bell sounded, bringing the thousand-plus men out of their slumber and to their feet. A brief meal was cooked, then the march began again. It would take them an entire week to reach the end of the Shyl and the start of the Lyyn at the pace they were going. But none thought it mattered. The more rested they were, the better.
Around midday dark clouds began to form on the eastern horizon. The warmth of the afternoon was replaced suddenly by a coolness and the scent of rain. Thundering clouds moved in, towering into the sky in a spooling mess of dark blues. Rain came quickly, hard and relentless, so strong that the army was forced to stop and wait it out.
Two hours passed and the heavy drench lessened to a steady pour, allowing the soaked men to carry on once again. The wet grass was slippery, and passing through the soggy terrain was slow and difficult. Pulling the heavy catapults through patches of mud slowed to nearly a standstill. Nightfall brought no end to the rain, an
d the men of Cillitran’s army made camp with no fires, pitching tents and turning to bed early.
The black clouds swirling overhead made it seem later than it was, and the lack of fires only made the Plains look even more succumbed by shadow, Lon thought, as he walked away from his tent’s draw-flaps, over to his bed, ready to retire for the night. As he sat down to unlace his boots, a voice spoke, startling him.
“Rain has an effect on everything, you know?”
Lon looked up immediately. Ern Dwull stood just inside his tent, the rain falling in a steady pour just beyond. Lon never heard him enter.
“Commander?”
“In the night, it plays with your vision, your hearing. It dampens your spirit, too. Makes your fears seem more inevitable.”
Lon said nothing, waiting to see where the other was going. It was in an odd fashion that Ern was speaking. It was as if he was lost in thought, thinking aloud to himself. Lon sat patiently, waiting.
Ern approached within five feet and stopped. He was soaked. His black beard masked his expression as his eyes hid in shadow. His voice was icy. “I wish this business with the Elves to be finished. I wish my King back to us where he belongs.”
“As we all do,” replied Lon softly. “Would you care for a drink?”
Ern Dwull stood silent. The conversation he planned on having was sitting at his lips, ready, more than ready, it was necessary, urgent. But as the commander stood staring at Lon, he couldn’t force the words he had been practicing to come out.
“No. I do not wish to stay long,” he lied. “I just wanted you to know that regardless of the outcome, I will be happy to have…” he paused, changing his words mid-stride, “known you. You’re a good man, Lon Ruell. So was your father. Your sons will be too, I suppose. Sleep long.”
Before Lon could say anything, Ern turned around and disappeared into the rain. “Good night yourself, Ern.”
Lon sighed and sat for a moment hoping Ern would return and say what was really on his mind. But he knew better. Ern was not going to change. He had hardened his heart long ago; built walls no one could penetrate.
With the conversation still replaying in his head, Lon closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
Soaking wet. Heart pounding with anxiety. Tears washed by the cool rain. He was mad at himself. Angry that he could not act even in the greatest of importance. He closed his eyes, raised his face skyward and let the rain do its job.
I went to the Queen to seek council. I called out to her and began to approach when I saw something. Something in the way she moved, the way she looked. Her eyes…they were not right. It was as if I was looking into the eyes of a maddened animal, like she wanted to do nothing more than rip me to shreds. I looked away and apologized for startling her, and she spoke back. I did not recognize the language, or the voice. When I looked to her again, I swear her body was shifting like something inside her was trying to get out! I barely had time to look away again when she growled “Attack the Elves. Kill them all.” I left immediately, like I was running for my life.
Lon, I am scared to death of the Queen. What I saw was not her.
Standing with his back to Lon Ruell’s tent, Ern Dwull ended the conversation in his head and sprinted away.
On the day that brought the army of Cillitran heading away from the city’s outer gate, four men were dragging an unconscious Wilt Oan through the castle halls to claim their reward. The Queen had sent word that his head would result in a large sum of money. But dragging a dead man through the castle didn’t seem fit to the men. He was just an old man, not really a threat to them at all. Oan was shackled and gagged, and a large sack was placed over his head to conceal his identity. With eyes gleaming of treasure, the thieves glared away any onlookers who sought to question them.
After a long walk through the castle halls, the men reached the Queen’s chamber and were met by two Red Knights. Neither of them were impressed, but knew of the Queen’s threats against Oan, so they listened to the men, and removed the hood long enough for the Red Knights to see that it was Oan.
“We want to meet with her. We want her to see that it was us who got him.” a scratchy voice demanded from one of the men holding Oan upright.
“You’ll get your reward upon the Queen’s return. You may leave—” a Red Knight began, but was quickly cut short by the man’s temper.
“He ain’t leaving our sight!” To prove a point, he pulled Oan closer to him, the others moved in tight as well. They would fight the Red Knights if the issue was forced.
The Red Knights were not scared. They saw the four men as nothing more than flies. “If you wish to speak to the Queen, you may wait in the meeting chamber with your captive. Otherwise, turn him loose and go about your business.” The other Red Knight addressed flatly, unbothered by the men’s cursing and stomping.
“You know where to find us!”
Together, the four men lurched away, cursing and bickering at the Red Knights, moving down the hall a short distance, turning into a large chamber. Once out of sight, the Red Knights turned towards each other.
“We need to tell the captain,” they said in unison.
Kloe Datris had been waiting in the secret tunnel at the Queen’s chamber when the war horn sounded out. Only the Queen could have given the order to march, the Queen he was still waiting for to return. He quickly turned to the Red Knight standing in question next to him and told him to remain. Kloe then opened the door into Sienna’s room and rushed in, finding the room as empty as it had been. The Queen had not returned as he suspected, may not even be able to if she was held captive.
He raced out of the room through the main doors and told the two Red Knights on watch to remain there as he set out looking for the Queen. His hope then was that Ankar Rie had found her and that she was safe. But that was merely hope and Kloe Datris needed more. He thought then that the best thing would be to find the sorcerer and see if the Queen was with him. If not, he would need Ankar’s help. A pit of turmoil began to spin in Kloe’s stomach.
He raced away through the Queen’s chamber, exiting through the secret door into the hidden passageway. As best of a tracker he was, the Head of the Red Knights was having a difficult time tracing the steps of the sorcerer. After nearly two hours, he just began wandering in hope through the twisting maze of the secret corridors. After frustration escalated enough that he screamed to himself, he noticed a set of prints in the dusty floor. He followed them intently. They had to be the sorcerer’s. No one else would be in the passageways. Outside of the Red Knights, there were very few alive now that even knew of their existence.
After what seemed like hours, the footprints led him to a door. He opened it to find himself outside the northeast corner of the castle at a small hill overlooking a thicket of trees and bushes. The Caltar Mountains were juggernauts stacked against the horizon. The sun was setting; the air was cooling. He noticed right away a body slumped on the ground. He raced to it. Dead. Cold. The man had died some time ago. The Red Knight saw a clear set of tracks in the grass going down the small hill into the bushes. He drew his sword. Seeing no one else around, he made his way down the hill to the edge of the thicket. He paused. Before he could hear the leaves and grass moving, he felt the presence of another heading his way. But before he could act, a set of hands was clearing the bushes, reaching out to grasp him.
“Friend,” Ankar Rie said calmly, finger tips fading blue, “you could get killed out here.”
Kloe Datris lowered his sword. “What did you find, sorcerer?”
Ankar shook his head. “I lost the demon. I’m sure it fled the castle, down into here. I’m not sure what happened. I don’t feel its presence any longer. I’ve searched everywhere.” Ankar could see the disappointment and concern in the other’s eyes. “Did the Queen return?”
“I had hoped to find her with you. The march for the Lyyn has started. Only the Queen could give the command herself.”
“Let’s return to the castle. We may be able to find her there.??
?
As they were moving up the slope, they slowed. Ankar’s face lit up with recognition.
“He’s dead.” Kloe said, as they approached the dead body in the grass.
“I saw him. He fled as if something was chasing him.”
“The demon, perhaps?”
Ankar knelt down and took a good look at him. Eye sockets burnt, facial expression was cast in fear. It was the same look as on the bodies in the chamber he had found. Ankar Rie shivered as he realized what had happened, feeling the cold sweep down his neck to his toes. He stood upright quickly. “I need to show you something.”
It was nearing midnight when the four men holding Wilt Oan captive began to grow restless. They were tired and hungry, and none of them could wait any longer.
“I’m tired of this! I want my money!” they shouted.
Wilt Oan was wide awake when they drug him out of the chamber and into the hall, keeping pace with the angry men as they rushed towards the Queen’s chamber. Their voices filled the otherwise quiet hall with rude threats and vicious demands, drowning any cry for help that Oan tried. By the time they made it to the Queen’s chamber, the Red Knights stood ready for a fight.
“Where’s our money!”
“Patience is a virtue,” mocked the Red Knight.
But the men had had enough. Oan was tossed to the ground as the men attacked the Red Knights. Outnumbered as they were, the Royal family’s protectors held their own and within a few minutes were the only two standing. The four men struggled to their feet, bruised and sore, bleeding from cuts, surprised and angered anew. But before they could act, two more men showed up and the battle was lopsided.
“Captain!”
Kloe Datris stood with Ankar Rie as they rushed down the hall. The four men spit and wanted to retreat, but wanted their reward even more-so. As the Head of the Red Knights reached them, they all but back themselves into the corridor wall and waited their punishment.
“We just want our money,” one man spit. “We’ve done nothing more than what was asked.”
Kloe Datris looked at his Knights in question. One of them replied, “Look for yourself.” Kloe walked over to the man with the sack on his head and removed it. Oan! Relief was mirrored in both their eyes. Kloe removed the gag and began to untie his old friend.
“The Queen promised—” one man began, but was silenced by a finger from Datris.
Kloe turned to his Red Knights. “Pay them.”
One of the Red Knights pulled a small pouch from his cloak and tossed it to the men, who fought over it as they rushed away, spilling coins as they fled.
“My friend!” Wilt hugged the other, who graciously returned the greeting.
“Oan, you are a dead man here,” Kloe said quietly, concerned. “You were to leave Cillitran. When the Queen hears of this—”
“Where is she?” Oan’s eyes were wide, fearful. “We need to speak in private. I have something important to share with you about the Queen.”
Ankar Rie stepped in to be more a part of the conversation. “What do you know of the Queen?”
Wilt said nothing, his eyes carefully looking at Kloe to see if the other was trusted. Once Datris nodded it was okay, Oan began to speak quietly. “We need to leave here at once. I have something that you need to see. Something that will change everything.”
“Oan,” Kloe questioned, “what did you find?”
“Leave your men here. Come quickly.”
Kloe Datris gave the order for his Red Knights to remain, then hurried with Ankar Rie to follow the old man. Into the secret passages once again Oan moved, his body hurried along with the fear that at any moment he would be caught, but relieved that this time he was not alone. He moved them into the passage where he found the secret library, pushing along the seams to the door, then beckoning them to follow him inside once the door opened. He lit a lantern at the table and handed them a book. He spoke quickly about what he found, and what he saw. The proof was in the pages. Ankar Rie and Kloe Datris both read for themselves, their faces turning pale. Once they were finished, the three stood in disbelief.
“We need to find where the demon is,” gasped Datris. “And the sword.”
“I can help. Stand back and give me time. I need to focus.” Ankar Rie was moving the table off to one side of the room, clearing space for himself to kneel and concentrate. He closed his eyes and summoned his magic as the other two looked on in wonder.
Ankar’s face began to change with grimacing lines of intense concentration. Still, no one moved. Nothing was said. After almost thirty minutes, Ankar opened his eyes, blood-shot and teary, and collapsed to the floor. Oan and Kloe Datris helped him into a sitting position. As his mind cleared to the present, Ankar Rie sat up on his own and frowned.
“I used my power to search the castle and found nothing. I searched the surrounding area in an arch, sweeping further out until I caught a trace of it. I could feel its power, raw and angry.”
“Where is it?” Wilt asked hurriedly.
“I found it within the army heading across the Shyl Plains.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN