“Kill them all!” Queen Sienna ordered again, if only to put to rest any further doubts of her intentions. Her normally pale complexion was a fiery red; her long auburn hair was unkempt, swept in a pool of anger like the lines on her face. Her large frame was draped in the heavy fabric of her deep purple shawl which wrapped snug around her entire body.
“I want the Lyyn Forest to soak in their blood. I want every single elf dead!”
Lon Ruell and his secondary commanders sat with Ern Dwull and his choice of captains and watched in silence as the Queen cast a beam of fury before storming out of the meeting chamber. Kloe Datris hesitated, already scolded once before about watching her, yet unable to leave his pledged duties. He was Head of the Red Knights; his sole purpose was to protect the King and Queen. But with the death of her husband, Sienna had warned that she trusted no one, and no one was to come in contact with her or they would be killed. Kloe Datris waited a second further, and then followed.
The rest of the council watched her go, and then once she was out of sight began with their plans. Most agreed with the Queen’s demands. It was Wilt Oan, sitting at the end of the table, who said nothing.
“My men will be ready to march for the Lyyn Forest by morning. We are well prepared and will be able to withstand an all-out assault for several weeks. The Shyl will offer us better accommodations, should we fall back.” Commander Ern Dwull stated, unrolling a large regional map out before him, looking only at Lon Ruell. His face was masked in shadow as the dark room was only lit by a single lantern set at the center of the table and his black hair went untied, hiding most of his angered face from the others.
Lon nodded. “Archers are preparing for departure as we speak. We will be ready by dawn as well.”
With a sigh, he looked around the table. “Before the King’s death, messengers were dispatched into the Caltar Mountains and across the Spira into Nestlor. The Cave Lords sent word back that they will take no part in our war. They care nothing for it, and wished to be left alone. This is no surprise. They have never taken sides in anything before, and it was merely hope that we asked them to leave their caves to begin with.”
Lon watched faces sadden. “So that leaves just the Men of Cillitran. We are on our own.”
Wilt Oan sat at the end of the table, head sunk low, eyes on the verge of releasing the tears held in check. He stared blankly, knowing the course of action was beyond his control. He said nothing.
“Oan,” Ern Dwull called out and watched the other’s eyes lift to find his own, “I will ask you to leave now. What takes place in this room next will have no ears for your negotiations.”
He watched Wilt begin to rise, the old man’s sunken look not changing. “And Oan, as the Queen ordered, do not leave the castle.”
Wilt flushed with bitterness and hissed, “I was more a friend to Turyn Andelline than you ever would be! His death is a tragedy on a scale that you would know nothing of!” With that, he left the room.
“Settled then!” Ern Dwull rose to his feet, hovering over his map, pointing to a specific location, others moving in closer, voices hushed in secrecy. “This is where we will attack.”
In the hours since King Andelline was found slain, the kingdom of Cillitran had gone mad with bloodlust. Anyone found in the city that remotely resembled an elf had been beaten and hung, or worse. Chaos was rapidly spreading through Cillitran. Witch hunts were underway for the King’s assassin, by command from the Queen, whose anger seemed to be pouring from an endless flask.
In less than a day, things would be much worse for Cillitran, Wilt Oan thought as he departed the chamber where the plans of war were unfolding. His hair was on ends, his face burdened with the look of plague. Turyn Andelline had died because he failed to heed the warning.
If he would have just listened to me!
Wilt walked through the castle halls, through the hurried masses, past the glares and snarls cast at him from those who knew he opposed the war.
“Traitor!” some shouted.
“Leave!” others insisted.
They hated me when I protected the Forest Elves once the Prince went missing. I’ll be dead before dawn, now.
If Queen Sienna had not cornered him a short while ago and threatened his life if he fled, he would have done so instantly. But even now as he kept his eyes low and forward, he could see the Red Knights following. They would have orders to kill if he left. Would it even make a difference?
He was in a bad situation. War between the races would ignite in a few hours and he could not bring peace between them. He wanted badly to speak to Lord Estrial on the King’s death and of the killings of elves by order of the Queen, but could not do so. That would be suspicious and appear to be treason to his own people, regardless of his intentions. He felt panicked, his blood pumping quicker, his feet anxious to flee. But there was no place for him. Not only was he trapped in the Andelline’s home, but he was also torn between sides. His heart ached.
The Elves did not kill Pal Rae, and they would not have killed the King! This is all a mistake!
But Wilt Oan’s voice had no place now. There was no one who would listen to his reasoning. The Queen would not allow for it. First her only son, then her husband, their King, slain at the hands of elves. No words could stop what was happening. He was useless here. The life as all Cillitran knew was going to be gone.
The Elves will decimate them all!
With uncontrolled urgency, Wilt Oan dashed into his bed chamber, his cell for the time being, barred the door for his own safety, and began to think of a way to escape.
Kloe Datris kept to the shadows of the corridor, a good distance behind the Queen, following against her orders. He knew where she was going of course; she seldom left her quarters in the High Tower. For a brief moment he thought he was looking over the King, but instantly took to realization. He had served for Turyn most of his life, protecting him always. The King’s death left an ache in his heart, and anger in his mind. Save for the assassin, he had been the last person to see the King alive.
An arm shot out of a secret passage hidden behind a trap door in the wall and grabbed Kloe Datris by the neck and dragged him out of the castle hallway so fast he forgot what he was about. He reached for a dagger at his waist, but a blade was to his throat as the secret door swung silently shut.
In the dimness of the passageway, Kloe Datris swallowed hard, staring into the maddened eyes of the Queen.
Sienna’s hand was shaking as she held the dagger to his neck. Her eyes were wide and blood-shot. Her face twisted in angry lines. It would be so satisfying for her to share all that she was feeling. But if she did so, she knew Kloe Datris would have to be killed. And he wasn’t the man she needed dead.
“Do you know what I’m thinking, Knight?”
Kloe Datris shook his head. She was sad in a way he could not identify with. He believed the woman had gone mad with the disappearance of her son, and that sunkenness had dug even more-so.
“No,” he whispered.
Queen Sienna’s voice was distant. “I am thinking of choices. In my life, I have made choices that have allowed men to live, and others to die. My hands are stained with the blood of my choices. I wonder now if I have made poor decisions, if my actions could ever be justified.”
She paused momentarily, as if catching herself from saying something she would regret. “When the time comes for you to make the right decision, Knight, I hope that you will. I however, have another choice. It seems my hands will forever be stained red.”
Kloe Datris stared at the blade to his neck and for a second thought he would feel it. But as he looked back to the Queen, he saw that she was speaking of something else.
“May I help you in this choice, my Queen?”
Queen Sienna appeared not to have heard. “I feel so empty. There will never be enough blood spilled to return me what I have lost.” She spoke quietly. She was nearly eye level with the Red Knight. Her voice turned sharp, bitter. “But my hands are tied to my fate and I must act
quickly.”
“Of course, my Queen.” He wasn’t sure where she was heading, but the look in her eyes made it clear that it would not be nice.
The pale-white hand withdrew the blade from Kloe Datris’ neck, but held it out as if her mind was not entirely made. “My husband was betrayed by someone he trusted, loved even. Do you know what I ask you?”
Kloe Datris knew. He stared at her stricken face and tried to picture her as he had first saw her nearly thirty years ago, as he decided how he would remember her now. Her beauty had been flawless. Her skin had been smooth, her long red hair slightly curled, her body more petite. With always a twinkle in her eyes, she was a sight to behold. What he was looking at now resembled nothing of who and what she was. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through.
“I would do all of what you ask of me, my Queen.”
With a smile so cruel it made the Head of the Red Knights shiver, Queen Sienna began to whisper.
By late evening, Wilt Oan had his mind set. At midnight, he would slip out of the castle and away from the city. He would sneak into the Ailia Court and speak with Terill Estrial and try to find the King’s assassin on his own. He owed his friend at least that much. There was too much death in the city now, and so much more was forthcoming. He could not stay in Cillitran; he could not be a part of the war. He would prevent it as long as he could but he was merely one man. A hated one at that.
He lay in bed and peered to the sky through the cut block window across the room, watching the swift clouds sweep by and began to think. He drowned out the voices in the halls shuffling about, some weeping, others barking orders, as he tried to piece the puzzle together. First the prince, then the King. Would the Queen share their fates? What then? Why would someone assassinate the King? The Forest Elves were being blamed, as the dagger in Turyn’s back had been Elven. Was there truly a rouge elf in Cillitran that would act out such retaliation against the King’s accusations? How could such a person slip into the King’s bedchamber unnoticed?
A slight scraping sound from within the room brought Wilt Oan to a sitting position instantly. His eyes frantically peered into the dimness. He found his chamber door slightly ajar. His pulsed raced. The thudding of footsteps lunged out of the darkness and before he could act, several bodies, robed and hooded, were striking at him with fists and wooden objects. Cloth was violently jammed into his mouth before his voice could scream for help. He caught sight of a large sack, and the clanking of chains was obvious. The little fighting he did went unnoticed. He could taste blood in his mouth; he felt a sting to his head repeatedly. He had been too late to flee the city, he thought grimly.
Two sets of arms pinned the old man down and as another brought the large sack onto his head Wilt Oan heard the door crash open. Instantly his attackers scattered. The sounds of metal and iron striking against one another filled the room as Wilt removed the cloth sack. He watched a tall man fight his way into the crowd, his sword moving faster than Oan could follow. One by one Wilt’s attackers fell to the ground.
“Are you hurt, old man?”
Oan was surprised. “Datris? That you?”
The Head of the Red Knights moved closer to the old man, his long sword tainted red. The light from the hallway spilled into the room and Wilt Oan could see the other’s face clearly. “They were going to kill me. You’ve arrived just in time, old friend.” Visibly shaken, Wilt Oan sat on his bed and took a few moments to gather himself.
Kloe Datris looked the room over. Satisfied that they were alone, he walked to the door and barred it shut, lit a lantern placed on the table, then walked over to Wilt’s side.
“You cannot stay here, Oan. Your life is in danger.” Kloe Datris kept his voice low, hushed, his eyes demanding.
Wilt was angry as he tried to gather his composure. “Fools! They want me dead! These people will not be satisfied until they have me spitting blood!”
“It is not the people, Oan.” Kloe bent in close. “The Queen wants you dead. I was sent to make sure that you did not live through the night.”
Wilt Oan’s body slumped instantly as if he was deflating. “So that is it. She would kill me to close all loose ends.”
Kloe Datris moved in close enough to count the old man’s eyelashes. “She wants you dead because she knows you were in the tunnel with the King. She thinks you saw too much, Oan.”
Wilt shook his head. “I do not understand.”
“Do you know who it was to enter the royal bedchamber last?”
Oan’s posture stiffened. “Elves?”
Kloe Datris shook his head. “They are only a scapegoat, same as you.”
“Who then? Tell me, Datris.”
Kloe Datris hesitated briefly. “I followed the King through the tunnel, Oan. Same as I do everywhere. The Queen knows you were there. But she didn’t know I was. I saw her enter the room that night, Oan. I saw her leave through the tunnel as well.”
Wilt shook his head in disgust. “You can’t believe that she—”
Kloe placed one strong hand over the old man’s mouth. “Listen to me, Oan. What I saw does not make sense. But I do know that no elf was seen. And the pressure put on your death is tremendous.”
Kloe removed his hand, giving Oan a hard look. “I will allow your release, Oan. Leave. Tell no one what we’ve spoke of.”
Voices in the hall startled Kloe Datris, leaving him to stare at the door with expectance. But the voices carried on, fading away. He turned back to the old man and pressed his decision.
“You will be dead before dawn, if you do not leave.”
“Turyn was waiting for a sorcerer,” the old man remembered suddenly. “This may be of use to us. If I could get to him before the Queen…”
Wilt was kept in place by a firm hand from the other. Kloe shook his head again. “You need to leave this city tonight. Whatever business this sorcerer has, I will know. Flee, old man. Go someplace safe, for you are dead here.”
Wilt Oan agreed. “Fair enough. I will go to Estrial and find out what I can. I will see you again, my friend. And thank you.”
Kloe Datris gripped the old man’s hand firmly. “Luck be with you.”
“To us both.”
Kloe Datris motioned for the old man to follow as he guided him out of the room and into the hall, staying in the shadows, avoiding crowds and faces, turning this way and that, until they reached a staircase leading up. After looking to make sure no one was watching, the Head of the Red Knights touched a series of blocks against the wall and a section of the staircase swung wide. A dark passage lay beyond.
“Go quickly.” Kloe Datris began shoving Oan into the corridor. His eyes were intent, his face flush with determination.
Wilt Oan nodded, slipping into the passage out of sight. Wasting no time, Kloe Datris pushed in one block next to the door, and the staircase swung back tight to the wall.
“Now to find the sorcerer.”
Queen Sienna walked into her bed chamber, passing between the four Red Knights stationed at her door, barred the door closed behind her and dropped face-first onto her bed. Her body felt ill; her mind even more-so. She had not eaten nor drank in longer than she could remember. Sleep was out of the question, especially now. All the hours of the day she spent waiting; waiting for actions completed in the dark to be brought to the light; for Turyn’s assassin to be discovered; for the dark-cloaked one she met who promised to bring her son to her. Thinking of the deal she agreed to not only made her sick to her stomach, but also made her anxious every minute of the day.
Her mind was losing the battle for reasoning. At least for now, she knew it.
A warm wind blew into the chamber from the large open windows, but went unnoticed. Just as Sienna, Queen of Cillitran, was drifting into much needed rest, a cold hand embraced the back of her neck. The air turned suddenly unpleasant. She jumped into a sitting position, instantly awake. When she saw the blackness standing before her, she repositioned her body, moving further from it.
“How di
d you get in?” She tried to sound unconcerned, but failed.
Covered in a black cloak, hooded and appearing faceless, the figure hissed back coldly. Its voice was a soft buzzing like a swarm of insects. “You have done what I asked. Very good of you.”
Sienna’s body shivered with every word it spoke, as in all their meetings. She kept her gaze at the other’s chest, away from the faceless cowl, worried at what she might find if something did show.
She swallowed hard. “Have you brought my son? Where is he?”
“Issilix Delsoue?”
The air coming from its mouth was enough for her to gag. “I could not find it. I told you, I’ve never heard of it. I think you—”
“I want that sword!” It shrieked in anger, mouth open, eyes filled with a wicked hatred. It watched the woman slide herself away.
“You promised my son!” she snapped regrettably, then returned to her passive form. “I just want my son. We made a deal.”
“I am altering the deal.”
The words made Sienna’s teeth chatter as she tried to respond. “What do you want with me?”
“You.”
Sienna would have run or screamed for help, but the dark figure gestured towards her and she was held firm. She could feel a grip tighten around her neck, her body instantly nauseated. The figure before her, the one she had killed her husband for, began pressing its body against hers. She was going to die, she knew. It would kill her now. It had never meant to bring Pal Rae to her as promised. She should have known better. She should have told Turyn of their first encounter when the dark stranger offered her the proposition: the king for her son. She should have listened to all the warnings screaming at her from the beginning.
Queen Sienna choked on the pungent air now consuming her. Waves of nausea flowed through her body, entwined with her blood. Something was terribly wrong with her. With her eyes half open, half conscious, she could see the other’s robed arms infusing within her own. It was entering.
What’s happening!
As darkness began to funnel her vision, closing everything in a black wash, Queen Sienna closed her eyes tight, as she had while taking the life of Turyn Andelline.
The spirit of the Mrenx Ku pulsated inside the Queen’s body. Her eyes opened anew, holding for a second the terror that she had left them with. Her body rose from the bed, hunched, functioning like strings were controlling her movements. A smile crept over her face and a deep guttural laugh escaped her once soft lips.
CHAPTER SEVEN