The Barbarian's Bride (15 page)

“At the river? Isn’t that a silly place for two armies to meet?”

“Yes,” Helsa said. “It is a very silly, very dangerous place to meet—for your father’s army. They will have to cross the waters while under attack. Rikiar will surely have burned the bridge to ensure that any who desire to cross must pass through the water. That is dangerous enough outside of combat. Rikiar could not have picked a better place to make his stand. Now hush. We are within hours of the battlefield and there could be runners or enemy scouts. We must move quickly and quietly.”

Aisling obeyed, feeling tension rising in her body as they abandoned their fast march for a stealthy sneaking gait that took them through tall undergrowth where possible. They had been walking for about an hour when a harsh battle-cry erupted near Aisling’s ear. She sprang away from it just in time to avoid the flash of a blade aimed directly at her skull. As she scrambled for cover, Helsa went forward, followed closely by Dalon. They engaged the attacker, only to discover that five more attackers sprang up in his place.

Barely had Aisling pulled her sword from her sheath than she heard another cry. This one was more like a growl. Something large and muscular tore by her, a tall, broad man with flowing dark hair, white teeth bared in a snarl, and narrowed amber eyes that made him look more like a big black cat than a human male as he cut into those who had so foolishly given their position away.

Aisling stood in awe as Rikiar’s muscular frame moved in arcs of death, his blade cleaving body from soul over and over until none remained to challenge him. His enemies dispatched, Rikiar turned on his allies.

“My scouts warned you were coming,” he snarled at Helsa. “I told you to stay at Ravenblack. I told you to keep Aisling there.”

For a second, Aisling thought Rikiar was going to strike Helsa down where she stood. She did what she could to save the warrior woman; she put her arms around Rikiar’s waist and hugged him as tightly as she could.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I had to come. We had to come.”

He looked down at her and a little of his anger faded, but only a little.

“Come,” he said. “Standing out here will only get us attacked again.”

Aisling was shocked when they reached the camp. It was set up on the banks of the river on the grasslands, rows upon rows of hide tents forming a temporary village. But it was no village any sane person would ever want to live in. The river was running red with the blood of the king’s men and some of the Ravenblacks as well. The riverside rocks were stained red. Corpses had floated downstream, some stuck in roots and branches, bobbing bloated carcasses a dark reminder of what was at stake. Aisling looked upon the horror and felt a despair so deep she knew she would never be the same.

There was no fighting taking place at the time. The two sides had retreated for the moment, each to their own side of the river. There they made camp, ate food, tended to their wounded, and made preparations for yet another clash. The peace was fraught with a tension so great that not a bird sang; even the sun retreated behind a veil of dark clouds, preferring not to show his face on such a black day.

“Aisling,” Rikiar sighed deeply. “Why did you come here? It is not safe.”

“I came here,” Aisling said bravely, “because I wish to be married to you. And that will never happen if my father is not stopped. We will not have a moment’s peace until he loses all hope of reclaiming me. I will show him that I am prepared to die in order to be your bride.”

“You are bold and you are brave, but many have died already,” Rikiar growled. “You will not be one of them.”

“I would rather be cut down here than see our people die. I would rather die than return to that tower and be my father’s pawn. This is my battle. You cannot fight it for me.”

“She’s right,” Merla said, making an inevitable appearance. The small, dark figure of the witch approached. She alone seemed at home amongst blood and bodies. Places of decay suited her. “If this battle is to be won, only a princess can win it. I will brew her a tea to keep her safe.”

“Tea does not keep anyone safe,” Rikiar snorted.

“Just because you do not share this belief does not make it any less true,” Merla replied. “Aisling has chosen her path. Respect it, or we all die.”

“It is my duty to protect her. I will do it with my last breath,” Rikiar growled.

“You cannot keep a butterfly safe by closing your palm about it. You cannot save a fish by putting it in a net…”

“What is your point, mother?”

“Aisling has come here because she understands more than you what must be done. You and this king would trade blows until you were surrounded by the dead and still nothing would change. You could fight for your lifetime and your progeny’s lifetimes and never see the end of war.”

“Take Aisling home,” Rikiar instructed Helsa and Dalon, ignoring his mother’s words. “If I find you have disobeyed me, I will have you all whipped to within an inch of your lives. I promise you that.” He spoke with such forcefulness that Aisling quite believed he would do it.

Defeated, Helsa’s little party turned back. There was no further challenging of Rikiar’s decision. What challenge could there be with the stench of death all around? Aisling was in immediate danger, and her presence was an unwanted distraction.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Aisling murmured the question as they made their retreat.

“Very,” Helsa agreed. “This battle could go on until both sides have dwindled to but one man shouting across the bodies of his comrades.”

“And where are you going?” Merla stepped out from behind a thicket of bushes. She held a steaming mug in her hand, and wore a dark expression on her face.

“We are retreating as Rikiar ordered,” Helsa informed her.

“Do not mind Rikiar,” Merla replied. “Rikiar does not know what he is ordering. He chooses the wrong path each and every time simply because he fancies it allows him to shoulder the burden and the danger. Men can be very short-sighted that way.”

“What would you have us do?” Helsa asked the question.

“You? Nothing,” Merla said. “I would have Aisling drink this brew and sit for a while.”

Aisling was somewhat wary. She had heard tales of witches and their potions. Princesses never seemed to fare all that well from drinking them. However, she did not have any other option, besides returning to Ravenblack Village and waiting to hear if Rikiar had lived or died alone out there on the river bank.

“I will drink it,” she said, extending her hands toward the witch.

Merla watched, her eyes narrowed with satisfaction as Aisling tasted the brew. It was foul. It smelled of dirt and fungus, but she forced it down her throat as best she could.

“Brave girl,” Merla said. “Now sit.”

“Sit and wait? How will that help?”

“Hush, Helsa,” Merla scolded. “Your job is done. Now it is Aisling’s turn.”

Aisling sat down on the ground as she had been bade. At first, nothing happened. Minutes ticked by and she felt much the same as she had before the tea, aside from a churning in her stomach that made her feel very nauseous.

Little by little though, things started to change. The light changed first. It grew brighter. She looked around the forest gloom and saw much more than had been there before. There were little traces of brilliance dancing at the corners of her vision. Each and every leaf on each and every bush stood out as an individual, and between the leaves she could sense the little lives that depended upon the foliage. Even the soil seemed to pulse beneath her, each blade of grass performing a beautiful swaying dance for her eyes alone. There was not a speck around her that was not infused with the same wonderful force that filled Aisling herself. She no longer felt like something separate from the world, a woman walking upon the earth; she felt as though she had truly sprung from it, was still of it. She was it and it was she and there could be no fear of death or pain when one was the earth and the sky and the stars and the rabbit and the fox and the sparrow singing on high and the…

“Aisling,” Merla said softly. “What is it you see?”

“I see more,” Aisling murmured, quite astonished. “I see everything.”

“Yes,” Merla purred. “And you will see even more ere the end.”

Aisling did not know what the witch meant, but it did not matter, for she was being filled with a new sensation, a sort of fizzing. Somewhere in the distance, something was trying to communicate with her. She could sense it, but not see it, or hear it, or touch it; it was something that came down and filled her mind and her belly. It made her lips curl up in a smile.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes. I know what to do.”

She rose from the ground and turned back toward the battleground. Helsa tried to stop her, but Merla would not allow it. Their argument faded into the darkness as Aisling took to her heels, running to the fray as fast as her feet could carry her. She felt as though she were flying, her feet barely touching the ground as she passed over it. As she ran, she shed her clothing. It did not feel right or natural to be dressed. The leather constricted her, made movement more difficult, so she shed it all until she was as naked as the day was long.

Later men would tell tales of how the princess had come running through the camp and thrown herself toward the river. They would say how it looked as though she might trip, but then she danced across each of the larger stones that rose above the waters and positioned herself at the very center of the rushing water.

The king spotted her from his side of the river and came down on horseback. Aisling did not recognize him, but she could tell he was the king for he wore a crown, which gleamed boldly atop his graying head. He was a dull spot amongst riotous life, a graying ghost of times gone by. For all his mercenaries and all his men, he was weak.

“Aisling!” The old man called out to her. “Come hither! You are saved!”

“Nay! I have chosen my home and my king! I choose Rikiar Ravenblack! I am his bride!” Aisling shouted her love to the king and all those who would listen. Both camps stopped their war preparations in order to stare at the naked princess perched precariously above certain doom.

“You do not know what you choose, foolish child.”

“The first man to me will see that I know precisely what I choose!”

Aisling stood with the barbarians at her back, soldiers to her front, alone but for the protection of Merla. She could feel the tea coursing through her veins, whispering to her with curious power. It took away the fear she naturally felt and replaced it with pure courage. She saw the landscape not as rocks and trees and bushes, but as a single entity flowering all around her. Life compounded by life, a buzzing glowing profusion of the most glorious creation, and she at the center of it, absorbing its light.

“Go get the foolish girl,” the king ordered. Three men started forward across the river. Behind her, Aisling felt Rikiar respond. He rushed forward as they did. He had no intention of letting her be captured.

Aisling let out a blood-curdling scream and spread her arms and her legs, displaying herself to all. “I am Aisling, daughter of the day, child of the night. I am filled with the barbarian’s seed. His progeny will flow from my loins like this river.”

The king’s jaw dropped wide open as he stared at the bold figure of his daughter. If he had imagined he would reclaim her with purity intact, the display dashed all hopes. She was not the princess who had once sat dutifully in the tower; she was a different woman altogether, a wild woman who bared breasts and bush without shame. She could not have been more terrifyingly feral if she had transformed into an actual beast before his eyes. His shock and dismay did not last long, for he was a decisive man. “You have been corrupted,” he declared in a bold shout. “From this day you are not of my clan. From this day you are banished.”

“It is I who will banish you, father,” Aisling cried, putting her hand on her naked belly. “In my womb grows the child who will one day sit on your throne. It is written in the stars. It is sung by the sparrows. It is as sure as the sun’s rise and fall…”

A heavy cloak fell about her shoulders. Rikiar covered her and swept her up into his arms, which felt so wonderful Aisling did not protest. She allowed herself to be carried back over the water, thrown over his shoulder so that her head dangled toward the rushing burbling spray that sung to her like a choir of angels, filling her ears with such joy that she could not help but laugh and laugh.

“Attack! Kill the barbarian!”

The king shouted the order seemingly on impulse. It was a foolish cry and a weak one. His army was not inclined to go dashing into the waters and be swept away; they had been unnerved by Aisling’s boldly defiant display, which had most certainly undermined the king’s authority, and the sudden appearance of a flock of black ravens rushing from the forest in a dark cloud of beating wings and screaming squawks further weakened their resolve.

The soldiers were superstitious men, and the dense flock which itself seemed to take the form of a raven, then a face, then a raven again terrified them as it cast a terrible wheeling shadow over their camp.

It was a resounding defeat not of flesh, but of morale. The king’s men had long lost their nerve against the barbarians, for Rikiar and his men fought with the fury of gods. With the elements themselves turning against them, the hostile river, the swooping ravens that took great offense to their eyes and seemed determined to peck them out, and finally the wild princess who escaped Rikiar’s grasp to dance across the waters and shout words of triumph before being caught by the barbarian once more.

The king’s army was in disarray and soon scattered in panic, leaving the king with no choice but to withdraw. For want of a princess, all was lost.

Rikiar and his still squirming bride were met on the shore by Merla and Berner and Helsa and the entire Ravenblack army. The archers held their bows drawn in case of further attack, but as the king’s camp thinned, the overall mood lifted. Bloodlust began to drain from the faces and bodies of the men who had spent days at war. There were smiles where there had been snarls. There was laughter where harsh cries of war had emanated, and in the sky above the clouds parted to allow a few rays of sunshine to peek through.