The Queen (14 page)

*****

Several hours had passed while they rode,
watching helplessly from a distance, hoping they would make it in
time to defend the castle. The horses were nearly spent by the time
they traveled the long distance up the rolling hills to within site
of the battle, raging at the feet of the castle.

When Baylin reached the top of the last hill
before the mountain, he could see the extent of the damage. The
catapults launched large boulders covered in oil and lit to flame.
The boulders broke great chunks of rock out of the protective
mountainside, while the oil and flame caught on anything they
could. Several shots were aimed high enough to reach two of the
balconies sticking out from the mountain castle. Both broke off and
fire raged inside.

Another fireball was launched through the
air, hitting the main gate and demolishing the metal portcullis
that had been secured over the large stone door.

“No!” cried Baylin, unable to contain his
sorrow and anger.

“We must engage, Your Grace,” called General
Derwen.

“Formations, re-form the lines!” Baylin
called, drawing his sword.

Baylin sat restless, his body throbbing with
fear and anxiety. The horses whinnied and snorted as their masters
turned and wheeled them into position, preparing for the attack. He
knew the King would be mustering the remaining soldiers and guards
within the castle to defend their people.
But it will not be
enough. They will be slaughtered.

“Derwen take the right flank, Cormag the
left!” Baylin commanded, riding up and down the tightly formed line
of soldiers. “Bring down those catapults! We mustn’t let them break
the defenses and enter the castle!”

The horses pawed at the ground, biting down
on their bits, pulling impatiently. Baylin rode to the center of
the line. “Go forward!”

The ground trembled as the massive army of
men and horses washed over the land like a tidal wave. The armies
of Mirstone and Kardell turned, re-forming their lines to brace for
the attack. They made efforts to reset their catapults on Baylin
and his men, but the contraptions were heavy and slow to move and
Baylin’s mighty host was coming upon them quickly.

The armies met in a deafening sound of
crushed metal, horse whinnies and guttural screams. The enemy
surged forward, but Grasmere’s army was vast and had the high
ground.

Baylin wielded his sword as though it were a
part of his body, taking great strokes and striking down soldier
after soldier. Men screamed as their lives were brought to an end
at the end of sword or axe. Though the Mirstone army was still
strong, the men were scattered and not united in their attempt to
best the men of Grasmere.

The Prince and his men pushed forward to the
castle. “Make safe the castle! Defend your King!”

As he urged his horse on, Baylin felt a
swift cold wind blow over the land. The ground quaked and the air
was filled with a sound so terrifying, the gods themselves would
have trembled. Like a terrible roll of thunder, the night sky was
filled with the sound of roars and bellows.

The Prince searched the darkness in the
distance, but the waning moon provided no help. It was as though a
stampede of dragons was descending upon them, hidden behind a cloak
of invisibility and magic.

Baylin’s stead reared, startled by the
coming malice, throwing Baylin to the ground and tearing off into
the night.

The Prince righted himself, striking down
the few enemy soldiers who were in his proximity. He watched the
west as the sound grew louder.

He gripped his sword. “Be watchful,
men!”

A single moment before the attack came, the
veil of magic was lifted. Charging from the side, the troll army
hurled themselves upon Baylin’s men. The crash and clamor of the
assault filled the Prince’s ears to the point of ringing as he
fought back against the deadly force.

Baylin and his men grew weary as they fought
enemies on both sides. Grasmere blue lay dead beside Mirstone red
and Kardell gold. Trolls littered the ground, spilling brackish
brown blood from their wounds.

Two men from Mirstone and one from Kardell
closed in on Baylin as he fought for his life. He struck down the
Kardell soldier, turning on his heel and kicked out the knee of one
of the Mirstone men. The soldier fell to the ground with a great
scream of pain as his broken leg gave way beneath him. The Prince
turned his sights on the other soldier when, over the man’s
shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a hooded figure shrouded in a deep
purple light.

The distraction gave the Mirstone soldier
the opening to swing. Baylin lurched back, narrowly escaping the
sword’s sharpened blade tip from cutting across his throat. The
Prince spun on his heel and brought his sword down, severing the
man’s head.

Baylin fought his way through the mob,
attempting to gain distance on the hooded figure. However, with
each swing of his sword, it seemed more men and trolls
materialized. The Grasmere army was pushed back from every
direction. They were surrounded.

“Your Grace, you must get to safety!”
General Derwen shouted, fighting back a troll.

“Do not give up hope!” Baylin called.

“Hope,” a shrill voice cackled, amplified
far over the noise of the battle. “There is no hope for you, Prince
of Grasmere.”

Suddenly the troll horde and enemy soldiers
slackened their attack, parting like the sea to give Baylin a view
of the hooded figure.

“You and your men will die,” she hissed. “I
have seen it.”

“The only one dying today is you!” shouted a
soldier as he loosed an arrow from his bow. The shot was true,
aimed straight for the witch’s head. However, in a blink of an eye,
the arrow turned, flying back at its master, piercing him straight
through the heart.

“No!” Baylin cried.

The air erupted in laughs and taunts from
the enemy as the soldier fell to the ground, the life draining from
his eyes.

“You will not win this fight,” the sorceress
rasped.

“Why stop the battle then?” Baylin shouted.
“Why not let them finish us?”

“Because that honor belongs to me,” said a
sly faceless voice. “My dear nephew.”

The moon had gone behind the mountains as
morning crept closer. The sky was pitch black, but for the torches
that had been lit. Baylin scanned the enemy that surrounded them,
searching for his uncle’s vile face. “Where are you, you coward?
Show yourself!”

“Happily,” Cadman said.

The sorceress waved her hand, dropping the
magic that masked Cadman to Baylin’s eyes.

The sight made the Prince clench his teeth.
“So you move against us with the help of a sorceress? Do you really
have no honor?”

“I need not honor nor humility,” Cadman
laughed dryly. “All I need is for you to get out of my way for
good.”

As Cadman pulled his sword, several Mirstone
soldiers grabbed Baylin, knocking him to the ground, while the rest
of the enemy kept the Grasmere force at bay. The Prince fought with
all his might, but the men dragged Baylin to kneel in from of his
uncle. The men stripped Baylin of his armor, tearing his tunic to
reveal his chest.

“You snake. You vile worm!” cried Baylin.
“There will be no peace for you for all eternity. There is a
special place for evil like you in the afterlife.”

“Well then,” Cadman laughed, placing the tip
of his sword on Baylin’s chest, “I will see you when I get
there.”

Baylin took a deep breath, bracing for the
death that would come. He thought of Luana holding his son. He
wanted to remember their faces for eternity. Lord Cadman heaved
back his sword to plunge it through the Prince’s chest, but the
impact never came. Instead, Baylin heard the faint whistle of an
arrow as it cut through the air. It met its mark by slicing through
his uncle’s sword hand.

Cadman screamed out in pain, dropping his
sword and grabbing his injured hand.

Baylin turned to see Ferric, bow in hand,
standing to the west. Beside him stood Luana, dressed in a grey
hooded cloak. The very air around them both seemed to ripple with
white light.

“The mix-breed and the devoted soldier,” the
dark sorceress hissed at the sight of the pair. “No matter, you
alone will not balance the scales.”

“They are not alone,” said a soft, sweet
voice that filled the air.

A cool fog floated from behind Luana and
Ferric, falling over the battleground. A pale blue light began to
grow over the dark battlefield, giving a strange iridescent glow to
the silvery fog.

The enemy soldiers and the trolls became
anxious and fidgety as they held their ground.

“What is this?” cried one of the Kardell
men.

“You said you alone had such powers!” cried
another.

Trolls grunted and roared. Whether out of
fear or the sorceress’s waning control over them, Baylin did not
know. They stamped their feet and bumped into each other dumbly.
They began to slowly back away from the battlefield, away from the
fog that encircled them.

Out of the fog, two figures stepped up
beside Luana and Ferric.

“Rydel. Faylen,” the hooded sorceress
spat.

King Rydel placed his hand over his heart
and bowed his head. “Greetings, Mother.”

“Mother?” shouted Cadman through clenched
teeth, nursing his bleeding hand. The news seemed to be a surprise
even to him.

“Silence!” commanded the sorceress, throwing
up her hand at Cadman.

“Your reign of terror ends today, Syndra. Or
should I call you Isla?” Luana called out, her heart pounding in
her chest. Ferric stood protectively in front of her.

The air filled with the familiar cackling
laugh as the sorceress pulled back her black fur hood to reveal her
face. “So the little bed wife thinks she’s figured it out.” Just
the very sight of Isla caused Luana to grimace.

“How can this be?” Baylin said, getting to
his feet. “I have known you most of your life. You were—”

“Easily manipulated!” Syndra roared. “Your
sweet Isla couldn’t help but comfort an old injured woman whom she
found on the edge of Fagin Forest last year. She made it easy to
kill her and take her place.” The sorceress’s appearance, which was
once that of Princess Isla, began to change—melting and moving like
hot metal under the flesh until she looked like a sweet old
woman.

The men of all armies drew in gasps and
stood shocked.

She killed her. The woman I thought I
hated never even existed… not really.
Luana felt a twinge of
guilt. She had never even known the real Princess Isla.
What if
she was a good person like Baylin remembers? I wonder if her
parents even noticed she was not the same girl they knew.

“You’re not Isla?” Cadman bellowed, brow
furrowed. “But we were to marry! We were to rule Grasmere.”

“You were a means to an end,” Syndra boomed,
throwing up a hand that cast a magical blast, sending the man
flying through the air fifteen yards into a group of Kardell
soldiers.

The troll army erupted in noise—growls and
snorts, the sound of stamping feet and their crude weapons slamming
into the hard ground. They charged both the Kardell and Mirstone
armies as well as the Grasmere army.

Out of the darkness from the west sounded a
horn. Like graceful apparitions, an army of elves swept from the
shadows and engaged Grasmere’s enemy. Their gold metal armor shined
in the light of the flames; their pale skin and hair gave them an
ethereal appearance. They fought with skill and precision, striking
down the enemy and balancing the tables for Grasmere.

The battle began to rage, frothing like the
sea during a storm. Bodies piled up. Men, elves and trolls
alike.

“Re-form the lines!” Baylin called. “Stay
together, men!”

Syndra aimed her hands at Baylin, black
power pooling in their palms. “And once I have your line out of the
way, Grasmere will be mine!”

“No!” Ferric called out, drawing his sword,
charging the sorceress.

“Ferric, no!” Luana and Baylin called out in
unison.

Syndra threw out a large cloud of power,
lifting Ferric high into the air.

Without thinking, Luana lifted her hands and
reached out to Ferric with her magic, nestling him in a protective
cocoon of power just as the sorceress released him, throwing him
hard into the ground.

“No!” Baylin cried, trying to fight his way
through the battle to his friend’s limp body.

Luana slowly released her hold on Ferric and
saw him sit up with Baylin’s help.
He’s alive. It worked.
Relief flooded her.

“Mother, this is over,” King Rydel
commanded. “You were banished from these lands. By all rights I
should kill you.”

“Rydel, my son, you would not kill your
mother.” Syndra threw off her fur cape and her appearance, again,
began to move and mold. When it finished, Luana found it hard to
look at the beauty that stood before her.

Syndra appeared as though the moon goddess
herself stood on earth for all to see. Her porcelain skin and
pearlescent white hair gleamed, creating a soft halo around her.
Her eyes were like two pools of molten silver. She wore a sheer
fitted crimson gown that dragged the ground with a silver metal
breastplate across her torso.

“You know as well as I that this is no
longer your true form,” Rydel said sadly. “You have allowed your
lust for power to turn your heart dark.”

“The mother that bore this face loved her
children,” Faylen whispered.

“I do love you, my dear child,” Syndra said,
arms open as she stepped closer to the pair.

Even though Luana knew Faylen and Rydel were
aware of the sorceress’s manipulations, she could see them waver in
their resolve. She could even understand it.
They want the
mother they remember. They want to believe the lie.