by Edward Cox
The Bone Shaker shook her head in bemusement. She raised her hand, summoning the dark magic that would destroy Vladisal.
A cry from above stopped her.
Shadows descended from the sky. More cries came. At first, Vladisal couldn’t see past the glare of the sun, but she quickly realised that the shadows were birds, hawks of gigantic size, and they came one after the other, too many to count. Warriors rode on the backs of the hawks, armed with spears and bows, swooping down upon the lair. It took Vladisal a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. A surge of hope filled her.
“The Ulyyn.”
Dun-Wyrd’s gaunt face creased with rage. She turned from Vladisal and approached the Melding Arc. Elander and the Ulyyn boy were suffused with an emerald glow.
The feeling returned to Vladisal’s limbs. She jumped to her feet and retrieved her sword, ducking as a giant hawked low dived over the mausoleum. A woman sat behind the diminutive Ulyyn rider, a woman in armour that glinted in the sunlight. Vladisal’s spirits soared.
“Redheart!”
The Ulyyn jumped from the hawk’s back as it passed over the roof. Magic crackled and snapped as she passed through whatever barrier had been cast over the mausoleum. She landed gracefully, and the hawk carried Redheart away.
A host of warriors jumped from the backs of giant birds, landing down in the courtyard, and an army of Forest Dwellers joined the fight against the tree-demons.
The Ulyyn woman crouched, her hands pressed flat to the roof. Her hair styled into a topknot, a red and gold torc around her neck, she carried no weapon but the look she aimed at the Bone Shaker was filled with a tempest.
Dun-Wyrd summon her magic. The Ulyyn summoned hers.
She spoke in a quick tongue, clicks and grunts that didn’t sound like language. Dun-Wyrd, her face panicked, chanted silently, her bony fingers weaving intricate symbols in the air.
Elander and the boy shook in the coils of the Melding Arc’s tentacles. The spell was rising, its colour darkening.
The voice of the Ulyyn woman rose in volume.
A tremor shook the mausoleum. Vladisal staggered, and so did Dun-Wyrd.
Clearly struggling to combat her adversary’s magic, the Bone Shaker couldn’t prevent cracks appearing in the roof. The ground shook. The mausoleum groaned. Mighty roots, as thick as arms, slithered out from the ever widening cracks. They shot up into the air, swaying and writhing like the tentacles of some great beast risen from the depths of the hells. As one, they reached for Dun-Wyrd.
She met the attack with surprising agility for one so bent and withered. Fire blazed from her quick hands, reducing serpentine root after serpentine root to ash. But more came, rising from the cracks in the roof. Tremors continued to shake the ground, and Dun-Wyrd did not realise that her barrier had been weakened.
The crossbow bolt began turning in the air, drilling its way forward, faster and faster.
The Ulyyn woman sent a root to stab at the Melding Arc. Wood burned and smoked. The spell paled a little.
While Dun-Wyrd was occupied by her serpentine foes, the bolt drilled free of the barrier. Trailing dark vapour, its silver head spinning and shining, the bolt veered, changing direction, and struck Dun-Wyrd in the back.
Her scream was wild, full of dark secrets.
She twisted and turned, desperately trying to reach the sharp blade drilling into her flesh. The remaining roots rose vertically, and slithered down through the cracks, as though fleeing whatever foul magic had beset the Bone Shaker.
The Ulyyn woman rushed to the Melding Arc.
Vladisal remembered the sword in her hand. She strode towards Dun-Wyrd with deadly intent. The Bone Shaker saw her coming and a hissed a curse between her wails. Blood ran down her legs, pooling beneath her feet, spraying as she twisted and turned.
Vladisal raised her sword.
Dun-Wyrd choked on a single word that might have been “No,” before she fell, thrashing wildly as black fire engulfed her. The dark flames flared. Vladisal stepped back, turning away from a wash of intense heat that reduced the Bone Shaker to a smouldering pile of blood-coloured ash.
Even as a victory cry rose from the courtyard; even as Vladisal acknowledge that the tree-demons were as dead as their master, she was rushing to Elander’s side.
The Ulyyn woman had destroyed the Melding Arc. The spell had vanished, its stone body broken into grey pieces. Elander lay still, and Vladisal gathered him into her arms.
His eyelids fluttered open, and it took him a moment to recognise the face of his champion. “Vlad,” he croaked. “I knew you’d come…” And Elander fell unconscious once more.
Vladisal looked to the woman whose help had saved the day. She was cradling the Ulyyn boy’s head, gently rocking back and forth as she spoke to him in soft clicks and sighs.
Twenty-Five
Women of Honour
In the glade outside the crumbling lair of the Bone Shaker, the knights of Boska congregated beneath a blanket of grey clouds. Giant hawks circled overhead, some with Ulyyn warriors riding on their backs. Although the sun was hidden, the rains had not returned, the air was warm, and the mood was jubilant.
“By the Mother, you like to cut things fine!” Üban shouted as Redheart joined the company. There was a clash of armour as she pulled her sister into a mighty bear hug. “I’ll admit, lass, you had me worried there for a moment.”
Redheart laughed. Vladisal shared a grin with Luca.
Dun-Wyrd was dead. Elander was saved.
Ten Boskan women had survived – eleven now Redheart had returned. They stood as a group, celebrating the return of their sister, too euphoric at winning the day to yet mourn those who had fallen in battle; too surprised and relieved to yet acknowledge that they had just been saved by a mythical race who many believed to be extinct.
Redheart had brought at least three score Ulyyn to the battle. Most of the small warriors had remained on the ground, carrying spears and wearing wooden armour. They kept their distance from the knights, watching the celebrations as though witnessing a curious tradition of some unknown species.
Vladisal had not yet spoken to the Ulyyn woman who had changed the tide of the battle. But she had witnessed more of her spells. Calling upon the magic of the Great Forest, she had erected a tent, of a kind. It had risen like a grassy knoll from the very floor on the far side of the glade, next to the tree line. A dark, inverted ‘V’ served as an entranceway, and inside healers tended to Elander and the Ulyyn boy.
Soon the company would be escorting Elander home to his mother.
As for Abildan, the feliwyrd had not been found among the dead, and no one had seen her. Vladisal wished she had had the chance to thank the cat-like assassin.
“Well, my captain,” Redheart said as she escaped Üban’s clutches and bowed to Vladisal. “The day is ours.”
“Welcome back, old friend.” Vladisal clapped Redheart’s shoulder, noticing the line of a fresh wound on her face. “I think we had all lost faith that the leaf talisman could help us.”
“That thing?” Redheart gave a snort. “Trust me, the talisman isn’t worth the wood it’s carved from. Not in my hands.”
Vladisal frowned.
“There’s something you should know, Vlad…”
Redheart trailed off as the gathering of Ulyyn warriors stirred and parted. The woman with the red and gold torc emerged and approached the company, flanked by two armed guards.
Redheart dropped her voice to a whisper. “Her name is Amyya. She is Queen of Uljah.”
Amyya… Vladisal remembered the tale that Abildan had told the previous night. The tale of the Ulyyn princess who she had intended to assassinate but had saved instead.
“The boy who was with Elander,” Redheart continued. “His name is Kyjah. He’s Amyya’s son, a prince of the Ulyyn.”
Vladisal stepped ahead of her women to meet Amyya with a bow. The other knights followed their captain’s lead.
“Your Majesty,” Vladisal said. “We offer you
our eternal gratitude. Without your help we would have surely perished.”
Queen Amyya seemed pleased with the knight’s respect, but she did not reply. Instead, she called Redheart forward and addressed her in the Ulyyn tongue. Redheart nodded as if understanding every click and grunt, and then accepted from the queen a little stone of yellow glass.
“Put this in your ear,” she said, smiling at her captain’s hesitance. “Trust me, my friend.”
When Vladisal did as Redheart asked, Amyya spoke again and her words vibrated the stone as if a bee had been trapped in Vladisal ear. She resisted the urge to dig it out and marvelled as the queen’s language became a soft, intelligible voice in her mind.
“Your gratitude is well received, Sir Vladisal. As is the chivalry of your knight.” She referred pointedly to Redheart. “Elander is strong. He is healed enough to travel home.”
“A thousand thanks,” Vladisal said, a smile coming unbidden to her face. “House Mayland is truly in your debt.”
Amyya drew herself up. “Do not be so quick to say so.” Her small face was stern. “At this moment, you and your knights are free to return with Elander to your lands. I urge you to do so. Now.”
To return home was exactly what Vladisal wanted, what all the knights wanted, but Amyya spoke as though she was irritated, offended.
“Leave the Great Forest and never think of the feliwyrd again,” Amyya added.
“Feliwyrd?” Vladisal looked at Redheart.
“The Ulyyn have Abildan in custody,” Redheart explained. “She wants to talk to you, but-”
“That monster is not your responsibility, Sir Vladisal.” Amyya regarded her own people, her tawny eyes giving nothing away. “Abildan has much to say for herself, but I will not consider her words until we have taken her back to Uljah. Unless… unless your honour demands that she is heard now.”
Vladisal felt the eyes of her knights upon her back. She looked at Redheart, who shrugged, seemingly perplexed.
“Without Abildan, we would not have come very far,” Vladisal said uncertainly. “She also deserves our thanks.”
“She deserves nothing of the kind,” Amyya said, face stony. “I urge you to forget about the feliwyrd.”
“With respect, your highness… Elander and your son – they would be dead if not for Abildan. I could not return to Mayland with my honour intact unless my gratitude had been extended to her.”
Amyya looked at her guards, at the Ulyyn crowded behind her. They watched their queen silently, expectantly, their small faces full of judgement.
“Very well,” Amyya said, resigned, disappointed. “Walk with me, Sir Vladisal. Sir Redheart may accompany you.”
She strode off with her guards. The Ulyyn parted to let them through.
Luca stepped up to Vladisal, concerned. “What’s this about Abildan?”
“We couldn’t understand a bloody word she said,” Üban growled.
“I…” Vladisal faltered, aware that the rest of her knights were looking at their captain. Their joy had become tinged with confusion. “Stay with the women,” she told Üban and Luca. “Ready them for the journey ahead. Redheart and I will return shortly.”
With Redheart beside her, Vladisal followed Amyya through the crowd of Ulyyn, ignoring the many stern gazes aimed her way.
“What’s going on?” she asked her friend. “I believed Abildan was well and truly on her way back to Mya-Siad.”
“I don’t really understand it myself,” Redheart admitted. “These are strange folk, Vlad, and their ways are hard to fathom. Amyya is the Queen of Uljah, but she does not rule the Ulyyn. She has defied her people to rescue her son. This army is her personal guard, loyal to her, but they are not happy that their queen has led them from their lands.”
“Abildan told me that she once saved Amyya’s life?”
“Yes, that’s true.” Redheart sighed, casting furtive glances at the Ulyyn. “But it’s complicated. The leaf talisman isn’t what we thought it was. It belongs to Abildan and no one else. But to use it carries a heavy price. Abildan is both a hero and an enemy, and the talisman cannot be used by anyone but her.”
Vladisal pursed her lips. “Then Amyya only came because of her son?”
Redheart nodded. “The Ulyyn way is not our way. Remember that, Vlad.”
The two knights cleared the crowd and caught up with Amyya and her guards close to the knoll-like tent, in which Elander received healing. For a moment, Vladisal’s spirits soared, suspecting this to be the moment when the boy she had championed since his infancy would be returned to her. But, instead, Amyya called out an order: “Bring her!”
Two Ulyyn warriors appeared from around the tent, ushering forward a prisoner at spear point.
Abildan expressed utter dispassion as she was brought before the queen and the knights. Her wrists were tightly bound by vine rope, and she held in her hands the leaf talisman.
“Sir Vladisal. Sir Redheart.” Abildan’s yellow eyes turned to Amyya and a smirk appeared on her face. “Queen Amyya. I hear that Prince Kyjah is well and already flying back to Uljah.”
“Spare me your mockery and show respect, monster,” Amyya snarled. “Or I’ll have the tongue cut from your mouth.”
The four guards bristled, willing to do more than that with their spears.
Abildan bowed her head, turning the wooden leaf over in her hands as though marvelling at its intricate design. “Curious, isn’t it? The talisman granted Sir Redheart no favour from the Ulyyn, yet still they came.” She frowned at Vladisal. “Was it then luck that saved the day? Or fate? Did the Wyrd of Mya-Siad foresee everything that has occurred here?”
Vladisal didn’t know how to reply at first. There was an air of defeat around the feliwyrd, perhaps resigned to whatever the Ulyyn had in store for her.
“Our alliance has always been troubled,” Vladisal said. “There is much trickery in you, Abildan, but, whether by luck or fate, we have all benefitted from your help. And I thank you for that.”
Abildan nodded appreciatively, proudly. “You see, your majesty,” she said to Amyya. “My actions have favoured both your houses.”
“Do not speak to me of favours,” the queen said. “I should let these knights strike you down where you stand!”
“But you won’t.” Abildan held up the leaf talisman. “Because the Spirits of the Forest demand otherwise.”
Redheart appeared as nonplussed by the exchange as Vladisal. Loaded, undecipherable meanings passed between the queen and the feliwyrd. Clearly, Amyya wanted dark justice for Abildan’s crimes, and yet… did Vladisal have some say in the assassin’s fate?
She said, “I don’t understand your ways-”
“Nor is it your place to,” Amyya snapped. “So be careful with your words, Sir Vladisal.”
“A little late for that,” Abildan said, slipping into the Ulyyn language. “The queen has broken enough of Uljah’s laws, I think.” She looked at the warriors guarding her, making sure they understood. “She will not anger the Spirits of the Forest further.”
The warriors looked to their queen.
Amyya seethed. She drew a breath. Huffed. Seemed reluctant.
“Sir Vladisal.” Her voice was quiet, tremulous in the knight’s mind. “The feliwyrd claims that she willingly placed herself in mortal danger to save your life. Is this true?”
“Yes. Twice. Undoubtedly, I wouldn’t be standing here if not for Abildan.”
“Then you acknowledge that you owe this unworthy abomination a debt of life?”
Vladisal faltered, looked at Redheart, and shrugged. “I do.” It was the simple truth.
“Tricks within tricks,” Amyya muttered angrily, looking at the ground. “You are free to ask your favour of me, monster.”
Triumph came to Abildan’s face. “May the Spirits of the Forest be my witness.” She lifted the talisman higher, like a trophy. “I call upon the laws of the Ulyyn to recognise my rights. And I demand to be granted this favour.”
Abildan’s y
ellow eyes bore into Vladisal. “The debt of life owed to me by Sir Vladisal of House Mayland has been acknowledged. I claim payment. I pass on to her my every crime against Uljah. From this moment, let them be her burden.”
A frozen moment.
“What?” said Redheart.
Abildan revealed her canines. “This is the favour that Uljah owes me.”
A tear came to Amyya’s eye. “The Spirits of the Forest bear witness. So be it.”
“Wait,” said Vladisal.
But it was too late. The air crackled with magic. The leaf talisman burst into quick flame in Abildan’s hands. In an instant, it had been reduced to fine ash that drift away on the forest breeze like a patch of mist. The bonds fell from her wrists.
“Uljah’s debt is paid,” Amyya said.
Vladisal and Redheart looked at each other in shock, and then at Abildan.
The feliwyrd’s smile was cruel. “Üban warned you not to trust me.”
“Abildan is free,” Amyya told the four warriors. “Secure Sir Vladisal.”
Vladisal froze as they leapt forward and two sharp spearheads rested against her throat. Redheart raised her hands as the weapons of the other two warriors steered her away from her captain.
Amyya bellowed a second order across the glade. “Guard the women of Boska!”
“No!” Redheart shouted, but the blades at her throat prevented her from drawing her sword. “Vlad!”
“Be still, Redheart,” Vladisal said, as she was urged down to her knees. Her sword was taken and her hands were bound behind her back.
Amyya stood over her, sadness in her eyes, but said nothing as giant hawks cried out and began landing in the glade. The army of Ulyyn had surrounded the small company of knights, spears levelled, too many to fight. But Old Üban shouted a command anyway. She and Luca drew their swords, inspiring others to do the same.
“For the sake of your women, I beg that you do not resist,” Amyya said, her tone as hard as steel. “This burden is yours alone and your knights may still return home. Tell them, Sir Vladisal. Tell them now or theirs and Elander’s blood will be spilled.”
