by Jaxon Reed
And to Stin’s eyes, he suspected Greystone had also cast a spell on the weapons themselves. Normally at least two stones in weight, the women and children hefted the crossbows as if they were fishing rods.
“That might be a good place for you too, Kirt.”
“Where are you going to go?”
It was a good question. Stin raised his eyebrows, considering it.
“I’m good at upfront fighting, too. Knives and fisticuffs, that sort of thing. I think I’ll grab a halberd and go fight with Bartimo.”
Bellasondra liked the answer, and smiled up at him. Kirt did not.
“You should stay with us. You can attack from a distance with a crossbow. They’ll have two or three loaded behind you at all times, so you can keep launching bolts. Staying at a distance keeps you out of danger.”
Stin nodded, touched at the boy’s concern.
“You’re right. But, I’m a lousy aim. I think I’ll do better closer to the front lines. Maybe I can help out Bartimo some.”
Bellasondra smiled again.
“That’s so sweet!”
She grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face down to hers. They kissed, long and hard.
When she finally let him up for air she said, “I’ll see you after the battle! Take care of my brother!”
Stin and Kirt watched her walk away. They turned and looked at one another.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“You should go with us to the arbalest corps. What’s this about halberds? Are you trying to get killed? Earlier you were going to ride away, now you want to go up to the front lines.”
“Look Kirt, I’m no good with these ranged weapons and such. I’m into punching and stabbing. That’s just who I am. Now, I can understand if the women and children want to kill from a distance, that’s all good and well. But I’m gonna bleed my opponent face to face like a man. Alright?”
The boy crossed his arms and looked up at him, stubbornly.
“Who stays alive in these big battles, Stin? The archers, and everybody else in the back, that’s who. Earlier you were talking about running away, and now you’re all wanting to go up to the front. What’s the matter with you?”
Stin shrugged, and felt stubbornness welling up inside him, too.
“If I’m gonna stay here and fight, I may as well contribute where I’m most effective instead of trying to stay out of harm’s way like some coward.”
It felt funny to say that, and he wondered if it held any truth. Was he willing to put himself in danger just to impress Bellasondra? He had never cared what others thought. Yet, nonetheless, how she perceived him seemed important somehow.
“Anyway, you’ll do fine in the arbalest corps even though I wouldn’t. Go and watch after her. I’ll see you after the battle.”
Night fell, and most of the town’s citizenry settled around campfires near the trenches. Watches were set, and a few men armed with pikes or halberds circled aimlessly around the peripheries of the clearing, keeping an eye out for trouble.
Trant and Margwen walked hand in hand among the villagers camped out in the field. A few had set makeshift tents, throwing canvas up for shelter. Most were going to sleep out in the open. Some of the older people along with a handful of others had politely requested to go back into town for the night.
Trant wanted to inspect things one last time before going to sleep himself. After walking by each of the campfires, and sharing a few encouraging words with the townsfolk, he and Margwen strolled toward the trenches and escarpments Greystone had dug out.
They stopped at an isolated spot, far enough from the nearest campfire to be out of earshot. Ahead, dirt piled into a slope above the trench loomed in the darkness. Above, stars shined brightly in the night sky.
They turned to face one another, and held each other tight, pressing every inch of their bodies as close as possible.
Finally, Trant broke free and gazed down at Margwen’s face in the starlight.
“I have a ways to go before I can suggest that I am a credible man for consideration to become your betrothed, Margwen. I have no title, no throne, and nothing to my name that Greystone has not given me. I won’t have any of those things, either, until I’m able to defeat Darkstone and remove the usurper from my throne.
“But if we can get through this battle, and if you are willing to wait a while longer, the day shall come when I will be able to present myself to you and your family as a worthy suitor. I promise you that.
“I hope you can find it in your heart to show mercy on me, and wait for that day.”
She stared up into his eyes in the starlight a moment longer, then she pulled his head down and met his lips with hers.
When they finished kissing, she said, “I’ll wait. I will seek no other before you are ready. No matter how long it takes. That is my promise to you.”
Oldstone and Mita spent a long time in discussion with Greystone, Redstone, and Trant at the command compound set up near the gateway to the village. They planned out the structure of their makeshift defenses.
At long last everyone called it a night, and most retreated to their tents set up nearby.
Oldstone shot up into the night sky. Mita watched him ascend and decided to follow. Soon, she neared him high above the forest clearing where he stopped, staring off in the distance.
In the dim night, several miles away, she could make out a patch of lighter ground marking the clearing of trees by Darkstone’s metal men along the old road. As they watched, the patch grew longer, steadily approaching in their direction.
“He’ll work them through the night,” Oldstone said. “The colossi will be here by morning. The soldiers will break camp and march in soon after.”
Mita shivered involuntarily in the cool night air, and pulled up the armor all around her. It warmed her body, protecting her from the elements.
“Will we be able to stop them?”
“With you, yes. Also, several on the council have agreed to help out. I think with our wizards and a battlemaiden the odds will be more than even. Besides, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that will help quite a bit, when the time comes.”
She nodded and watched as the line continued to move perceptibly toward them. Oldstone seemed to be in a particularly good mood, circumstances notwithstanding. Perhaps it was the opportunity to leave the flying castle and engage in meaningful action. She decided to try and talk, to see if she could learn anything more from him.
“I noticed your facsimiles are different. Cutie has a different dress, and Cookie is skinny now.”
“Yes. I altered them before you came to the castle. I feared their normal appearance might detract from your early training.”
Mentally she chewed on his response, wondering how their current appearance could have hindered her in those early days. They were certainly more attractive, now. She thought back to the first time she put on the plain cotton servant’s dress and wondered if she would have been intimidated by the servants as they looked now.
Yes perhaps she would have, she thought. To be surrounded by attractive servants who did not actually serve her very much, while she was dressed in such plain attire, would have been irritating during those early days.
She went back in her mind to her first day in the castle, thinking of the dress, the lack of servants, the scrubbing of floors. Then she had another thought.
“Master? Why did you spank me that first day?”
He snorted.
“Because you needed it. Silly question.”
“No, really. There must be a hundred different ways you could have convinced me to clean the floor. Why spanking?”
“Spanking is the quickest and most efficient means of correction for children. The sooner you realize the world doesn’t revolve around you, the better you will be as a person. A good spanking is the fastest way to transmit this knowledge to you. You can’t control it, and it’s rather uncomfortable. It forces you to submit to a higher authority, adjusting your att
itude to comport with reality.
“It physically makes you see things from the perspective of a higher authority, and so long as it’s only painful and doesn’t break the skin or otherwise injure you, it’s beneficial for your mental and emotional development.”
She nodded, wondering whether to agree with him or not.
“It’s just . . . I’ve never been spanked before.”
“Few noble children are, royal ones even less so. It works best on children under six, but I had to make do in your current condition. You learned your lesson, and we moved on.”
He waved his hand, dismissing the matter.
Then another thought struck her. She didn’t pause to consider the audacity of her next question.
“Do you sleep with them?”
He looked over at her, startled.
“Who?”
“Your facsimiles, Cutie and Cookie.”
His brows furrowed.
“Would you like to discuss your love life?”
She blushed deeply, though he couldn’t see it.
“Of course not. I’m a virgin, I have no love life.”
“Then we shan’t discuss mine.”
He waved his hand again, dismissing the conversation. She hesitated, then decided to try one more line of inquiry before giving up for the night.
“Master, are you the most powerful wizard? I know there are twelve on the council, and I know you are the oldest. But are you the most powerful? Is Darkstone stronger than you?”
This time he was not as quick to brush aside the questions. He tugged thoughtfully on his beard as they floated in the dark sky.
Finally, he shrugged.
“Each of us wields the Creator’s magic in different ways. Talented artists create works of beauty with their magic, while mages and wizards dabble in practical applications. Who is to say whether one person is more ‘powerful’ than another?”
She frowned. That did not sound like a direct answer, she thought.
“Yes, but, you are the most talented aren’t you? I mean, you’re Oldstone. You’ve been around longer than any of us. You’ve learned the most, you’ve seen the most . . .”
He turned toward her, and she could see annoyance flashing across his face, even in the dim light.
“Must opening one line of conversation inevitably lead to another? Teenage girls! Lord Creator be with me!”
With that, he flew away and back down toward the camps below.
Darkstone waved and the scrying window winked out, taking with it a nighttime vision of the road clearing as seen by a circling hawk.
Endrick raised his eyebrows.
“I must say, your creations are making impressive progress.”
“Yes. My metal men should be at the gate to Greystone’s village by morning. The army will follow soon after. Although, there may not be much left to fight after the metal men take care of whatever pitiful defenses Greystone has to offer.”
“And then what? You think Greystone will just hand over the dagger you seek?”
Darkstone laughed.
“No, of course not. I’ll have to find the dagger on my own.”
“You think it’s still nearby?”
“Almost certainly. They can’t transport the dagger by magic, its power prevents that. He could not have taken it through the gateway into his village. No, the only question is how far he had it manually transported before hiding it. If I had to guess, I would say not very far. We should find it nearby.”
“And how do you propose to find it? Won’t your magical efforts at doing so be thwarted?”
“Ah, Endrick, you have much to learn. Of course my efforts at using magic will be thwarted in finding the dagger. And that’s how we’ll find it.”
Endrick blinked in confusion. The comment made no sense.
He shrugged. Ultimately, he did not care whether Darkstone found the blade or not.
“So long as Princess Margwen remains unharmed in your attack, nothing else really matters.”
“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, Endrick. You will get your pet, and I will get my weapon. Together, we will be unstoppable.”
Chapter 15
With dawn’s first light, the villagers woke to the sound of trees being violently uprooted along with the metal clanking of giant footsteps. Campfires were started, food quickly prepared and eaten. The inn’s serving wench ran out of the gate carrying a large bag of coneys toward a central cooking fire.
Oldstone emerged from a simple hut he had created for himself. It disappeared in a puff of smoke as soon as he shut the door.
Mita had slept in the open along with several other girls and women from the town. She stretched, and her magical armor spread out across her arms and legs. She wandered over to a campfire looking for food.
Greystone, Trant, and Margwen stepped through the gate together and headed toward Oldstone. They spoke for a moment then Oldstone created a portal, a large hazy globe. Mita noted, looking at it from a distance, its substance seemed similar to the village’s gate. Over the next several minutes half a dozen wizards stepped through, apparating into the open field.
A squire walked up with Trant’s horse. He put a foot in the stirrup and swung up in the saddle.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
“Don’t worry, Margwen. Say a prayer for me while you’re at the church.”
“I’ll say a prayer for you anywhere and everywhere. For all of us.”
He nodded.
Margwen had volunteered to work at the makeshift hospital in the church. The village had no healers, but Isabeth and Anabella both insisted that royal nannies were trained in basic medicine. They promptly took over supervising volunteers at the church.
Margwen said goodbye, desperately wishing for one last kiss but settling for a wave. She disappeared through the portal to Greystone Village.
The sounds of uprooted trees and the clanking of metal grew louder.
Mita approached the wizards as they talked quietly. She caught Oldstone’s eye, and he realized she had a question. He bent down so she could whisper in his ear.
“Where are the other wizards? There should be eleven here.”
He stood erect, and acknowledged her statement with a serious look in his eyes and a small frown expressing disappointment.
“Three have decided to have no part in today’s activities. Sandstone, Quartzstone, and Silverstone will not be joining us.”
Mita furrowed her brows at the news, and committed the names to memory.
“Why not? This is important! We could use all the help we can get.”
Oldstone shrugged.
“There is an attitude among some wizards calling for a separation from the affairs of others less knowledgeable in magic. However, most of us feel we are all connected and the affairs of others eventually affect us as well. But these three are more committed to the traditional wizardly ethos than the rest of us.”
Mita frowned, but decided pressing the issue further would be counterproductive. About that time, Barley and Fret walked up to the group.
“Ah, Master Barley,” Greystone said. “I am delighted to see you here. We are in great need of the superior dwarven military knowledge you bring to our group.”
Barley made a short bow. Fret imitated him.
“I am Barley, son o’ Wort, Clan Nugget. I am a brewer’s son, an’ I am a brewer meself. I fear I ha’ little war knowledge of any use.
“My son, on th’ other hand . . .”
He paused and glanced toward Fret, who smiled back and stepped forward a pace.
“My son has chosen not t’ follow in th’ family business. Instead, he ha’ spent several years in th’ Military Academy.”
Eyebrows shot up all around, and several of the wizards nodded and smiled at their good fortune.
Mita frowned in mild surprise.
“The dwarves have a military academy?”
“Aye, lassie. We’d one before Lok came around, but after tha’ scoundrel an’ his deeds,
King Nudge became right serious about it, iffen ye know what I means. He poured considerable gold into th’ academy in order t’ gather greater knowledge o’ war an’ how dwarves might best use it t’ our advantage.
“I admit t’ ye, I had reservations about m’ boy goin’ t’ study there instead of apprenticin’ under me at th’ brewery. But th’ Creator works His way through our lives, many times e’en when we kinna see it right away.
“Aye, th’ lad be fully trained fer leadin’ battles such as this. He’ll be yer leader, or provide advice to yer leader, whichever suits ye. I’ll be takin’ me axe and fightin’ with th’ others.”
Barley clasped his son on the shoulder, then gave a standing half bow to the humans and tromped off to find a group where his services might be useful.
Fret turned, and suddenly realized several powerful and important humans were all looking down at him.
He gulped.
“I’m at yer service. Mind, I’m a recent graduate of th’ Academy. And I’ve ne’er seen battle before. Iffen yer comfortable wi’ those facts, then like I said, I’m at yer service.”
Oldstone smiled at the young dwarf.
“We appreciate your assistance, Master Fret. Here is the first thing we are going to have to deal with. We’d love to hear your thoughts on how to handle it.”
He waved his hand and a scrying window appeared, showing what a distant hawk could see. The line of metal men neared the edge of the clearing, a few scant trees blocking their way. As the group watched, the giants pushed and pulled and uprooted them, marching them back to piles behind them.
Fret fingered the ribbons in his beard as he watched the monstrosities’ destruction. He looked up and noticed everybody looking at him, waiting for him to say something.
He gulped again.
“They appear t’ be based on rock ogres. Rock ogres’ biggest weakness be traps. Pits and such. Tha’s usually how we try an’ prevent ’em from climbin’ out o’ deeper mines. We set pit traps in th’ shafts leadin’ up. Once a rock ogre is trapped, we can bury him.”
