The Triumphant Return

by N M Zoltack

  Garsea placed tomes back on the shelves. One lay on the ground, opened to a seemingly random page.

  Perhaps not, he realized upon closer scrutiny. This passage concerned the Lady of Light and Darkness.

  Not for the first time, Garsea pondered who she might be. Either of the queens? Someone from Vincana? Vivian Rivera who had told him her name was Cateline Locke? The Li Princess? A peasant girl? Perhaps she had not yet been born.

  Would the Lady come before the dragons were reborn or after? Perhaps she would be the one to reforge the Keeper of the Flames anew. If Garsea was the last of their order, as he was beginning to fear was the case, then the Keepers would be no more in a decades’ time, perhaps even less. Who knew how much longer he would live for?

  And if he did not return the dragons to live before he himself died, there would be no one left to take up that most serious of tasks.

  A dragon’s voice on a dream had told him that the Lady would come and soon, that the time is near. The Lady must be born then. Perhaps she would be instrumental in undoing the wrongs the Lord had committed, and perhaps that would mean she would help to bring back the dragons.

  Was the book being open to this page meant to reassure him? How could he possibly be reassured after seeing Velasco as a wraith and now the ransacking? Perhaps he was trying to see signs where none were. Nothing good could come about concerning the ransacking. Even if nothing had been stolen, Garsea’s peace of mind had been stripped.

  The Keeper only managed to check two rooms thoroughly before his body gave out. He barely was able to drag himself to bed before he collapsed. In the morning, he would do the rest of the monastery. No, he would look for Ximeno. In the morning, he would decide. For now, he needed to rest.

  And he found himself praying to the Fate of Life that he would wake up come the morning’s light.

  38

  Queen Rosalynne Rivera

  The moment Armel returned to the castle to speak of the approaching ships precisely where Ulric and his band were located, Rosalynne forced knights and guards to return to them. There wouldn’t be an attack on the castle just now.

  Before she could feel useless, Rosalynne marched to the chapel. She wavered between the statues of Life and Peace and then ignored them both and knelt before Chaos.

  “Life isn’t always meant to peaceful. Now, most certainly is a time of chaos. Please, Chaos, this one time, I beg you to join hands with Life. The fighting must end.”

  She hesitated. All life?

  “Save even Marcellus. Spare as many as possible. Steal them away from Death if you must. I understand you most likely prefer the war, but trust me. There will be plenty of Chaos after the war. How can we know best how to react once the blood has soaked our soils? Winter will come, and with it tears of bitterness. The ground will be too cold and hard for us to bury our dead. End the war even if it won’t bring peace. No more fighting.”

  The door to the chapel opened. Tabes, Noll’s dog, raced up to her, and she giggled. He was getting far too big, but she picked him up, and he licked her face.

  It took her a moment to realize he hadn’t opened the door, and she was surprised to see not Vicar Albert Leeson but a ravaged Sabine, her blond hair a tangled mess, her cloak torn, gown as well, her necklace missing several prominent jewels.

  Rosalynne stood awkwardly. Tabes jumped down from her arms and hid behind her skirts, barking at Sabine.

  “Hush now,” Rosalynne scolded. “Were you attacked?”

  “I? No, but the… the marketplace was.”

  Rosalynne’s mind raced. Two battles occurring at the same time. If those ships reached the shore, the Vincanans could pull off three, four, five battles concurrently.

  Then, she shook her head and tried to slow her racing heartbeat. “Are you all right?”

  “I believe so. I… I never felt such fear. I asked a guard for a knife, but I… I never want to have to use one, but I do not want to feel hopeless…”

  “Is the battle over?”

  “Yes. We won, but the marketplace… it’s destroyed.”

  Rosalynne nearly knelt down again, but, no. She would be strong.

  The younger queen crossed over to her elder and gently touched her elbow. “Go take a bath and rest. I will handle things until you are better.”

  “I… I’m not hurt,” Sabine protested.

  “No, but you should rest.”

  After a moment, Sabine nodded. The poor woman appeared dazed as she turned around and left the chapel.

  The poor woman. Rosalynne could tell Sabine was not acting, but the young queen mustn’t forget that Sabine was not truly her friend.

  War made for strange alliances.

  At once, Rosalynne had a carriage prepared while she packed up a few potions, extra cloths, and as many jars of water as she could fill before the servant alerted her to the waiting, ready carriage.

  Swiftly, she hurried into the carriage, and it wasn't until the horses clop, clop, clop echoed in her ears that she realized she had been moving so swiftly that none of her guards had been able to catch up to her. No matter. The locations of the marketplace and where the battle at the beach was occurring were not nearly close enough for the Vincanans to come to the marketplace, and why would they? Destroyed, Sabine had said. Rosalynne shuddered.

  And Sabine had the right of it. Destroyed was the most perfectly tragic would to describe the scene before her.

  Rosalynne accepted the hand of the footman. “Please, if you do not mind, would you return to the castle and have wagons brought here?”

  “But, My Queen, you will be here—”

  “Yes, and there are plenty of knights and guards here, or do you think the dead Vincanans will raise and attack us a second time?”

  “O-Oh, yes, of course,” the footman stammered, “but what if you wish…”

  “I do not plan on returning for quite some time,” she said firmly. “I will be just fine.”

  He nodded stiffly and removed her items onto the ground by her feet. Then, he closed the carriage door and climbed up to his perch. The horses listened to his commands, and the carriage rushed away.

  Rosalynne closed her eyes, inhaled and exhaled deeply, and then opened her eyes. She was the queen, and she would do her part to help as much as she could. Perhaps she should have also asked the footman to fetch any and all physicians. When he returned, although some of the healers would need to go to the beach.

  Please, Life, Peace, watch over Ulric.

  Already, knights and guards were separating those dead from those living. There were no living Vincanans. They must have fled or all been killed.

  Every single table had been overturned, a fair amount of them broke in half or even shattered into pieces. The wares of the merchants were scattered about, food smashed and crushed, jewelry ruined, strands of necklaces ripped apart, fish laying out here and there. Between the ruined food, the spilled blood, and the… Rosalynne covered her nose. The stench was horrific.

  “Queen Rosalynne! What are you doing here?”

  She turned to see Sir Edmund rushing over to her. He was coated in blood, looking both valiant and frightening.

  “I am here to help,” she said. “I have some potions meant to help those injured. Ah…” She glanced around.

  “Over here.”

  Edmund brought her over to the far side of the market place. Well more than a dozen laid about, most of them groaning and writhing in pain. One man had his stomach sliced open, and Rosalynne rushed over to him. Before she could even open the vial, the man coughed, splattering blood everywhere. Some of his innards bulged out of his wound, and he gasped once and then laid still.

  Her hand trembled, and she closed his eyes before moving onto the next.

  The man eyed her. His arm hung at a terrible, unnatural angle, but worse was the massive gash above his one eye, that eye swollen shut entirely. With his good eye, he stared at her.

  “Drink this,” she urged. “It will help your wounds.”

&n
bsp; “Will it poison me?”

  “No! Certainly not.”

  “He died.” He waved with his good arm, not even gesturing to the man beside him, but she knew who he meant.

  “I was too late to help him.”

  "You should just smother him."

  Rosalynne inhaled sharply. “Drink,” she repeated, and she forced his mouth open and poured the liquid down his throat.

  Without another word for him, she moved onto the next. One by one, she urged the injured parties to drink. That man was not the only one to make comments about her father or the babe, and considering she was trying to help them, this truly wasn’t appreciated it. Worse, they made it seem as if most everyone knew about the tragedy. The truth about her father and the kind of man he had been was spreading even more than she feared.

  Rosalynne refused to consider whether or not the act of killing an innocent babe had been her father’s most heinous act. What other secrets had he died with?

  Once she had finished the last of the wounded, she realized all of those lying there had been peasants or merchants, not a knight or guard.

  It was impossible to conceive that none of the fighters had been injured, and she sought out Edmund, who, along with several other guards, stood watch over four Vincanans.

  Edmund reached for his sword. “Would you like them executed on the spot, My Queen?”

  “No.”

  He removed his hand from the hilt. “You wish to schedule their executions so that everyone can attend.”

  “Again, no.”

  “No?” The knight appeared shocked enough to fall over.

  “I will hold them captive for now,” she declared.

  There, now the people would see she was not her father. King Jankin would have had the legionaries killed on the spot.

  Rosalynne eyed the guards and selected the one who looked to be the most rested. “Bind them and take them to the castle. Have them locked up.”

  “As you wish, My Queen.”

  Satisfied, Rosalynne grinned. She planned to speak with the captives, but as of right now, her people needed her.

  The sound of jeers and cries for blood and revenge had Rosalynne swallowing hard. The peasants and merchants she had helped were vocal, far too vocal.

  “Why show them any mercy?”

  “Don’t you know who to kill versus who to let live?”

  “Are you for Tenoch or Vincana?”

  “She danced with the Vincanans a bit too much, don’t you think.”

  “As if you saw.”

  “I heard about it!”

  Rosalynne swallowed hard. Her mercy was being seen as a weakness in the eyes of her people.

  Well, she could not help their opinion, and she turned to Edmund. “Which of you among the knights and guards need a healing potion?” she asked, determined to continue to do her part to help. No matter the public’s opinion of her, Rosalynne would rule as best she could.

  She could only hope her best would prove enough.

  39

  Ulric Cooper

  Retreating from the battlefield, especially after witnessing all of those ships lining up along the shore… To say Ulric felt like a failure would be understating the matter.

  Gomes was jumping up and down the moment it became clear that they were not being pursued. “Did you see that Vincanan I killed? He thought he had me cornered, but I fought back so hard, so hard. Yes, he nicked me,” he said proudly, shoving off a slight wound on the other side of his neck from his scar, “but that doesn’t matter. I can handle anything.”

  “You killed only one Vincanan?” Armel asked dryly.

  “I, er, I lost count,” Gomes muttered.

  “None of that matters now,” Ulric said. “Let’s move faster. Just because they aren’t following us now doesn’t mean they can’t start in a minute or two.”

  “Where are we heading?” Armel asked.

  “To the marketplace,” Ulric said.

  A cheer rang from among his band. Ulric grinned grimly. Hopefully, the merchants would be willing to spare them some food until the crown could repay them. After a battle like that, they all needed food and drink. A chance to rest and heal too would be nice. Ulric couldn’t recall the last time he had slept indoors. Oh, yes, he could. The last night he had been imprisoned.

  The trek to the marketplace was decent, which suited Ulric just fine considering that meant the distance between them and the Vincanans was that much greater.

  Only, once they reached the marketplace, Ulric gasped and came to a halt so swiftly that Gomes plowed into him.

  “Why did you—Oh,” Gomes said.

  “By the Fates,” Aloys murmured.

  Ulric turned around. “We need to help. There’s work to be done.”

  “There’s food that needs to be in my belly,” a man called out.

  “We’re hungry. We’re tired. We’re sore and wounded, and you want us to help?” a female said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why did you join my band?” Ulric demanded. “Was it because you wanted to keep your families safe? Because you had no families of your own and wished to save your neighbor? Because it was the right thing, the only thing to do?”

  “I’m hoping to get knighted,” Gomes said.

  Ulric closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them. “We need to—”

  “We’re not fighting for nothing,” another female said. “If you want us to help clean up this dump, we’re going to need food or goods for our service.”

  Ulric rubbed his nose and sighed. “We can see about eating after we help.”

  Only a few of his band moved forward to help, and Ulric did as well, of course, until he spied the last person he expected to be here.

  Rosalynne.

  But then, he shouldn’t be so surprised. She cared about her people, and it showed in her every act.

  He approached her as she picked up some of the broken table shards. When she glanced up and saw him, her eyes shown with relief, but she mostly kept her face a mask of proper propriety.

  “Ulric,” she said.

  “My Queen.”

  She opened her mouth, glanced around as if noticing where they were and who else was around, closed her mouth, and merely nodded.

  “We failed,” he said, the words difficult to get out. A lump had formed in his throat upon seeing her. As much as he appreciated the chance to see her, he could not deny how disastrous the battle at the beach had been.

  “A band of peasants lost how many?” she asked.

  “Ten.” He swallowed hard and nearly coughed.

  “And the Vincanan casualties?”

  “Double and a half that if not even more.”

  “That does not seem as terrible a loss as you claim.”

  “And we did sink three of their vessels, but all of the other ships reached the shore. The lot of us would have been killed if others hadn’t joined the fight. I do not know how many of those perished, but… We had no choice but to flee like cowards.”

  Rosalynne crossed over to him and clasped his hand. “Not like cowards but as warriors to fight another day,” she insisted. She squeezed his hand and released it. “You could have fled the city. You could have done any number of things after being freed. You never should have been in the cell that long.”

  “Please. Everything happened for a reason,” he protested.

  “As did the battle,” she added, smiling.

  Ulric grinned back. “How best can we assist you?”

  “I overheard that your people wish to be compensated.”

  He scowled. “Yes,” he admitted.

  “You need only ask,” she said simply. “For now, we need to see what we can salvage and haul away the trash. If anyone needs help, assist them, and that’s really all we need to do.”

  “We?” he questioned.

  She pushed up her sleeves, looking more like a fierce maiden than a queen, still beautiful but also strong and capable.

  If everyone could see her like
this, with her heart bleeding on the battlefield, yearning to help those who sacrificed for the sake of her kingdom, none would prefer Queen Sabine over her. None.

  “You will be the ruling queen,” he murmured as she walked away. “I will see to it.”

  40

  Sir Edmund Hill

  When Sir Edmund had seen Queen Sabine there immediately after the thick of the fight, he had been shocked and appalled. Two guards were with her, both wounded, but the queen appeared unharmed despite her attire. She did not look queenly at all, but under the circumstances, that was completely understandable.

  “Get her to the castle,” Edmund instructed. Then he hesitated, recalling their injuries. “Can you?”

  They turned to their queen.

  “Y-Yes, we can leave now,” she murmured. “Sir Edmund, thank the Fates you arrived. If you hadn’t…”

  “Do not worry. We will force them back,” he assured her. “You can return to the castle and rest.”

  Once they disappeared from view, walking on foot which plagued him more than he could admit because there could very well be more Vincanans lurking about, he sat down, leaning against the tree the queen and her guards had hidden behind. The rush of churning emotions from the battle—the fury, the anxiety, the sheer determination to win each individual fight that comprised the combat—were retreating. Now, he only felt exhaustion, and his eyes closed of their own accord.

  How much time passed, he couldn’t be certain, but he forced himself to stand, to return to his duties. Not everything was about fighting when one was a knight. Helping the helpless was one of their vows.

  Of all people to arrive and in a carriage that she then set away was Queen Rosalynne. She did not necessarily look the part of the queen and had not for some time now. Since the war, Edmund considered. Her hair was only ever simply done, her clothes not quite as fancy. While the elder queen always wore jewelry, Rosalynne did not bother.

  But as she distributed potions to those injured, she looked as regal as could be.