by David Estes
“Back to your knighthood…”
“Of course. I joined the army when I came of age. I was good at following orders, though my superiors often mocked me.”
“Didn’t that bother you?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. Anyway, I saved one hundred and fourteen lives at the Black Cliffs.”
Annise laughed. “That’s a precise number.”
Metz frowned, but said nothing. Apparently her comment wasn’t worthy of a response.
“I only mean that most people would say they saved many lives. They wouldn’t count them.”
“Oh. I count everything. Like how many steps we’ve taken since departing Gearhärt—two thousand seven hundred and eighty-six. Well, those are my horse’s steps, and it will vary from horse to horse, plus a horse has four legs so it’s very different for those on foot…”
“You’ve been counting your horse’s steps since we left this morning?”
“Yes.”
“While we’ve been talking?”
“It’s just something I do.”
Annise shook her head. She’d never met anyone as strange as this knight, which was saying something considering her aunt was known as one of the oddest women in Castle Hill. “Like escaping from my uncle and seeking me out?”
“No, that’s completely different. And I didn’t seek you out. I sought out your brother. I thought he was the king.”
“Either way. You did what you thought was right. That’s a rare thing these days. Especially in the north.”
Once more, he frowned, as if her words perturbed him greatly. “I’m a knight. It is my duty to serve the king—or queen—and you are the queen. Not your uncle.”
Pride rose inside Annise. Something about this man gave her hope for the future, a hope she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Tell me about the potion my uncle made you drink.”
“I didn’t want to drink it.”
“I know.”
“Soldiers held me down. They pinched my nose. They forced it down my throat. It burned like fire.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Please. It is important.”
“Is it a command?”
I’m good at following orders. Annise knew that with a simple command he would tell her everything she wanted to know, but the fear in his eyes, the way his lips were trembling…
She couldn’t use his obedience against him.
“No. But I would like it if you would tell me.”
“I don’t want to!” His voice rose suddenly, startling her, almost making her drop the reins. “I don’t want to! I don’t want to!”
Tarin was by her side in an instant, his horse nosing between them. Sir Dietrich appeared on the opposite side, pulling the knight away as he continued to scream. “Let go of me! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to!”
“I’m sorry,” Annise said, horrified by the reaction she’d gotten. “Don’t hurt him, Dietrich.”
Dietrich led Metz and his horse away, the knight continuing his fit. Zelda swooped in, saying something to Metz that seemed to calm him.
Tarin placed a hand on Annise’s arm. “Are you well, my queen?”
Annise shook her head. “A little startled, but yes. We were just talking and then…”
“His head isn’t on quite straight,” Tarin said. “Be careful around him.”
“I don’t think he would hurt me. He’s too faithful for that.”
“Still. I’ll be present for any future interactions with him.”
“I don’t need a caretaker,” Annise said.
Tarin mumbled something that sounded like a curse.
“What was that? Care to share with your queen?”
“I said, ‘The Stubborn Queen.’”
Annise laughed. “The Stubborn Queen and the Armored Knight,” she said. “Sounds like an awful children’s story.”
“If by awful you mean riveting,” Tarin said.
“Why Tarin, was that a joke? I was beginning to think your sense of humor had frozen and fallen off back on the Howling Tundra.”
“Was that before or after your victory over the ice bear?” he fired back.
“You know, you once called me the Bear Slayer. That had a nice ring to it.”
“As you reminded me, you never actually slayed the bear. Just chased it off with a few snowballs.”
“That’s true. You were stumbling over a snowdrift at the time, right?”
“Har and double har,” Tarin said. He lowered his voice, suddenly sounding serious, using the gruff tone that always made Annise’s heart beat just a little bit faster. “You know, even when you were being stubborn and, well, yourself, I wanted to kiss you.”
“Even back on the Howling Tundra?”
“Even on the first night.”
“When you finally took off your armor so we could snuggle?”
Tarin sniffed at the word choice. “I was being honorable, sharing my body heat. I seem to remember you shivering and begging me to.”
“Maybe because I’d wanted to kiss you, too.”
“Even before you knew who I really was?”
Annise paused. She wasn’t certain. She’d felt a connection with him on the Tundra, of that there was no doubt, but whether it was romantic or not was hard to pinpoint.
“Ha! See? You were scared of me, weren’t you?”
“Terrified,” Annise said, punching him on the shoulder. It made a dull clang. “Ow. I prefer you without armor.”
“The day is wearing thin. We should stop and make camp. If you can procure a large enough tent, I’d be happy to oblige your request for no armor.”
Annise laughed, but she had to turn away to hide her blush. His words had sent warmth from her chest to her extremities. Regardless of the playfulness in his offer, he was right. It had been a long, cold march, and she could see the weariness in the hunched forms of the soldiers marching behind her.
“I agree,” she said. “We will shelter under the trees for the night.” Up ahead, the forward units had entered a thick, dark forest. “I will have Dietrich prepare the largest tent we have available. And you will remove your armor, that is a command.”
Before Tarin could respond, there was a shout from up ahead, and then a scream.
More screams followed, and then the trees began to shift, as if pummeled by a powerful wind, though the breeze was gentle. One of them cracked, collapsing, crushing a soldier beneath it.
The tree began to rise once more, gripped by an enormous gray hand.
Above the fist rose the face of a monster, thrice again the size of Tarin.
By the time Annise and Tarin reached the tree line, a group of archers had formed, unleashing volley after volley at the…thing…standing before them.
Thing was one of several words floating through Annise’s mind as she tried to describe the enemy they now faced. Other choices included monster and troll. Its legs were gray and muscular and appeared to be made of stone, as was the rest of it. Tatters of ripped cloth—the remains of its clothing? Annise guessed—clung to its chest and torso, but the shredded material seemed far too small to have ever fit such a giant. Its head was a lumpy boulder, its mouth a cave with large, blunt teeth. Its eyes were bulbous colorless orbs that could’ve been staring right at her and she wouldn’t be able to tell.
The arrows that fell against the stone creature were naught but pesky gnats, and it swatted them away with one hand while swinging the broken tree trunk with the other. The line of archers dove in every direction as the tree swept past, knocking several into the air like the monster was playing a game of stickball, with the soldiers as the balls. One tried to run and the creature used the tree like a mallet, pounding him on the head.
Annise looked away, unable to stomach the explosion of gore.
Tarin said, “Can you distract it?”
“What?” Annise watched as anothe
r archer was batted away, smashing into a tree and crumpling to the ground. In only a few bare moments, most of her forward riders had been destroyed.
“Oi. Listen to me.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look directly into his eye slits. “Distract it,” he repeated. “Rally the cavalry, use the ground soldiers to keep it busy. Understood?”
She nodded, sticking out her jaw. I am the queen, she reminded herself. These soldiers are my responsibility. Tarin started to ride away, toward the giant’s left flank. “Tarin,” she said.
He turned, glancing back, his dark armor even darker in the fading light.
“Be careful.”
She swore she could see his grin through his face plate. As he rode away, she whipped her own steed around. “First cavalry! To me!”
Not unlike the easterners, the northerners did not protect their rulers from battle. Kings and queens were expected to be strong, leading rather than cowering. Though Annise loathed many of the northern traditions, this was one she would uphold, as long as she drew breath. Only risk for others what you would risk for yourself, she thought, a mantra she’d overheard Arch being taught as a youth, when it was a foregone conclusion that he would be the next king.
Two dozen seasoned riders who had fought with Annise and her brother at Raider’s Pass rode up, awaiting orders. She searched for Sir Dietrich, who she’d appointed as their commander. He was nowhere to be found. No time to think about that. She spoke to all of them at once. “We must harry the beast from all sides. In and out, in and out, like we are one person breathing together. Do not risk your lives if you can help it. Understood?”
“No,” one of them said. “We will distract the monster, but our lives are yours. Our queen.”
A lump formed in Annise’s throat at the loyalty displayed by this man. By all of them. “Then mine is yours,” she answered. To another soldier, she said, “You…” His name escaped her.
“Sir Morley,” he provided.
“Sir, please instruct the first battalion of foot soldiers to charge the enemy, but to stop before getting within the cavalry’s ranks. We want the giant looking in many different directions. Then come join your brothers.”
There was a scream and all heads turned in the direction of the sound. The giant had dropped the tree and was now holding a man between his hands, pulling him apart.
Annise ripped her gaze away. “Go, now.”
“Yes, Your Highness. What about the rest of the army?”
Annise’s eyes were steel. “If we fail, they should retreat.” She wouldn’t risk any more lives. If this didn’t work, then perhaps their foe was impossible to defeat.
The man nodded and rode off, calling her orders to the foot soldiers trailing behind the party of riders. They were the best of the best. She had purposely set them at the front of their marching train, along with the first cavalry—behind them the remainder of the army was less convincing, most of them untrained, too young, or too old.
“And me?” someone else said, riding up. “What are your orders?”
It was Sir Metz, his armor shining even in the waning daylight. There was no hint of awkwardness in him from his earlier fit, as if it never happened. He was part of the second cavalry. “If we are defeated, lead the retreat, Sir Metz. Protect my brother, for he will be the king you thought he was. And Zelda, too, keep her safe.”
She could tell by the hard set of his jaw that he wasn’t pleased with her command, but his honor wouldn’t allow him to contradict it. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She addressed the first cavalry once more, raising her own sword in the air. “For the kingdom!” she cried.
“For the kingdom!” they roared in response.
They charged into battle.
The monster was chewing on something, its stone teeth grinding together. Annise refused to focus on that, instead steering her steed toward a spot just to the left of it. She looked for Tarin, but didn’t see him anywhere, though she spotted his horse wandering along the edge of the forest, riderless. “Ahh!” she screamed, brandishing her sword above her head, though she had no intention of actually using it against the stone giant.
The rest of her soldiers roared in unison.
The giant spat out a bone and swung a fist with such unexpected speed that, for a moment, Annise was too stunned to react, barreling headlong into danger. At the last second, however, she managed to steer even further left, the breath of the punch whistling past her like a storm wind. One of her men wasn’t so fortunate, taking the brunt of the blow on his flank—her stomach heaved as she heard both his and his horse’s bones breaking.
It had barely begun, and already her plan was falling to pieces, the giant stomping into the thick of the cavalry, punching and kicking. Another man was crushed, his scream lost as he was driven a foot into the ground. Frozen hell, Annise thought. What is this creature?
The foot soldiers arrived, and despite her warning to not get too close, several of them charged between the riders and slashed at the beast’s stone ankles. It roared, but not in pain, in anger, grabbing two of them by the necks and smashing them repeatedly together before dropping them. Their broken bodies hit the ground and didn’t move again.
The monster lunged for another soldier, but a white form streaked past, arms wrapping around the foot soldier and carrying him out of harm’s way. The giant grabbed at the empty air a few times, as if still trying to understand what had happened.
Beyond it, Annise saw Sir Christoff Metz deposit the soldier back on his feet, unharmed.
Blast him! Annise cursed in her head. The knight was supposed to lead the retreat and protect her brother, if it came to it, and now he was in the thick of things.
Tarin! Where are you? she wanted to shout, but she dared not give away his position, wherever it may be.
The monster targeted another rider, stomping toward him. “No more,” Annise breathed. And then she yelled: “Here! Over here, you ugly stone mutt! Face the Bear Slayer, you coward!”
The creature turned, its oddly vacant eyes seeming to focus for a second. On her. And then it unleashed a garbled cry and stampeded right for her. That’s when she spotted Tarin, who was somehow clinging to the giant’s shoulder, gripping it with one powerful hand, while it flung itself toward Annise. Her eyes met his for an instant, and then he disappeared behind the monster’s head.
Distract it. Those two words were all Annise could think as she swung her leg over her mount and slid down, slapping the horse on the rump. It didn’t need further urging, galloping away and out of danger.
The giant curled its stone fist, the ground shaking underfoot as it stomped toward her, its strides swallowing the distance too fast, too fast—
She dove to the side, landing hard on her shoulder but letting the momentum carry her into a roll and then back onto her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the creature flying past, skidding to a stop, gravel spitting from its feet.
Tarin was behind its head now, clinging on with both hands, trying to steady himself. The giant had finally realized it had company, shaking its head and swatting at its own skull. Annise held her breath as Tarin dodged the blows, which crashed like thunder, stone on stone. Chunks of rocks broke off, tumbling around Annise like a landslide. She covered her head as several rocks glanced off her arms painfully.
When she looked back, half the monster’s head was gone from self-inflicted wounds, but still Tarin clung to it. Strange inky sap—blood?—was running down the giant’s neck, shoulders, back, and chest.
The monster stumbled, falling to one knee, but still it continued to hit itself in the head, trying to dislodge Tarin, who clambered over the giant’s brow, raised his Morningstar, and shoved the spiked ball deep into the creature’s eye.
The glassy orb popped like an inflated sack, spewing out a white, milky substance. It roared, and this time Annise could feel the pain in its bellow as it fell to its side. But still Tarin didn’t relent, pushing the barbed weapon in up to his elbow,
twisting it around until it emerged from inside the monster’s head, almost like he was threading a needle through cloth, bursting from its other eye, splattering more white liquid.
And then he ripped himself free, pulling his Morningstar with him, landing on the run and diving out of the way as the monster’s arm flapped wildly, slamming to the ground with a thud.
Annise could barely breathe as the giant writhed and flopped for a few moments, scratching at its own eyes before going still. All around the beast, the soldiers cheered.
Tarin, however, stood and stalked off into the woods, his chest rising and falling beneath his dark armor, sappy blood and milky ichor dripping from the spikes of his Morningstar.
Annise was about to run after him, when something even stranger happened. The stone giant began to crumble, the rocky exterior falling away from its sides, its broad chest, its back, its legs, creating a miniature quarry around its body. Until all that was left was…
Annise gasped.
A man.
In death, their fallen foe was naught but a man, naked save for a thin loin cloth covering his midsection. He had the build of a soldier—strong arms and muscular chest, laced with scars—though he wore no armor save for the stone layers that had protected him.
Annise had ordered he be covered with a large sheet, especially because she couldn’t bear to look at his mutilated eyes, dark, bloody pits which seemed to stare at her sightlessly. Soldiers milled around the body, inspecting the shattered stones surrounding him.
Tarin had yet to return from the woods.
Zelda stood beside her. Sir Craig, upon Annise’s request, had ridden off to check on Archer.
“Frozen hell, how is this possible?” Annise said, a question intended for herself.
But she received an answer, from Sir Christoff Metz, who strode up to her, bowing stiffly. “Your Highness, this is one of the Imposter King’s men,” he said.
No. Annise didn’t want to believe it, because if it was true, then they were doomed. They’d lost twenty-eight men in the battle, and at least that many had sustained serious injuries. And they’d only fought one monster. To have any hope of victory against ninety-eight more of them, they would need a force at least five times the size of the one they had, and that was assuming they were all well-trained career soldiers, which they weren’t.
