King's Army

by Mark Huckerby

  Woden’s hunting horn sounded again as the white stag bounded across their path and everyone tore after it. But Wyvern found yet more speed, broke away from the main pack and bounded on to another path in the forest. Suddenly they were free of all the jostling. He could see what Wyvern was trying to do: head the white stag off from a different direction.

  “Good girl, Wyvern!” Alfie shouted, but suddenly the air was thick with missiles. Arrows glanced off his armour. The chasing pack was now hunting him too! A snarling rider, her face a mass of old scars and scratches, drew her sword and swiped at Alfie.

  “Where did you get that horse, you cheating swine!” she yelled.

  “I am not cheating!” Alfie shouted back and spurred Wyvern on till he was clear of the pack. It wasn’t his fault that his horse was faster than all of theirs, was it?

  Ahead, the white stag leapt over a gulley. Alfie remembered his Ring of Command – now, that really would be cheating, but he had no intention of being stuck in this forest for eternity. Would the ring work in the magical realm of the Wild Hunt? It was worth a shot. Alfie held out his gauntlet and commanded the trees ahead of the white stag to bend down, and to his surprise they did as they were told. With a deafening creak, the trees swayed low and knitted their branches together, forming a dense, green barrier. The white stag skidded to a halt and charged the other way, but Alfie commanded more trees and branches to move and the creature was cornered.

  Wyvern reared up and Alfie tried to recall her into his spurs, but that didn’t work, so he simply dismounted. Now he was close to the white stag he could see how truly magnificent he looked. Huge antlers towered from his head, and entwined among the many points of Alfred’s Crown were leaves picked up from the endless chase through the forest. Behind Alfie, the rest of the Wild Hunt drew up their horses and watched in sullen silence.

  “Easy there, boy. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want the crown.” Alfie said in his best stagwhispering voice.

  Remarkably, the white stag seemed to calm down and even lowered his head. But as Alfie reached for the crown the cunning stag suddenly shied away and leapt over him! Behind him, the massed ranks of the Wild Hunt laughed and jeered as the stag once again ran free.

  “No!” Alfie yelled.

  The stag was off and running again through the forest, Alfred the Great’s crown still dangling from its antlers. With a roar, the Wild Hunt set off after it and Alfie was back among them as he urged Wyvern on. But however hard he spurred her on, he couldn’t move clear of the pack like he had done before. Tears of frustration stung Alfie’s eyes. He was one of the Wild Hunt now, doomed to chase through these endless woods for ever. He would grow old and withered like the others, the memory of his life before and the friends he’d left behind fading as he slowly turned into just another wraith of the hunt.

  But there was someone he’d forgotten, and the wily stag hadn’t reckoned on him either. Herne. With a snarl and a flash of grey fur, Alfie’s dog bounded through the trees and took the white stag down, clamping his jaws around his neck. He hadn’t killed it, just stopped it in its tracks. Sensing its race was run, the stag went limp, at Herne’s mercy.

  “Don’t feel too bad, it’s what wolfhounds were bred to do,” Alfie said to the gathered hunters who were grumbling again. But before he could get to the stag, someone had appeared at his side and put their hand on his shoulder. It was Woden, his eyes blue and fathomless.

  “You are indeed worthy, young Alfred. Behold.”

  The thick woods around them had suddenly vanished and in their place was Stonehenge. Above it, the sky looked like it was rewinding. The sun, clouds, moon and stars looped past at a million miles per hour. And standing in the ancient stone circle was somebody Alfie recognized from the dreams and visions he experienced during his turbulent Succession.

  Alfred the Great.

  Dressed in a mixture of chainmail and leather armour, the king kneeled in the centre of the stones as Woden placed the crown on his head. Alfie knew what he was seeing was a vision from the ancient past, the day that Alfred the Great received the crown and the powers that had flowed in every king and queen of Britain ever since.

  “With this crown you will defeat the Vikings and drive them from your lands. All Albion is given to you and your sons and daughters,” Woden decreed.

  Alfred the Great nodded solemnly as the crown glowed blue. His body went taut as the magical power coursed through his body. Alfie winced; it was like watching someone receive a prolonged and painful electrical shock. Finally, Alfred the Great staggered to his feet, recovering from the jolt, fighting for breath.

  “With the crown comes power. And power will corrupt,” Woden said. “Unless you are well advised. Saint Cuthbert!”

  Alfie gasped as a tall, thin man materialized next to Woden. It was the Lord Chamberlain! At least, it looked a lot like LC, wearing a fine, golden embroidered robe and holding a staff.

  “Cuthbert will guide you and your kin, giving wise council for ever more.”

  Alfie gasped. He knew LC was old, but this meant he was immortal! No wonder he knew so much about every single invasion, war and plague that had ever hit Britain. He’d seen it all, literally. Alfie steadied himself against one of the huge stones and closed his eyes briefly. Also, LC’s real name is Cuthbert! Alfie thought. He couldn’t wait to tell Hayley, and he wondered if Brian even knew—

  “ALFRED! Come forward.” Woden’s voiced boomed.

  He’s talking to me, Alfie thought and opened his eyes again. Alfred the Great and LC had disappeared, leaving only Woden, who beckoned Alfie into the centre of Stonehenge.

  “A thousand years ago, Alfred the Great asked for my help. He too ran with the Wild Hunt and won his prize. Now a new King Alfred comes seeking power.”

  Woden raised his arms above his head. In his hands was the crown. Blue sparks rose off it like fire. It reminded Alfie of the time he’d gone on a hike as part of a Geography field trip: the air had still been damp after a sudden downpour, and when they had passed underneath a massive electricity pylon he had heard the thick power lines fizzing overhead, dangerous and immense.

  “Kneel,” Woden commanded.

  Alfie figured he shouldn’t argue with an ancient god and did as he was told. But something was bothering him, something about the crown that was now inches from his head, alive with magic. Alfie’s mind worked overtime as he tried to figure it out. He was certain now that this is what LC had had in mind the whole time. Reach Stonehenge, beat the Wild Hunt and find the crown. With its extra power, he’d easily see off the Vikings, Lock and the Black Dragon. And it would even give him a fighting chance against Hel—

  “Drive the Vikings from your land!” Woden declared.

  “Wait!” Alfie said, but it was too late. Woden had placed the crown on his head.

  Power.

  So much energy, filling every inch of his being. His body shook with it. His hair stood on end. His teeth clamped together then chattered uncontrollably. Sometimes when Alfie touched the regalia, he would get a low-level shock like a static charge, but this was something else entirely: an ultra-high voltage, next-level power-up. With Alfred the Great’s crown he’d be unstoppable. Forget the Defender armour, he wouldn’t need it; Alfie could feel the surge of magical power toughening his skin so nothing could cut it. Forget the Sword of State, great arcs of blue electricity could flash from his fingers and fry anyone who stood in his way, whenever he wanted. Forget the Orb, Alfie’s crystal blue eyes could see for thousands of miles. Alfie laughed with the thrill of it. The Vikings wouldn’t last a second. Lock, pfft, he was nothing. And as for Richard, the pathetic Black Dragon would be made to kneel in front of the new King Alfred the Great. No, wait, Alfred the Awesome. Alfred the Unstoppable. Alfred the—

  No… No… NO! Alfie mind was screaming. This was all wrong. Hadn’t Alfred the Great broken the crown and scattered its pieces for this very reason? It was too dangerous. Wasn’t ultimate power what Richard had wanted? Look what had happe
ned to him! Wearing it for a few minutes at Westminster Abbey had sent his brother mad and transformed him into a monster. This crown was the source of all the trouble they’d ever known. No mortal should be allowed to ever wield such power. It was better off hung on the Stag’s horns and left to roam the wild woods for eternity.

  “Get … it … off!” Alfie stammered and groped at the crown.

  He tried to tear it from his head, but the crown squeezed like a vice, fusing itself to him for ever.

  “I DON’T WANT THE CROWN!” Alfie screamed, making one final attempt to rid himself of it. But he passed out into black nothingness.

  “Wake up! Alfie!”

  He opened his eyes to see Hayley’s kind face hovering over him.

  Then she slapped him.

  “Ow! Hayley!” Alfie spluttered and she laughed, relieved.

  He was dizzy and lying in the middle of Stonehenge, the shroud tunic clutched in his hand. Moonlight broke for a moment through the black clouds, glistening off the snow.

  “He’s alive!” Hayley shouted, and Brian, Tony and Ellie crowded around.

  Just about, Alfie thought. He had the mother of all headaches, but overall he seemed to have survived.

  “Welcome back, Alpha-bet,” Tony said. “One second you were there then pop, wow, you just disappeared!”

  “You’ve been gone hours!” Ellie said. “Spill the beans.”

  “Not before we get him warm,” Brian said.

  He picked Alfie up and sat him down next to a blazing campfire, set in the shelter of one of the standing stones. Celia poured him a cup of tea from a thermos and Alfie tried to tell them where he’d been and the incredible things he’d just witnessed: the stag, the Wild Hunt, Woden, his close encounter with King Alfred the Great’s crown. It all came out in a big jumbled mess, but he thought they’d got the gist. If LC had meant for him to take Alfred the Great’s crown back and wield its power, well, he’d need to explain to the old man why he chose not to. If he ever saw him again, that was.

  “Ultimate power, though?” Tony winced. “Would have been handy to defeat Lock and Hel.”

  “I know,” said Alfie. “We’ll just have to find another way.”

  “Fair enough, you’re the boss,” Brian said, and everyone nodded in agreement. They were all silent for a few minutes, huddled around and staring into the fire.

  “Hey, wait a second,” Alfie said as he suddenly remembered something. “You’ll never guess what LC’s real name is!”

  Troll-song swam through her head like eels through a stream. It was the song of her ancestors calling her home to Fólkvangr, the eternal fields where she would spend the afterlife with them. Queen Freya knew what she was supposed to do. She was supposed to join in with the song and let her voice carry her spirit to that place as she died. It was an appealing prospect, leaving behind the pain that coursed through her body and drifting away from this cage. No Norwegian monarch could survive the separation from Brísingamen for long.

  Though her vision was blurry, she could see the emerald necklace gleaming from where Lock had left it on the Speaker’s Chair, as if to mock her. Freya knew it was only a matter of time now. And yet she resisted. She screwed her mouth shut tight, biting into her lip till she tasted blood. She would not sing. She would not leave here defeated. Because there was something she wanted more than an end to the agony. Revenge. The daylight that lit the chamber through the windows was weak, but she had to wait. Nightfall. If she could just make it to nightfall, then there was still a chance.

  In another cell made not from particle energy but from good old-fashioned stone walls, deep beneath the Tower of London’s secret Keep, the Lord Chamberlain and Queen Tamara also awaited their fates.

  “I owe you an apology,” said Tamara, a disembodied voice in the pitch darkness. “And in case they come back and I don’t get the chance, I need to get it out, so don’t interrupt.”

  Silence. Tamara could see and hear nothing.

  “LC?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” said LC, making her jump.

  “What are you doing? I thought you were asleep or something!”

  “On the contrary, I was merely following your instruction and not interrupting.”

  Tamara tutted. “Fine. OK, then. The thing is, I know it can’t have been easy for you, living as long as you’ve lived and seeing all the terrible things you must have seen. And I guess I was so wrapped up in my life with Henry, I never gave you enough credit. I know you were only doing your job. Sorry if I gave you a hard time…” She waited for a response, but none came. “You can talk now.”

  LC cleared his throat as if about to commence a long speech. “Apology accepted, ma’am.”

  “Apology accepted?” yelled Tamara. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

  “I thought your point was well made and I am merely agreeing with you. You were indeed too hard on me, from time to time.”

  “And…?”

  There was a long pause. Tamara was glad she couldn’t see him or she thought she might have started strangling him by now.

  “Very well,” said LC, at last. “I must, in turn, say that I was perhaps too fast to dismiss your point of view.”

  “And…?” said Tamara.

  “And … I … apologize?” offered LC.

  Tamara lay back on the bed, exhausted.

  “Why do I get the feeling that’s the first apology you’ve given anyone for a long, long time?”

  “That’s true. The last was in the year 1135, if I recall correctly. I rather over-ordered the seafood. Poor Henry the First. Then again, His Majesty didn’t have to eat it all himself.”

  Above their cell, in the Keep, the Black Dragon had returned to the hall to find it lit by tall black candles, and Lock dressed in red robes preparing the mirror for the ceremony.

  “Is it done?” asked Lock when he heard the Dragon’s talons hit the floor behind him.

  “I delivered your message,” said the Black Dragon. “The Norsemen didn’t like it.”

  “Soon their part will be played and we’ll have no further need for them,” said Lock in a hushed tone. There were still some of Guthrum’s draugar hanging around at the edges of the hall. Lock signalled to one of the Vikings, who shuffled forward, carrying Hel’s covered mirror, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He placed it in the centre of the Keep and scurried away.

  “And what about me?” asked the Dragon.

  “You? You will be released from your curse.” Lock smiled grimly. “If that is truly what you desire – and free to reign over your kingdom as you see fit.”

  The tiny part of the Dragon’s mind that remained human – Richard – pushed against the overwhelming lust for power and revenge. But it was getting harder by the second. A kingdom. A throne. That’s what he’d always wanted. That’s what she would give him.

  At Stonehenge, Alfie couldn’t look at the fire without thinking of his brother. It was strange to associate something so primal with a person, he thought, as he stared into the burning embers, but maybe that was because Richard wasn’t a person any more. And if he was the Black Dragon for good now, that meant Alfie would never see his brother again.

  He felt the fur of a blanket fall over his shoulders and looked up to see Hayley sitting down next to him. She poked the fire and threw some more sticks on.

  “You have to keep feeding the fire if you don’t want it to go out,” she said. “Don’t they take you camping at posh schools?”

  “I didn’t know if we’d be staying much longer,” Alfie replied.

  Hayley pulled half the blanket over her and shuffled closer, till their arms were touching.

  “I guess that’s up to you, boss,” she said with a smirk. “But there’s not much point going anywhere tonight. You’d only fall into a snowdrift and I’d have to rescue you.”

  “Good point,” Alfie smiled. “Hayley, can you tell me something honestly – did I just throw away our last chance of winning?”

  “What are you talkin
g about?”

  “Not taking the crown. I was scared I couldn’t handle that kind of power. Maybe if I was braver…”

  “You’re such an idiot sometimes, Alfie. Don’t you see: what you did took a whole load more guts. Not taking the easy way out, deciding to do it the right way, even though it’s harder. That’s what I call brave.”

  “Oh, good. OK, thanks,” Alfie stuttered.

  “You’re welcome,” said Hayley, resting her head on Alfie’s shoulder and hugging his arm. “Now shut up and chuck some more wood on before we freeze to death.”

  Alfie tossed another branch into the fire. The flames grew higher, bathing them in their warm glow.

  “Listen, Hayley, I’m sorry about how it was when I first came back. I didn’t mean to take over like that. I know you were doing fine without me, really…”

  Hayley lifted her head off his shoulder and cocked her head to one side, studying his face.

  “What?” said Alfie, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Hayley sighed and smiled at him. “There you go being a colossal idiot again. Did you really think I was doing fine without you, Alfie?”

  Before Alfie knew what was happening, Hayley leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Alfie’s eyes popped wide as his brain exploded with surprise. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he opted for doing nothing at all. It turned out that being kissed for the first time by a real girl was actually sort of amazing.

  “Hey! Hey!” Ellie’s voice rang out as she rounded the massive stone, then stopped dead when she saw what was happening.