by K. C. Herbel
Braneddwain looked curiously at her husband, who was holding the reins of a strange lathered-up horse. “Where are you going?” she silently asked with her expression.
“I gotta tend to the horse,” he said, gesturing to the back of the house. “I’ll be in as soon as I’m through.” He then turned and led Briallen to the barn.
Billy found his father asleep in the only real bed. His face was pale and puffy, with bruises and abrasions over much of it. There were bandages around his hands and chest. Billy pulled up the covers to tuck them around his father. Gently he took his father’s hand to put it under the blanket.
Just then, John opened his eyes. “William,” he whispered.
Billy looked into John’s face. One eye was swollen shut, but the other seemed clear and focused. “Father,” said Billy, “you should be asleep.”
“Ya shouldn’t have come back,” said John, before starting to cough.
Billy helped his father roll over on his side to make the coughing easier. As John lay back on the pillow, Billy saw a trace of blood on his lips. He grabbed a nearby bandage and wiped them clean.
“Ya must leave, William,” croaked John.
“Not without you, Father.”
John’s one good eye glanced around the room, and Billy followed it. There wasn’t much to the little house: a kitchen, table, chairs, a few odds and ends, and Braneddwain, of course, who stood idly by in the kitchen. Then Billy noticed two very young children asleep in the corner, near the hearth, and remembered that Nathan was now a father. He smiled gratefully to Braneddwain then returned his attention to his father.
John motioned for Billy to come closer. “Is Nathan in the house?”
“No,” answered Billy. “Why?”
“I don’t want him to hear what I’m about to tell ya.”
Billy looked again over his shoulder at his hostess. He had known Braneddwain since they were children. She had always been deaf and mute, but she communicated so well that hardly anyone noticed.
“What is it, Father?” asked Billy.
“William,” said John, taking his hand, “I’m dyin’ . . .”
“No, Father!”
“Yes, William,” insisted John. “It’s high time ya knew the truth. I thought keepin’ it a secret would protect ya, but now I know that it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“What do ya mean?”
“You have a destiny, William.”
“I know, Father. I’ve come to understand that, in part, but can you tell me what it is?”
John smiled weakly. “I wish I could. You’re gonna have to figure that one out yourself.”
“Yes, Father.”
“The ring,” said John. “It was your mother’s, and is a part of your destiny. It will help you find your way.”
Billy held up his hand and examined the ring. In the dim light, the simple gold band shone with its usual warm glow.
“Ya wear it on your hand?” said his father.
“We’ve come to an agreement of sorts.”
John nodded knowingly. “I understand. William . . . I am not your father.”
“You are the only father I’ve truly known.”
“You’re not surprised? Ya knew already then?”
“Only recently,” answered Billy.
John detected sadness in Billy’s voice. “William, have ya discovered your true identity?” he asked.
Billy sighed and said, “I am the son of Queen Eleanor.”
John’s eyes widened. “Then your father . . . is King William!”
“Aye,” said Billy, looking down. “I just don’t understand how . . .”
“Sir Sedgemore,” said John.
“Sir Sedgemore?”
“Aye, it’s all in his journal.”
“His journal?”
“Aye,” said John. “If you read it, you may not like what ya find. I added some to it myself and then hid it in . . .”
“Wait, Father,” said Billy, holding up his hand. Slowly Billy reached over and touched John. As he desired, there was a flash of bright white light, and he entered the realm of his father’s memories.
John’s mind was like no other Billy had touched. A feeling of hospitality and warmth permeated him. When Billy’s vision had cleared, he found himself outside The Valley’s Finest Inn, only not the same inn he remembered. It was evening, and John—looking much younger than Billy could ever remember—was collecting some firewood. An old tan hound accompanied him.
“There’s a lad,” said John patting the dog’s head. “What a sunset, ’ey Rascal?”
Billy watched as the story of his life with John was revealed. He witnessed the joys and the struggles, the laughter and the tears, and through it all he felt the love that his father had so freely given to him.
Billy looked his father in the face and touched his chest. “I always wondered how you got that scar,” stated Billy.
“The price of fatherhood . . . my prince,” said John with a smile.
“Father . . . I love you.”
“I love you too, my son,” said John. “Now ya must go. The man who did this to me might be back at any moment.”
“Who was it, Father?”
“An old acquaintance,” wheezed John.
Billy pulled the covers up around his father. “Was it the same man what burned down the inn the first time?”
“Aye, Sygeon they called him . . .” said John. “The first time?” John tried to sit up. “The inn! The inn!”
Billy gently held him down to the bed. It amazed him how easy it was. It tightened Billy’s guts to see his father so weak. “Ya mustn’t move, Father. There isn’t anything that can be done now. You must rest.”
Billy’s words struck a chord, and John relaxed into his pillow. “I’m very tired, William,” he said.
“I know, Father,” said Billy, tucking the covers in around John.
“So very tired.”
“Rest.”
Billy kept vigil over John, but eventually he succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep, hunched over, with his hand on his father’s. He slept without dreaming then suddenly sat up, as if someone had called his name.
It was a few hours before dawn, but the man Billy knew as Father had passed away in the wee hours and would never see the sun rise. Billy clutched John’s hand and held it to his breast. He shook his father, desperately hoping that he was only in a deep sleep.
“Father,” pleaded Billy tearfully, “wake up!” But John did not stir. “Father . . . I still need you.”
In his despair, Billy was struck by a thought. He concentrated on his father and then placed his right hand over his father’s heart. “Come back to me!” he pleaded. “Live!”
All at once his mother’s ring became hot as fire itself. Billy cried out in agony as it burned into his flesh, but it was too hot for him to even remove. All he could do was hold it out and endure the excruciating pain. Then the heat subsided, and Billy was left with the pain of his heart—an ache that made the discomfort in his hand unimportant.
Nathan immediately came to Billy’s side. His boyhood companion had thrown himself across the still, lifeless form of his father. The boy wept, his body shaking with each sob. Nathan quietly turned around and went to calm his children, who had been frightened by Billy’s outburst.
* * *
Nathan and Billy buried John beside his wife and their infant son, on the hill overlooking what had been the valley’s finest inn. It had taken some convincing, but Nathan finally agreed to perform the burial before dawn.
Sunlight crept into the Valley of the Yew, peeling back the low-hanging fog like a comforter on the earth’s bed. The two men watched in reverent silence as the sun restored the valley’s colors. Then Billy hoisted himself into Briallen’s saddle and secured the oilskin satchel containing Sir Sedgemore’s journal.
“Why do ya have to leave, Billy?” asked Nathan earnestly. “Maybe you could rebuild the inn, like your father.”
Billy looked at the man
who as a boy had harried and bullied him. “You’ve a beautiful family, Nathan.”
“Thank you.”
“You must all forget that ya even saw me, or you could lose everything ya hold dear.”
“What’s goin’ on, Billy? Who are ya runnin’ from?”
“The men who killed my father . . . and they will be back! For your own safety, ya must know nothin’ of me.”
“Billy . . .” started Nathan. “Fare ye well.”
“Thank you for everythin’, Nathan. I can never repay ya.”
“Aw, just consider it payback, for all the rotten things I done to ya when we was young.”
Billy smiled. “You’re a fine man, Nathan. I hope someday to see ya again.” Billy nudged Briallen, and she carried him into the woods. As he disappeared over the hill, he called back, “Nathan! Forget!”
As Billy made his way from the Valley of the Yew, the trees, rocks, and animals, including the horse beneath him, seemed as distant as the stars. He was bound in his body—a silent witness. Nothing touched him. He felt utterly alone.
Chapter XXVI
The Night Queen
Billy had hidden in the trees all afternoon and evening, watching merchants in wagons, messengers, soldiers, and various riders pass by. Judging from the traffic, something big was about to happen, but for now the King’s Road was graveyard quiet.
He had, thus far, managed to avoid the well-traveled road, but the gorge ahead would take two or more days to ride around. Crossing the bridge would only take a few minutes. As soon as he was across, he would head back into the forest, cut across the rugged hill-country to Dyven, and then hop a ship to Erin. It was only a small stretch of road to cover—perhaps a half mile including the bridge—but there were no clouds in the sky, and the moon shown down on the road, clearly illuminating any who dared set foot on it.
Billy cautiously touched the dust of the King’s Road with his toe, testing it like water. It seemed safe enough, so he stepped on to it with both feet. His mother’s ring had tingled all day, and now it squeezed his finger fretfully.
“If I don’t go now, I may never make it,” he told the ring.
He scanned right and left before leading Briallen from the brush. Then, thoroughly convinced he had the road to himself, he climbed on the loyal mare and urged her toward the bridge.
The soft thud of Briallen’s hooves cut through the eerie silence of the moonlit road as Billy eyed the shadowy trees on either side. Without warning, the sound of her clomping hooves was echoed behind them.
Billy spun round in the saddle and scanned the road to their rear. Shadows melted, and moonlight birthed a pale horse, breathing steam and staring with eyes of flame. The shadows clung to the beast: first smokelike, then liquid, then forged by moonbeams into immutable, unyielding steel. Once fully hammered into substance by the light, Billy saw that she that sat upon the horse was the black-clad, owl-faced Night Queen.
Billy dug his heels into Briallen and shouted, “Hyah!”
The prince’s faithful mount leapt into a gallop, churning up chunks of road into the air. Billy glanced over his shoulder, and his heart leapt to his throat. The Night Queen was close behind and gaining. Again, he spurred Briallen on, but alas the valiant mare was no match for the unearthly beast behind her.
The road turned, and the bridge came into view. Billy was instantly feverish, his mind burning with desperation. There was nothing for him to do but go forward and pray for some miracle to deliver him.
Briallen’s hooves slammed down on the first oaken planks of the bridge and shattered the silence of the gorge with thunder. A breath later, the noise was doubled by their pursuer. The rumble became deafening as they neared the middle of the bridge.
Billy stole a look over the side and glimpsed a tiny silver river winding through the distant gorge bottom. He glanced up across the gorge and was surprised to see three riders coming up the road.
At first, the riders moved slowly, appearing to be simple, weary travelers, but as Billy crossed the middle of the bridge, they picked up their pace, and he could see they rode their mounts like noblemen. When they came into the open, his eye caught moonlight reflected off a shield and lance. With each step closer, they became more familiar, until he knew them for three knights of Orgulous: Sir Owein, Sir Darn, and Sir Gareth.
Billy called out to them. An instant later he realized they were undoubtedly hunting him. However, he believed their treatment of him would have to beat whatever the Night Queen had in mind, so he called out again.
“Owein!” Billy shouted.
“Billy!” the knight shouted back.
Billy looked again over his shoulder. The Night Queen was nearly upon him. He could see her violet gemlike eyes glaring at him through the owl’s visage of her helm. Her mount snorted steam at Briallen’s hindquarter. She leveled her spear at Billy and continued to gain inches on him until he could count the cruel iron barbs on its tip.
Suddenly, a new thunder echoed from the bridge. Billy looked ahead and saw Sir Owein charging towards him with his lance lowered into position. Sir Gareth and Sir Darn were a few lengths behind.
Seeing the point of Owein’s lance bearing down on him terrified Billy, but he knew he couldn’t stop, or the Night Queen would surely skewer him. Billy drove Briallen onward, praying that Sir Owein might miss him. He shut his eyes against the coming blow and hugged Briallen’s neck. The thunder of hooves on the bridge pounded Billy’s ears. Owein was right on top of him.
Crash!
Splinters and sparks filled the air as Sir Owein and the Night Queen collided. Billy, realizing that he hadn’t been struck, straightened and looked behind him.
Sir Owein lay half over the bridge railing—his body pinned to an upright by the Night Queen’s lance. Although still mounted, she had been brought to a stop.
Billy dug into Briallen’s sides and turned forward just in time to catch Sir Gareth’s outstretched arm on the chin. Like fruit plucked from a tree, Billy was wiped from the saddle and then somersaulted backwards over his mount’s rear. The ground leapt up to strike him, knocking the wind from his lungs and continuing to beat him as he tumbled down the road like a half-filled barrel of wheat. Briallen, true to her training, galloped a few yards then slowed to a trot before stopping.
Billy lay on his back. The starry sky spun while his lungs fought to draw breath. He clenched his eyes against the pain that abruptly reported from his entire body and rolled over on his side. Slowly, he pushed up from the dust, trying to force some air into his lungs, but it was like taking bones from a dog.
Suddenly, more thunder and the clash of steel rang from the bridge. Billy looked up to see Gareth and Darn fighting back the Night Queen, in an attempt to rescue the fallen Owein.
Sir Gareth crowded in next to his attacker, attempting to drive her back down the bridge, but she did not budge. She swung her long black sword over her head. Then a shower of sparks lit up the bridge as she sheared off the top of Gareth’s shield with a single blow. She next beat down on Darn, cutting through his shield and into his arm. The knight cried out in pain but continued to fight.
The Night Queen’s eyes sought out Billy as she slashed and parried with her opponents. She drove her horse forward, wedging herself between the knights and closer to Billy, but the knights would not let her pass. Flashes of light bounced off their armor and the bridge supports as she rained down blow after blow on the king’s warriors.
At last, Sir Gareth got in a clean shot, which knocked off the Night Queen’s helmet. Her head was swayed for a moment, but then she rose up with the fury of fire in her eyes. She glared at Gareth and shield-bashed his chin while he was still awestruck by her beautiful alien features. Immediately she followed with a lunge at Darn whose wounded arm had become too weak to hold up his shield. Blood gushed from the man’s abdomen as the black sword penetrated his armor.
Darn’s sword dropped to the planks of the bridge with a clank. The Night Queen tugged on her sword, but it was caught fas
t in her victim’s armor. The knight grasped the sword lodged in his innards. He rolled forward and fell into her. Again she struggled to retrieve her weapon.
At that moment, Gareth struck at her from behind. His sword found its mark between her backplate and pauldron. She wailed as blood streamed from her shoulder. Instantly she wheeled around, swatting Gareth’s sword aside and nearly knocking him off his mount. Then, while he was still off balance, she drew her dagger and pounced on him. She struck at his face repeatedly, but each time the valiant knight managed to knock aside her blows.
Billy finally felt the breath returning to his pained lungs, and he rose to his feet. He gave a short whistle, and Briallen came to him.
Now all the combatants and their mounts crowded up against the side of the bridge. Gareth, arched backwards off the side of his horse, was barely able to maintain his seat and fend off the vicious attacks of the furious Night Queen. Darn feebly grabbed at her leg while his horse continued to drive them against the side. A loud creak came from the bridge as their weight came against the railing.
Both Gareth and the Night Queen hesitated, and then Gareth punched his opponent. Her face was flung back but immediately returned, bloody and more enraged than before. She slashed feverishly at Gareth, cutting into his arm and once across his cheek.
Gareth grabbed the wrist of her dagger hand and her throat. The Night Queen responded by clawing at his eyes with her free hand, before reciprocating the chokehold he had on her. Neither one had a clear advantage.
Billy mounted Briallen and started to ride away from the bridge. He got only a few steps before he stopped to look back. The Night Queen glared up at him with all the venom she could muster.
Gareth gasped for air. He tried to say something but only sputtered.
Billy turned Briallen around and headed for the bridge. The personal danger didn’t matter to him nor did the knights’ obligation to take him back for execution. He only knew that he couldn’t leave them to the mercy of the Night Queen.
As Billy approached, both the Night Queen and Gareth looked up at him. Gareth summoned up his strength and said in a raspy voice, “Get out of here, Billy.”
