Dark Embers

by R. L. Giddings

  Not that it mattered to me.

  Everything I cared about was lying, curled up, on a stone bench, his nakedness covered by a jacket. I felt Aleena watching me and, when our eyes met, she gave me a teasing, mocking smile as if she knew my inner thoughts.

  There was no need for her to say anything as her gaze shifted to take in Silas’s sleeping form, the insinuation was quite clear enough.

  He could be mine, if I desired it. Would be mine.

  She wouldn’t even need to ask. Though I couldn’t work out whether it was Silas that intrigued her or the exercise of her seductive power.

  She came over to me. Ib Ure looking incongruous in her hand.

  “You intend to take him back, then? Into your world.”

  I nodded, unsure of where this was going. I wanted to leave Arcadia as quickly as possible but was also aware that I’d invariably need her help to do so.

  “You could always stay here,” she said. “The pair of you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She ignored my concerns and indicated for Macrory to join us. The vast cloud of dust slowly advancing across the lawn.

  “They should both stay here. Yes?”

  Macrory managed to appear both alarmed and puzzled.

  “We really ought to be getting back,” he said. “Another one of our party has been injured.”

  The queen smiled. “But would it be wise to return just now? What with the war looming?”

  “Majesty?” I said.

  With the Dandelion Tower destroyed, she couldn’t really continue with her invasion plans, could she?

  “My troops will have arrived at the rallying point by now. They await only my signal.”

  Macrory said, “But the tower…”

  “Changes nothing. I refuse to step down with the country on the brink of war. Florian’s sacrifice will not be quickly forgotten.”

  Sacrifice?

  Macrory and I exchanged puzzled looks.

  “The troops will hear how the humans despatched an assassin, armed with Sigurdsil, against me. Florian gave his life valiantly in order to protect his queen. ‘Remember Florian’ will be their rallying cry.”

  An inspired piece of military propaganda. Aleena hadn’t stayed in power for all this time not to have picked up a trick or two.

  “But, you’ve lost your element of surprise,” I said. “Our troops have been readying an ambush. You’ll be walking straight into a trap.”

  The disdain was clear on her face. Either she didn’t believe me or she thought that such things were irrelevant. The war was, after all, only intended as a distraction.

  “No matter. My people will fight all the harder knowing that insurgents have destroyed the Dandelion Tower.”

  There she was again: effortlessly re-writing history.

  “There will be no war!”

  The new arrival appeared from out of the dust cloud.

  A woman strikingly similar to Aleena and every bit as beautiful, her hair the colour of ravens, her body childlike yet strong. She wore a vibrant purple gown, open at the neck but with a wide collar.

  The effect on Aleena was instantaneous. She raised the Ib Ure but in a defensive gesture, the assurance she’d displayed only moments earlier, leaving her completely.

  We stood rooted to the spot while, one by one, four attendants came and stood behind the newcomer keeping a respectful distance.

  When they were all assembled, the raven haired woman nodded and one of the attendants, a heavy set, older woman, crossed the divide. She held out her hand.

  Aleena looked askance but then surrendered the knife. The attendant took it, returning to her place at the younger woman’s side.

  There was an awkward silence and then Macrory cleared his throat.

  “Urm, Silesia, Queen of the Seelie Court, Daughter of Oberon, Sister of the Divine Covenant, may I introduce Bronte Fellows, Royal Emissary to the World of Men.”

  Silesia inclined her head a fraction. Macrory twitched his eyebrows in my direction and I dutifully sank to one knee. Things were changing all too quickly. I hoped, for the better.

  “Your Majesty.”

  She regarded Aleena. “Sister, you have done us great harm.”

  Aleena couldn’t bring herself to return her gaze, her nostrils twitching with consternation.

  “I hoped only to strengthen the hold on our lands.”

  “By locking us away from our people? By denying them the harmony of the seasons?”

  “I had bold plans …”

  Her sister held up her hand. “Enough. You had bold plans which jeopardised everything we hold dear.”

  She pointed in the direction of where the tower had once stood.

  “You sought to control the elements. To regulate the flow of magic to your own ends. To involve our people in a costly war primarily to cement yourself as sole ruler of Arcadia. Unfortunately for you, when the tower was destroyed so were the restraints holding us in stasis.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “Your plans were not motivated by any thought of royal service but by your own sense of over weaning pride. Doubtless, you will be able to reflect upon this during your years in Abeyance.”

  “You speak of the old ways,” there was an unmistakeable catch in Aleena’s voice. “Times have changed. The mortals are not as biddable as they once were. Even now, they gather a mighty army to oppose us. Let us work together to defeat them.”

  “The greatest threat posed to our people is you, Aleena.”

  “At least let me speak!”

  “The time for words has passed,” Silesia sighed, beckoning one of her attendants forward.

  The woman went over and stood just behind Aleena.

  Silesia said, “Would you abuse our people’s traditions even now?”

  Aleena dropped her head onto her chest.

  “No. Of course not. I will comply.”

  She lifted her head and stood solemnly while the attendants went over and assumed their positions behind her. The small party moved off in silent procession back towards the palace.

  Only then did Silesia turn to me.

  “You do us a great service,” she said, inclining her head in the tiniest of bows.

  I looked to Macrory for direction. He prompted me to keep the conversation going.

  “It was my privilege, your majesty.”

  “Your sacrifice will not soon be forgotten. But there is one more favour I would ask of you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  The army of Advocates had cut the woods back a hundred metres from the mouth of the cave. Only the pulped stumps remained. A series of strategic trenches had been dug, marshalled by Necromancers who had waited many years to ply their bitter trade in open warfare. Floodlights were still being erected on the slopes while smudges of smoke hung in the darkening sky. Expectations were high that the enemy would arrive in a matter of hours.

  The War Council’s forces had been gathering in Norway for over a week. Expectations were running high.

  A communications centre had been set up in the south-westerly corner of the field. It consisted of a mini-television studio, housed in a group of porta-cabins. This was supported by a number of Outside Broadcast vehicles, many with satellites dishes, transferring the pictures live to cities across the globe. A nervous looking wizard patrolled the perimeter. Charged with setting the protective wards, he would be able to do nothing until the invaders came into view.

  The Englishman - he’d never bothered to formally introduce himself - sat warming himself in front of a mobile heater. He watched as the helicopter circled the battle ground before setting down a short distance away. He seemed hardly to notice the down-draught which sent various bits of detritus flying across the camp.

  He’d been supervising the operation for the last week and had been careful to distance himself from the commanders of the various groups, declining numerous dinner invitations. Most of the commanders had brought their own chefs. Instead, he t
ended to eat alone in his tent.

  He was perceived as being prickly yet grimly efficient.

  The Englishman grinned as Svetlana Prozorova’s entourage negotiated their way across the sea of churned up mud, clambering over the wooden pallets and shattered concrete which separated them.

  “Apologies for the state of the place,” he said. “As you can see we’ve had our hands full.”

  Prozorova was dressed in a white parka, a lime green scarf fluttering at her throat. She looked young and healthy.

  “Any news?”

  “The archaeologists got all excited earlier. They’d been making their soundings all afternoon and about four o’clock, thought they were onto something. That’s when we pulled everybody back but – so far – nothing!”

  Prozorova surveyed the camp.

  “Where is everybody? The place looks half empty.”

  The Englishman waved her forward. “They’re keeping a low profile. But if you’ll follow me…”

  She turned to her entourage.

  “Stay here.”

  A Battle Mage wearing a sheep-skin jacket made to follow her.

  “I said, stay here.”

  “But this is an extremely hostile environment…”

  “Are you questioning my judgement?

  The man opened his mouth as if to argue his case but then decided against it.

  She walked with the Englishman in the direction of the cave mouth.

  He said, “They seem a little jumpy.”

  “It’s annoying. I’ve never really found anyone to replace Igor.”

  They passed scores of trenches which had been carved out of the frozen earth and fortified with timbers. The whole place smelled of damp earth and freshly planed wood.

  Over to their right was a large collection of tents.

  “How many Advocates?”

  “Just over a thousand. But the main camp is on the other side of that ridge.”

  “I saw it as we came in. What about practitioners?”

  “Behind those trees. About half a mile away.”

  Surprise crossed her face, “Is that wise?”

  “No need to worry. We’ve been busy. Built a roadway to accommodate the transports. They can be here in six minutes.”

  She didn’t seem to draw much comfort from that. “I’d be happier with five.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Are you expecting trouble?”

  They were standing on a mound of earth over-looking the whole of the camp.

  “It’s that bastard Florian,” she observed. “He’s too inconsistent.”

  “You think he might suspect?”

  “About the double-cross?” Prozorova tucked her scarf inside her jacket and pulled up the zipper.

  “No, he’s not that bright and he’s too arrogant to listen to his commanders. In that regard he’s the perfect stalking horse. You did well bringing him on board.”

  The Englishman allowed himself a tight smile. That was the closest he’d get to a compliment. But why should he care? The money he was being paid was reward enough.

  Prozorova finished scanning the area.

  “Alright. I give up. Where are they?”

  The Englishman’s mouth quirked, satisfied. “The Harvesters? We’ve hidden them.”

  “Don’t play games with me,” her voice was quieter. More dangerous. “I want to know where they are.”

  He pointed to the other side of the plain. “Can you see those bushes? Three teams are dug in over there, ten metres apart.”

  “Seems a little tight to me but I suppose you know what you’re doing. What about the rest?”

  “We’re standing on top of them.”

  She looked at him to see if he were joking. He wasn’t.

  “Good. And the operators? You’re sure they can be trusted? We’re asking a great deal of them to turn on their own.”

  “Sidhe they might be, but they come from a rival house to that idiot Florian. They’ve been getting a raw deal from Aleena for years and they’re sick of it. Arcadia’s ripe for civil war. Ripe for it.”

  “Just so long as they follow orders. We wouldn’t want any last minute slip ups.”

  He had been expecting this and had a pre-prepared response. “The trials in Finland went off with barely a hitch. Only one casualty but that was well within our margins. These Harvesters can be a little temperamental but the results are well worth it.”

  “And that’s my big concern,” Prozorova walked down the slope, glancing behind her in an attempt to detect the hidden entrance. “What if Florian fires up his Harvesters while he’s still in the cave? That could prove be very problematic.”

  “Well, we know he can’t come through the vortices with the Harvesters activated – like I said, they’re temperamental at the best of times. It would take him thirty minutes or more to get them fully fired up, plus we’ve got snipers in the caves just in case he gets any bright ideas. My big concern is: what do we do if he tries to surrender?”

  Prozorova raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to allow that to happen. This battle has to be a resounding victory. We can’t afford to have any loose ends. Florian is expecting to fight a skirmish before retreating back to Arcadia. He has no idea what we’ve got planned for him.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do with Florian himself?”

  “He’s not the type to take kindly to being double-crossed. He could have been very useful to us but, no. Unfortunately, I think Florian might well be the first casualty of war.”

  The Englishman turned away from her at that point, pressing a hand to his ear-piece.

  “Yes, I’ve got that.”

  Prozorova looked across to the cave mouth. Nothing appeared to be happening.

  “Well, get it sorted,” he said, his volume rising. “I don’t care how – just get it done.”

  When he’d finished, Prozorova said, “Problems?”

  “There shouldn’t be but there are. We’ve lost all communication with the team inside the cave.”

  “And what are you doing about it?

  He raised a hand while listening to more details.

  “No. That’s not possible. Try them again.”

  He turned back around, wiping his hand across his nose. There was blood.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  The air around them had started to buzz. They both felt it.

  The trees on the edge of the clearing were pulsing with orange light. A Sidhe warrior stepped out into the open. There was something odd about him but the Englishman couldn’t decide what it was.

  The warrior inspected his hand. The skin had simply sloughed off in one piece to reveal the red ruin of his hand, bones and tendons clearly visible.

  Then he reached up to clutch the skin on his face. And pulled.

  Reports started pouring in through the Englishman’s ear-piece. They were confused and contradictory. Despite the freezing temperature, he was already starting to sweat.

  He gave orders for the first two squads of Advocates to form up and move towards the cave mouth. He was still giving those orders as Prozorova began pulling him back up the frozen mound of earth. A concealed entrance was beginning to slide open right beneath their feet.

  The first of the Harvester machines appeared, melting the snow in all directions.

  As more appeared, the man felt a peculiar prickling sensation low down on the back of his neck. He’d experienced it every time they’d fired up the Harvesters but didn’t like to acknowledge it; it was a primal reaction. Everything about these machines felt wrong.

  Something struck him on the arm and then fell to the floor. A clump of feathers attached to a red clot of flesh. When he looked, he could see bits of bird scattered all over the mound he was standing on. He tried to back away then but Svetlana Prozorova held him firm.

  “It’s too late,” she said.

  The three machines trundled away from them.

  The Englishman watched them in disbelief.

  “The c
rews? Where are the crews?”

  It normally took a crew of five to control each machine but there was no sign of them.

  On the far side of the plain, the same thing was happening: Harvester’s breaking cover with no sign of their crews.

  He froze. “This can’t be happening.”

  “And yet it is,” Prozorova said, sharply.

  “They can’t operate without a crew to power them.”

  “Then someone must be doing it remotely.”

  A figure in purple was striding out from the mouth of the cave. She should have been too far away to pick out normally but both Prozorova and her companion were operating hyper-real optics.

  “Is that Aleena?” he asked. “Is that the queen?”

  “No. Worse. That’s her sister.”

  The Englishman started to address his comms unit, marshalling the Advocate squads.

  Prozorova placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re wasting your time.”

  Her words were drowned out by the sound of mortars. The noise of the artillery which followed was even louder.

  None of this seemed to affect the approaching queen. All the armaments exploded well short of their mark. One group, sweeping down from the far ridge, tried to outflank her using small arms fire.

  Silesia didn’t even look in their direction. Instead, she started to sing.

  Her voice was beautiful and terrible all at the same time. Three rising notes scythed through the group at her rear, transforming them instantly into fresh amputees.

  Her voice cut through the line of Advocates as they emerged from their tents, sixty men falling in synchronised slaughter.

  Prozorova’s voice was clear and unequivocal.

  “Call them off. It’s over.”

  *

  Macrory and I emerged from the cave with the sound of the artillery fading into the distance.

  Silesia was, by now, three hundred metres away, guarded on both sides by the Harvesters. A company of Advocates was forming up on the southern half of the plain. They were preparing to despatch teams of medics to the various parts of the battlefield while being conspicuous about not entering the fray themselves.