by Lee Savino
“Nothing about her is ordinary.”
Ivar’s shoulders slumped. He knew it to be true.
“She came almost to the gates of our lord’s castle without being caught. There is something fey in her scent.” Not fey—beautiful. But after many days bowed under the stench of dark magic, a clean, fresh scent was suspicious. The one that brought such relief must be powerful indeed. “I cannot just let her go.”
After a long, searching look, Ivar nodded. I motioned to the men to string our captive up and readied myself to interrogate the maid who was more than she seemed. If I did so loudly enough, perhaps Gaul would be placated. Perhaps I could then let her go, without danger of him reporting her presence. Even now he paced in the shadow of the castle wall, his face lit with cruel excitement as Lars and Ivar led the woman to the whipping post to be strung up. One of the watching warriors brandished a whip and snapped it. The crack made her flinch, but she made no sound. Gaul smiled.
I motioned for the watching warriors to leave and took their place. My own whip was coiled at my belt. I did not want to use it, but I would if I must. Better to make a show of questioning her. Better for my lash to drive her to answer than another’s. Better she bore the brunt of my scrutiny than the king’s.
Yseult
At the foot of the great wall, there was a scaffold set up with a single rope hanging from it. The blond warrior held me while his companion looped the thong around my wrists. Once they stepped back and pulled the rope until my arms stretched over head and my toes brushed the ground. I was hung like a side of meat, at the commander’s mercy.
Tristan stalked around me, his crimson cloak fluttering behind him. He wore his helmet once more; it made him look cruel and unyielding.
I bit my lip, straining to find a rock or clump of grass to push my foot against, to give relief.
For a few minutes, the guards watched me struggle. Gaul’s mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “This is the part where you beg,” he called.
What would I beg for? My life? I had one purpose. My sisters’ spell had dragged me through time. They waited on the other side, but not for my return. I only had to live long enough to send them knowledge on how to defeat the Corpse King.
Grasping a handful of my hair, the commander tugged my head back.
“Please,” I whispered. If I had my power, I could lay these men flat in an instant.
“Why did you come?”
“I was sent. I mean you no harm.”
“Did you come with a tribute?”
I shook my head.
“Where are your people?”
“We were separated.”
“Did they deliver you here for a purpose?”
I couldn’t lie. I bit my lip.
My questioner shook me a little by my hair. “Do you mean to harm this fortress?”
I shook my head. Not the fortress, or even the warriors in it. I wasn’t even sent to harm the Corpse King, for doing so might unbalance the scales of time. I had one purpose, and one alone: find the spell to stop the mage and bring it back to my own time. I only had to survive long enough to carry the message back to my sisters.
I could not die this morn. Not yet.
The commander let go of my hair to stroke it thoughtfully. I’d lost my braid, but at least the locks were still clean. Mostly. He picked a few strands of dried grass out.
“What sort of people send an innocent girl to spy?” Tristan mused.
“She’s telling the truth.” Offered the swarthy warrior. Ivar, they called him. He still watched me closely, eyes unblinking as a raven’s. I avoided his gaze, lest he see more than I wished. “She hasn’t lied yet.”
“Perhaps she was part of her people’s tribute.” The blond warrior offered. “She is a maid. Untouched.”
Tristan scoffed and paced away, but the blond drew closer.
“Lars,” Ivar said in warning, and though the blond warrior stopped in his tracks, he looked more interested in me by the second. Raising his head, he sniffed the air.
“Have you ever caught such delicate scent? It’s intoxicating.” Lars ventured closer, a dazed look on his face. My feet scrabbled in the dirt, trying to dance away. Something was happening, something I didn’t understand. The blond warrior leaned into me, sucking in lungfuls of air until my hair stirred with his breath.
“Commander,” Ivar called, and the red-cloaked leader turned.
“Lars,” he barked.
The order snapped Lars out of his trance. Shaking his blond head, the warrior returned to his place.
Tristan turned his attention to me. “Tell us what land you hail from.”
“Alba. Beyond the sea,” I told him, and all three warriors frowned. The expression looked so similar on all their faces, I wondered if they shared a common ancestor.
“Where is that?”
“Where is here?” I asked.
“You do not know the kingdom of Lycaon?”
I tried to remember the lore my sisters had learned. “Arcadia?”
The warriors exchanged glances.
“I heard King Lycaon hailed from Arcadia before his travels brought him to new lands. New lands he then conquered.”
“His kingdom is vast. His power unmatched,” Gaul said.
“His warriors are also legendary,” I attempted a smile, but the strain in my arms was too great to make it more than a grimace.
“Loosen the rope,” the commander ordered.
Gaul jerked back. “But—”
“Now.” The commander’s brown eyes studied me from behind his helm. I tried to remain stoic but couldn’t stop my sigh of relief as the rope allowed my feet to touch the ground.
“What is your purpose here?”
To find a spell to kill his king. To stop the mage from all he would achieve in my time. Any other answer I gave would be a lie and these warriors would know.
The wind swirled around me as I waited.
With a sigh, the commander pulled something from his belt and held it under my chin. A whip made of braided strands. He used it to tip my head back. “I have no wish to mark such pretty skin.”
“I’ll do it.” Lars offered.
“No,” Gaul said. “We know your skill with a whip. You would strike her in a way that gives her no more pain than the passing wind.”
“Silence,” the commander ordered. Lars winked at me.
Ivar cleared his throat. “Perhaps, commander, you should just let her go.” Dissenting murmurs ran through the ranks of guards.
“A possible risk to our lord?” Gaul spoke up.
“She is a maid,” Lars retorted.
“She is dangerous. She has trespassed and must be punished.” Gaul spun in a circle as he made his announcement. His loud voice drew more warriors. I bowed my head, feeling their bloodlust. They wanted me stripped and flogged, if for no other reason than entertainment.
“Enough,” the commander snapped. “Gaul, return to your post.”
The commander stepped close, his face close to mine.
“Do you wish to return to your people?”
I nodded.
“Who are you, then? And what is your true purpose?” his breath warmed my skin. “If you answer, I can let you go,” he spoke into my ear.
I blinked at him, but there was nothing but honesty in his steady gaze. He truly wanted to let me go.
I licked my lips.
“Commander, if you cannot stomach questioning the prisoner, I will take your place,” Gaul said, stalking closer. “The king won’t want you going easy on a spy.”
Tristan squared off to face him, shaking his head. For a moment I thought they would come to blows.
“Commander,” Lars called, breaking the silence. “She should be tested.”
Was it my imagination, or did the commander’s shoulders sink a little?
“All maids must be tested to see if they are suitable. The king commands it.” Murmurs of agreement greeted Lars.
“Very well. Fetch the stone,” Tri
stan ordered. Ivar and Lars saluted and marched back to the tent. Disappointment slithered across Gaul’s face. No doubt he wished me bared and whipped before all.
“Return to your post,” Tristan ordered him, menace in his voice. Relief poured through me when the troublemaker mock saluted and backed away. I tensed again as Tristan come close.
“You should have spoken. I could’ve saved you.” The commander muttered, eyes bleak. That frightened me more than anything else he’d said.
The two warriors who’d found me returned. Lars carried a box. He opened it and a flash of light escaped. I squinted, unable to look away as Ivar took an object from the box and brought it forward. Tristan motioned for him to come closer.
“Please…” I struggled instinctively as Ivar held up a glowing stone. It was milky white, with something swirling in its depths. When he held it up to my face, a flash burst from it, blinding me. A few warriors cried out.
I shook my head, blinking in the aftermath as Ivar put the stone away. “It reacts to her presence.”
The commander’s face pinched tight, a shadow passing over his features.
“This one must be brought to the king.”
Magnus
Buzzing bees filled the air above my head. I swatted at them without opening my eyes and spat to rid my mouth of a disgusting taste. Then retched—it was not a taste, it was a smell, and it was all around. A scent like sludge, covering my skin, seeping into my pores.
I had to get away.
My head throbbed. The sun was a brutal master, high in the sky, beating my face. I raised my hand to shield my eyes and groaned. My body ached.
Where was I? Where were my brothers?
I got to my feet and the buzzing grew louder, more frenzied.
Not bees. Flies.
I stood alone in a field of blood. Half covering my eyes, I took a step and nearly slipped on the red-slicked grass. Then the light lessened, and I was able to see the bodies, fanned out from where I stood.
At first, I thought they might be my brothers, but the faces were too young, the skin smooth with youth, still in death.
This was not a battlefield, but a village green, surrounded by destroyed buildings. Smoke rose from the charred remains. I squinted against the sun, but there were no warriors here, and no one living. No one other than me.
I moved, and something clinked against my foot. My best broadsword. The Ghost-maker, used when I rode to battle in service of the king.
Why was the metal wet with blood? Who had I fought? Who had I slain?
I turned, swaying on the soaked ground.
This was not the scene of battle, but slaughter. There was no enemy here. Only boys too young to fight. Boys turned to bodies. Had I killed them all? I could not remember.
The flies swarmed, the buzzing threatening to drive me mad. If I was not already mad. I had fought until I was unconscious and fallen without cleaning my sword. I was a great warrior. I had tasted the battle lust before.
But I had always faced warriors. Never innocents like the ones fanned out at my feet.
What had happened before this morn? Where was my honor? What had I done?
I sank to my knees under the weight of the fallen.
Yseult
The commander himself escorted me inside, marching me forward with a strong hand on my arm.
The closer we got to the gates, the more my head throbbed. The pain enveloped me until I struggled to draw breath. Whatever defenses the Corpse King had on his fortress, they were strong enough to crush out any magical threat.
Perhaps it was a boon the journey had stripped me of magic. I’d come to seek a way to stop the mage, and now was being dragged into the heart of his fortress.
At great wooden gates, I was walking more on Tristan’s strength than my own. His face was grim as he pulled me past the clusters of warriors. I felt his anger, but his hand on my arm, while strong and inescapable, was gentle.
“Commander,” a few greeted him, and he barely grunted an acknowledgment.
“Here,” he ripped down a fluttering pennant, tearing it into a cloth and thrusting it towards me. “Keep your head covered,”
I did as he bid and wrapped the cloth over my head and under my chin. I kept my gaze to the ground, but felt every stare of the warriors as we passed.
And then, just as we were to step into the yard, a snarling monster lunged out of the shadows towards me. Sharp teeth flashed in the sunlight, the beast—a man shaped giant, covered in fur. Growling, it swiped at me with hands tipped with vicious claws.
I froze. The air filled with a loud, buzzing sound. I caught a glimpse of the swarm—a million raging flies rising from a field of the dead.
A strong arm yanked me back out of the vision, and away from the raving monster.
Warriors were shouting.
“Take him,” Tristan shouted, holding me against him. The guards rushed to obey, swarming the great fighter, who roared in challenge and sent his attackers flying.
“Hold him.” Lars and Ivar rushed in, dodging and feinting around the monster until they grabbed its arms. More men rushed in, piercing the giant with their spears. Blades nicked the furred flesh and blood flowed. The mouth was still open, roaring, but the eyes fixed on me.
I cried out as the wild warrior’s aura touched mine. Angry magic consumed him from the inside.
Whatever this monster was, it had once been a man.
Lars and Ivar struggled to hold him back he howled and reached for me.
“Send him to the dungeons,” Tristan shouted.
Lars and Ivar echoed the order, dragging the beast back into the shadows.
I sagged back, stumbling against Tristan. I found myself in the commander’s arms, in a daze.
He pulled me into a low building attached to the fortress wall. The guardroom was full of warriors staring at me.
“Out,” Tristan ordered them. Rapping their breastplates in salute, they left.
I’d lost my veil.
“Drink this,” I accepted the cup of cold water gratefully. The throbbing in my head had receded, driven out, perhaps by the sudden vision of the warrior-turned-monster. That man had been trapped in a battle vision, unable to break through.
I shuddered, and focused on drinking, centering myself so the room didn’t swirl away.
When I looked up Tristan was watching me closely.
“Who was that man?” I asked once I had my voice. “What happened to him?”
Tristan shook his head. “My apologies. My man was not himself. I will keep you safe within these walls.”
“You tied me up to question me, and now you apologize for one of your men attacking me?”
“You are now a guest of the king.”
I narrowed my eyes but didn’t argue. My head was slowly clearing. Something about the encounter with the man changed his mind about me.
“I am happy to accept the king’s hospitality,” I said, a bit formally. If they followed guesting custom, I was safer inside the walls than hiding as a spy outside of it. “And I will lend aid to any of his house. I can help him.”
“No one can help him. Least of all you.” He paced, his cloak fluttering. “You must help yourself. Start by telling me who you are and where you hail from.”
“Sir, I am but a maid—”
“No. Not if you illuminated the stone.”
“What was it?” I blurted before I could stop myself. “The stone.”
“You are not from around these parts,” Tristan shook his head. “If you were you would know. All women must be presented to the king. If you are pleasing, he may choose to keep you as one of his wives.”
I sucked in a breath.
“Yes,” he said. “Now you know why I was loathe to test you. If you had spoken sooner, you might have been saved.”
I gnawed my lip as Tristan loomed over me.
“You should have shoes,” he murmured.
I tucked my bare feet under my now ragged hem. He stepped out a moment, calling to
a warrior. When he returned, he sat and fixed me with a stare.
“I know I have seen you before.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” I rasped. “I have never been here before. You must believe me,” I added when he rose.
“I do. For some reason I do.” He gave me more water. A knock on the door called him away.
“Here,” he said, holding up a pair of boots. “Still too large, but the smallest my man could find.”
“I—” I was speechless in the face of his care. “Thank you.”
To my surprise, he knelt and wiped my feet before helping put the boots on. This small kindness emboldened me.
“Tell me of the warrior we saw,” I said. “What happened to make him mad? Did he just return from battle?”
“We have not had a reason to go to battle for over a hundred years,” Tristan said. He sounded tired. “Why do you ask after my warrior? Why do you care?”
“I’ve seen men like him before. Battle mad. Where I come from, such warriors are called Berserkers. There is a spell to make them. These men have the strength of ten, or twenty. But their warrior’s prowess comes with a cost.
“The madness comes on when a warrior fights. But sometimes it lingers.”
“Yes.”
“Is that what happened to the warrior today?”
“He has been fighting the madness for a long time.”
“The hardest fight is within. I might be able to help him.”
“How?”
“I have a little skill in healing.”
“Healing the mind?”
“Where I come from, the Berserker warriors find comfort in the touch of a woman.”
Tristan raised a brow. “You would touch him?”
I fisted my hands tighter in my gown. “If it would help him, I’d be willing to try.”
Rising, the commander shook his head. Again, he paced with his cloak flaring out behind him. “Anything you do will only prolong his suffering.”
“Do you mean for him to die?”
Tristan didn’t answer.
I stood. “Let me try.” I put more force in my voice than I felt.
