‘Damn you, Oriana,’ he said with such ferocity it made his horse jittery. ‘Shush, Bron.’
He rubbed the horse’s velvety nose before climbing up onto the saddle. Following Oriana at a lesser pace, Vilas could almost taste the princess’ anger on the air as he breathed in.
Come on, he told himself, take the princess to Hashir and the oath is done.
He would ensure Hashir swore he would never force the princess into marriage; he would make the king promise him that before even introducing Oriana. Life could then be what he made it. He could find a woman of his own, one who made him feel how Oriana did. Vilas laughed. Surely that was possible even though it had taken him this long to find her in the first place? It was just his rotten luck Oriana was the one woman who could never be his. For as much as Hashir and he were friends, the other man was still his king. And despite what he thought of Hashir, Kings did not like it when someone took something they wanted. Maybe that was why he, Vilas, wanted Oriana so desperately—because on some level he had always known she could never be his.
Above the tree-tops the castle stood magnificently proud. Even from the outer edge of the forest, Vilas could see Hashir had replaced King Germaine’s coat of arms flag with his own. Shadows of the forest loomed across the dirt road. Vilas panicked.
The way ahead of him was empty.
Where was Oriana?
‘Oriana?’ he shouted.
With a twitch on the reins, Vilas’ horse broke into a canter, plunging them both into the shadows. Sunlight sliced blades of illumination through the dense foliage. It took several moments for Vilas’ eyes to adjust to the change from bright daylight. His nostrils twitched, detecting the distinct aroma of burning wood.
‘Oriana!’
Following the road through the trees, Vilas shivered despite his armour.
If anything had happened to the princess, Hashir would be most upset. Hell, he would be furious!
Vilas saw the smoke first and then heard the voices.
‘I order you to release her!’ shouted a female voice.
Oriana.
Vilas’ horse cantered in the direction of the smoke, rearing with a neigh as it stopped suddenly to avoid a burning pyre. Around the rapidly rising flames stood six jeering soldiers, wearing armour bearing King Hashir’s coat of arms. Tied to a post in the middle of the pyre, and not yet consumed by the fire, was a woman wearing different armour. Terror blazed in her eyes yet she was silent.
A soldier, Vilas thought.
The soldiers turned to face Vilas, acknowledging him with a tilt of their heads.
‘Commander,’ said one, nudging the man next to him.
Oriana stood, fuming beside her horse. ‘I told you, release her!’
Vilas soothed his horse, and dismounted.
‘Who are you to order us around?’ one of the soldiers shouted at Oriana. ‘Get on with you; go off to court where you belong!’
‘I am Princess Oriana, daughter of King Germaine and rightful ruler of this land!’ Oriana shouted back.
‘Enough!’ Vilas bellowed, striding to Oriana’s side. ‘Do as the Princess asks.’ He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the nearest soldier. ‘You, release the woman.’
‘But I’ll get burnt!’ The soldier, who was no more than a mere boy, backed away.
‘She’s one of King Germaine’s soldiers.’ Another soldier spat at the pyre, his spittle sizzling upon impact. ‘She refuses to acknowledge King Hashir as the ruler of this land!’
Within the flames, the female soldier finally cried out as the fire licked her legs.
‘That’s it!’ Oriana said, unbuttoning her skirt and allowing the material to drop to the floor. ‘If they won’t do it, I will.’ Clad in her bodice and short underskirt, she jumped out of the mound of skirts.
Vilas reached for her but he was too late and his fingers closed around empty air as Oriana wrapped her hair around herself and plunged into the flames.
‘No!’ Vilas cried, lunging after her. He raised his sword as one soldier drew his own to stop him.
‘Let them burn!’ said another soldier.
Anger rose inside Vilas. Heat rushed through his veins, making his breathing short and his top lip curl.
‘Hold your tongue!’ he ordered.
‘What do you care?’ the first soldier snarled. ‘You and I are both on the same side...have you taken a fancy to the princess? Maybe you want her all to yourself!’
Anger reddened Vilas’ cheeks; deliberately he walked towards the offensive soldier. ‘I said hold your tongue. If you don’t I’ll cut the damn thing out of your head.’
‘I say we leave the princess on the fire!’ said another soldier.
Vilas gritted his teeth. ‘You know King Hashir wants her alive.’
‘And?’ the first soldier asked with a sneer. ‘There are more of us than you; we’ll just say you killed her.’
‘And why would you do that?’ Vilas kept his sword extended, circling the burning pyre with the soldiers opposite him mirroring his steps.
‘You ain’t your father.’
‘Yeah, we don’t like you.’
‘You’re too jumped up for our tastes!’
‘And Hashir isn’t his father.’ Vilas gestured to Oriana to move away but she refused to look at him. Exasperated with the whole situation he said to the soldiers, ‘I am your commander and you will do as I damn well order. Cut the soldier down from the pyre and release her to me.’
‘No!’
‘She deserves to burn!’
‘The bitch attacked us!’
‘Yeah, we were defending ourselves!’
‘Six of you against one soldier?’ Vilas countered. ‘Rubbish!’
With a roar the soldier who had first spoken dipped his head and charged at Vilas.
Vilas, being faster and leaner, easily side-stepped the attack and whacked the soldier hard on the back with his sword’s pommel.
The soldier staggered but quickly spun around and struck again.
Bracing as the soldier’s sword edge clashed with his own, Vilas put his many years of swordsmanship to good use. With a flawless sweep he manoeuvred his sword free before the other man even saw it was coming and thrust the point into the soldier’s throat.
‘I didn’t want it to come to this!’ Vilas bellowed. ‘But you forced my hand!’
The soldier’s eyes widened as blood bubbled out of his mouth and he fell to the floor as Vilas wrenched his sword free. With a combined battle cry, four of the remaining soldiers charged. Vilas swung his sword from left to right, buckling under the pressure. A blade clanged against his armour, sending vibrations shooting down from his shoulder. Managing to gain an advantage he put distance between him and most of the soldiers, swinging his blade into the legs of one, sending him crumpling to the ground. Without hesitation Vilas raised his sword and brought it down on the fallen soldier’s head, splattering himself with blood.
Deflecting blows from both sides, Vilas risked a glance at Oriana. She had somehow managed to free the female soldier and the two of them jumped from the top of the pyre just as the flames completely consumed it. Vilas blocked an attack from the left, and the right. He cried out as a blade sliced above his left elbow, drawing blood. Sweat made his body slick beneath the weight of his armour.
‘Fools!’ he panted. ‘Will you all die for nothing?’
‘Not for nothing,’ said the soldier to Vilas’ left. ‘But for the glory of King Acapf, the one true king!’
‘Your precious Hashir discarded us like we are puppets because we are too old...he killed our king, we will take his prize from him and not even you will stop us!’
The man was silenced as the soldier Oriana had rescued drove a sword under the man’s armour, into his side. She locked eyes with Vilas and nodded her dark haired head. Beside her, Oriana brandished a sword.
‘Oriana, run!’ Vilas shouted.
‘No!’ She raised a sword she had acquired from somewhere, fighting off the advances of
one soldier who had turned his attention from Vilas to her.
Vilas recognised the steely look of determination on Oriana’s face. For the little time he had known her, he knew she would never back down. She was quite a proficient swordswoman but she would not be a match for a trained soldier for long. Indicating to the female soldier with a flick of his head, Vilas swiftly dispatched Acapf’s soldier who had been fighting the Germaine soldier, while the latter did the same to the one dancing near Oriana.
‘Well?’ Vilas asked, pointing his blade at the youngest soldier, who looked completely out of place and decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Will you fight us?’
The young soldier shook his head, his sword, already hanging limp in his hand, clattered to the ground. ‘I’m not a soldier!’
Vilas sheathed his blade. ‘Go, take off your armour and leave. As you say you are not a soldier you no longer have to be.’
‘But they said I had to be one!’ The boy pointed at the dead soldiers.
‘Did you come with King Hashir to the castle?’ Vilas asked. ‘Is your home back west?’
The boy shook his head. ‘My mother worked in the kitchens in King Germaine’s castle...that was until Hashir had her killed.’ His lip began to tremble.
‘Don’t you mean the older king, Acapf?’ Vilas frowned. His head was starting to ache.
‘No,’ said the boy firmly. ‘It was the younger king, the one called Hashir.’
‘You’re certain it was him?’ Oriana asked.
‘Yes. Blond hair.’ The boy pointed to his teeth. ‘Gap between his two front teeth.’
Vilas felt sick. ‘Tell us what happened.’
The boy struggled not to cry, his voice cracked when he spoke. ‘He had all of the castle staff rounded up and taken into the courtyard as soon as the moon rose. He asked each of us to accept him as our new king. If anyone refused...,’ the boy’s voice trailed off, and he gulped.
‘Carry on.’ Oriana cast a look at Vilas.
‘He put these rings around their necks and asked them again. If they still refused, he pointed at them and the rings severed their heads!’
Vilas snorted. ‘Hashir is not a magician; he could not have pointed at them to behead them. You’re lying!’
The boy looked afraid. ‘I’m not, I promise. He was wearing a ring on the forefinger he pointed with, when he pressed it with his thumb the neck rings snapped inwards instantly...no-one even had time to scream, it happened so fast!’
‘Go!’ Vilas managed to shout before turning around and vomiting into the undergrowth.
Unhooking the flask hanging from his horse’s saddle he rinsed his mouth, spitting the water out several times, and took a long drink.
He was so confused. He had been led to believe King Germaine was a cruel king, taking from his people all they had worked hard for and leaving them with nothing. Believing that had made it easy for him to accept his father’s oath to Acapf and Hashir. His father had told him Hashir marrying Princess Oriana would mean Germaine’s people would finally be treated fairly.
Had he been so blind, so foolish, to not have realised he may have been on the wrong side his whole life?
‘Thank you, Princess.’ The female soldier dropped to one knee before Oriana, bowing her head. ‘You are kind and just, like your father was.’
Oriana laid a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. ‘Please, don’t bow, there’s no need, and call me Oriana.’
The soldier stood. She was taller than Oriana, her hair—tied back in a dishevelled bun—was as dark as Obsidian, her eyes the blackest Vilas had ever seen.
‘Princess,’ the soldier continued, ‘I think I am all that remains of your father’s army. I was loyal to King Germaine, and I will be loyal to you.’
Oriana smiled. ‘Thank you. What is your name?’
‘Ravenna.’ She looked to Vilas. ‘You are one of Hashir’s soldiers.’
Vilas held up his hand with the thumb ring. ‘Commander of the army.’ Twisting the ring on his thumb reminded him of the ring the boy had spoken of, the one with the power over the neck rings.
‘You killed your own men.’ Ravenna frowned.
Vilas nodded, tight-lipped. He was not proud of that. ‘Oriana, I think you should turn around.’
‘Has Hashir finally fallen out of your favour?’ Oriana made her way over to Vilas, reaching up she smoothed his hair where the waves had dampened with sweat and hung over his forehead. ‘Do you believe now what Karima told me about your king?’
Oriana’s touch was torture; Vilas tore his eyes from her face and looked away. A lump bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. ‘I am beginning to doubt Hashir’s honesty with me.’
‘Then we carry on.’
‘What?’ Vilas shook his head. ‘No. No way. You are not stepping one foot back in the castle until I know you will be safe. I will return and speak to Hashir.’
‘You can’t stop me.’ Oriana made a huffing noise. ‘It is my castle not his!’
Vilas pressed a finger against Oriana’s lips. ‘I will go alone. If this tale of the rings is true, you are never to return to the castle.’
When Oriana looked as if she were ready to argue again, Vilas’ resolve to not touch her crumbled. Dipping his head he scooped up her lips with his, kissing her as if that time may be the last. They were both breathless as he pulled away. Cupping Oriana’s face in his hands, he stared intently into her eyes.
‘Promise me you will wait until I return.’
Oriana placed her hands over his. ‘And if you don’t?’
Reluctantly, Vilas kissed Oriana on the forehead and hurried to his horse. ‘If I don’t it will mean you were correct about Hashir and I was wrong.’ Passing Ravenna, who had respectfully put some distance between her and Oriana, Vilas said, ‘Look after her, won’t you? Stop her from doing anything stupid.’
Ravenna raised her right hand to her chest. ‘I promise. She will be crowned Queen now her father is dead. That monster on the throne has no claim to it. I will protect Oriana’s life with my own.’
‘I hope it will not come to that,’ Vilas replied, directing his horse back onto the path leading to the castle.
Chapter Eleven
Vilas
The drawbridge was down over the moat when Vilas reached the castle. Soldiers astride horses lined the bridge, with their swords barring entry. Bron scuffed the dirt at the edge of the drawbridge as Vilas made the creature wait.
‘Why are you all here?’ Vilas asked, counting at least twenty soldiers.
‘There has been a surge of attacks on the castle,’ said the nearest soldier, lowering his sword. ‘Let the commander pass!’ he bellowed to the men behind him.
‘From where?’ Vilas asked. ‘I thought Germaine’s army was destroyed.’
The soldier gestured to the spattering of small homes which made up a village along the outer edge of the moat. Smoke rose from the small, thatched roofs. ‘From them.’
‘But they’re not soldiers!’ Anger warmed Vilas’ face. ‘Who gave the order to burn the houses? I am Commander and I was not here!’
The soldier shifted uncomfortably. ‘We had to do it.’
‘Who gave the order?’ Veins bulged in Vilas neck, and he feared his eyes would pop out. ‘Who told you to murder those people?’
Murmurs broke out along the line of soldiers. Looking to one another, no-one was brave enough to answer Vilas’ question.
‘As your commander I order you to answer me...who gave the order?’ Spittle sizzled on Vilas’ lips.
The soldier who had first spoken, lowered his voice. ‘It was Caw. He is in charge of all of the men inside the castle. He answers solely to King Hashir.’
‘Caw?’ Vilas spat. ‘Who the bloody hell is Caw?’
‘You don’t know?’ The soldier looked nervously over his shoulder. ‘He is responsible for King Hashir’s collection.’
‘Collection?’ The sick feeling returned in the pit of Vilas’ stomach. Karima had been telling the truth to Oriana about Hashi
r.
‘King Hashir put Caw in charge of castle defences as soon as you left. Didn’t you know?’
‘You are all under strict instruction to not harm any more civilians, do you hear me? You are not to listen to this Caw, whoever he is.’
The soldier at the front looked relieved. ‘Yes, Commander.’ He lowered his voice again. ‘We signed up to be soldiers, not murderers. Since Hashir murdered his father, something strange has happened to him...he’s not all there in the head...he’s worse than his father ever was!’
The soldier opposite nodded. ‘He’s adding people to his collection faster than Acapf ever did and unlike Acapf, Hashir is taking people who haven’t done anything wrong!’
Vilas clenched the reins in his hands so tight it hurt. ‘I think we have been fooled by first Acapf and now Hashir. It is my belief Acapf did not capture just those who had committed crimes but those he desired, regardless of who they were.’ An idea struck him. ‘All of those imprisoned by Acapf are still back home in the old castle, without food or water. You will return there and free them.’
‘We can’t remove the rings from their necks,’ piped up a soldier half way down the line. ‘Caw has the only key we know of. Acapf had one but it was probably destroyed along with the body when Hashir had it burnt.’
‘Very well,’ Vilas replied, thinking quickly. ‘Fetch the prisoners from the old castle and bring them here to be freed.’
‘Does King Hashir know about this?’ asked a nervous looking soldier.
Vilas glared at the other man. ‘I know about it, which should be good enough for you. Now, what say you? Will you help me free the collection, or will you continue to help build another knowing what you know now?’
The soldiers whispered between themselves, each slowly nodding in turn. Sheathing their swords, they raised their right hands to their chests.
‘We will do as you instruct, Commander,’ said the soldier who had first spoken. ‘We have always respected you.’
Vilas wrenched the ruby ring from his thumb and launched it into the moat. ‘I am Hashir’s commander no longer, when you take an order from me you take it from the rightful heir to this throne...Queen Oriana. The blinkers are off; we shall be seen as monsters no more.’ He thrust his sword in the air. ‘We fight now for justice!’
Always Golden Page 11
