by Timothy Ray
Token grunted and took another swig of his ale. “She’ll regrit toochin’ a body fit in uir forest laddie, Ah guarantee ‘at.”
“When the threat is known, I’m sure that they will act quickly and band together,” Tristan responded, appalled at the idea proposed by the mage. Could self-preservation overrule logic that easily? He had seen the threat and acted, how could they not?
Merlin had been scowling at the drunken dwarf, but now his eyes turned on him. The flames danced around his pupils as he spoke. “Very few can act swiftly, large masses must be slapped in order to respond. They will debate, argue, and they will not come together fast enough to make a difference. They won’t believe they’re in danger until the army is standing at their front gates hammering at the door. That is the mindset of a species at rest. Only when they are bit by a rabid dog do they force themselves into action, even then, it’s plagued with reluctance.”
They sat quietly around the fire, each considering the mage’s words from their own unique perspectives.
Preik and Windel were no longer in the shadows and had come to sit beside Willow to hear the mage’s tale. They were a symbol of home and upon reflection, he questioned the logic in leaving his people. They might not respect him, but that didn’t change the responsibility he felt for their safety. Even if he was needed elsewhere, his place was by their side. He was leaving them at the mercy of who knows how many of the enemy descending upon them.
“What do we do?” he asked, hoping that it was worth their sacrifice.
“Anything and everything we can to stop the domino of events set in motion by the Phoenix, in hopes that dislodging a few of the pieces might upset her entire board,” Merlin responded, then paused. He was studying the fire, seemingly fascinated with the flames licking their way over the wood. “We must seek out a talisman from distant past, an icon that will be a beacon to the races, calling for them to unite against their common enemy. An artifact from what was, to save what will be. Even now her minions search it out, knowing that it might rise again, and the danger it poses to her plans. For now, time is on our side.” His eyes swept them all, pausing at each face to make sure they understood the gravity of the situation.
Finally, his cold eyes fell on Tristan and he felt his body tremble. “You must come with me to retrieve Excalibur.”
III
Merlin had risen from the fire and wandered into the woods, refusing to say anymore. They all watched him go, almost afraid to speak.
Token was the first to break the silence as he farted loudly, the flames billowing higher in a flash. “Ah, that’s better.”
“Bloody Dwarves,” Reyna sneered. The black knight was packing her gear and laying out her bedroll. “Going to be a long day tomorrow, best get some sleep,” she told her twin brother, who looked like he was barely holding on. He nodded wearily and his sister barely had time to throw a pillow under his head before the poor boy was snoring.
Kore had retreated a ways from the group and appeared to be laying down as well. He looked around for the white-haired elf, but Kylee was nowhere to be seen. A howl erupted in the distance and he guessed that she had gone to check on Tuskar. Windel and Preik had withdrawn from the group and were silent sentinels on the group’s perimeter. Token had finished washing his bowl and began stowing his dishes for the morning.
He saw all of it and none of it. His mind was still processing all that he’d been told. The imagery of Merlin’s tale was frightening; he doubted he would sleep well that night. He could remember the mage’s last words with crystal clarity.
Excalibur.
The name made his heart sing. There was a calling in his blood, one that urged him to push forward; to find it at all cost. It was the answer he had been searching for; the purpose in which he craved. He didn’t know what it was, or how it would make a difference against the hordes of darkness, but he knew without question that he was going after it. He would succeed no matter what the cost. He turned his head and looked at his fiancé. Well, not at all cost after all. He’d never do anything that would cause her harm.
He saw that she was also lost in thought. He wondered if she had understood more than he had. She had known the mage for who he was, had some inkling of the history of the man before today. Thinking on that startled him, had this all happened in one day? He couldn’t believe you could fit so much in such a short time period. He went from making out with his fiancé under an old oak tree, to getting shot, to being on the run from his home with a band of crusaders. If all of that could happen within the confines of one day, what would tomorrow bring? Did he dare wonder?
“I don’t know,’ she answered.
His gaze hardened. “Don’t tell me you can do that now too.”
“Not at all. I don’t need telepathy in order to know what you’re thinking. Don’t forget that I know more about you than anyone else ever will.” With that, she rose and grasped the blanket they’d been sitting on. “Get up,” she huffed, pulling on the cloth, which in turn started to pull him off the log they’d been sharing.
“Alright, hold your horses,” he grunted. His legs were pins and needles and he almost fell on his ass. He had been in one position for way too long and it had cut off the circulation to his feet. His lower back ached and his ankles were swollen.
“Time for bed. We won’t learn anymore this night,” she whispered softly, the rest of the group had already fallen asleep. “Strange that he would seek us out for this quest.”
She used the word “us”, but he didn’t see the point in correcting her. She hadn’t been the target of assassins, nothing was said about her not being able to return home. But if he breathed a word in contradiction, she’d go into that “I go where you go” rift, and he was too tired to argue.
There’d been enough of that today.
He felt the weariness catching up to him and he finally gave in to what his body craved. It was best to end this day and start the morning with a fresh mind. Maybe then he’d better understand what was happening without the sluggishness slowing him down. It was funny how the morning had started off as a romantic getaway and turned into him having to help save the world from an evil witch. Well, maybe not that funny if they failed. It was too much for one person and he was suddenly grateful for the others’ presence. They’d be able to help shoulder the burden that was weighing upon his soul.
Willow had bedded down a short distance from the fire and he turned to douse it. “Lae it,” Token spoke up, “helps tae ward aff evil spirts. An’ laddie, efter th’ crows, Ah hink we coods use aw th’ help we can gie.”
He nodded his head at the suddenly sullen dwarf and went to lay by Willow’s side. Her hand slipped within his and before he could even turn his head to look at her, his eyes closed and he was out.
Chapter 8
Blood and Tears
I
As a snake, she’d slithered her way up the embankment and through the long grass just outside the flicker of light. Careful not to draw attention, she burrowed her way into the dirt and listened carefully to what that bastard mage had to say.
Her nemesis; the hateful man that had dispatched her from her previous existence, was droning on about ancient history and she half listened, while studying the group assembled in front of him. Such a ragtag bunch of losers, they’d pose no threat if he was removed from leadership. They’d be lost without him, and she’d be able to pick them off one by one.
She heard herself compared to the Antichrist and her tongue flicked out with pleasure. She could accept that analogy. Far from truth, as she was not Satan’s progeny; but it was the fear that name still caused that felt most fitting. She could reach out and bite one of them; yet she waited. She wanted them all. Her crows had been scattered to the wind, but that was fine, they were watching the skies and had ceased looking to what lay between their feet. She’d wait til they fell asleep then—her connection was lost. She felt the blade pierce the neck and saw the face of an elven Guardian right before her vision blacked out
. Her fury was immense. The bastard was about to tell her what he was up too.
“Goddammit!” she screamed and the castle walls moaned in response. This had been twice she’d been cut off, right when that asshole was about to say something important!
Fuming, she stormed from her chambers and down the corridor.
Her fingers twitched as she walked, bits of lightening jumping between nails as her wrath tried to find a target to unleash into. The servants were wisely hiding behind closed doors and she let the pathetic scum cower in fear.
Striding into her throne room, she crossed the broken cobblestones, and took her seat on her throne. Hovering near the roof was the ancient book that the mage had been going on about.
Such a jealous coward.
He didn’t want to destroy it, he wanted it all to himself. He had always hated the power she controlled and was constantly working to wrestle it from her fingers. How he had missed it during the long years in exile, she didn’t know. It had been concealed in a pit beneath the dungeons, obscured by her magic, but as strong as he was, he should’ve been able to find it.
When she had finally clawed her way back from purgatory and regained her flesh, she had been surprised to find the book untouched. It had kept her tethered to this realm and had facilitated her return. Such fools to focus on her rather than the one object that sustained her life. Beckoning it with her mind, she reached up and seized the book as it slid into reach, her fingers crackling with the power contained within.
“Fitzroy!” she hollered at near-scream.
Across the throne room and above the door, was a perch where a gray gargoyle had been keeping vigilance. He appeared to be stone when completely still, but now his pitted skin shivered as he leapt to the floor below. His feet thundered on impact, wings first unfurling, then stretching. He approached the throne with pride; confident that his service over the last two thousand years had earned him a safe place in her inner circle.
Her soul sneered at the asinine assumption.
“Pick out the deadliest goblin, jackyl, orc, and harpy and bring them to me,” she commanded her royal servant. There was an idea festering in the back of her mind, and her smooth face cracked with a smile usually reserved for torturing.
“My Queen,” the gargoyle bowed, then took to the air. He exited through a window near the roof and was instantly gone from sight.
She paged through the book, remembering how tedious her studies had been when first retrieving it; how cautious she’d been with those first spells. She had marveled at her command of such powers and was ever hungry to learn more. Now, she had memorized the majority of its contents, and felt less awe in their wielding.
She lingered on a page, her eyes riveted to the spell she’d been hunting for; her heart swelling with joy.
She didn’t know how long it’d been, but her patience had started to grow thin by the time the four arrivals marched through the double doors. A tall, maroon skinned orc armored in platemail led the pack and she grinned at her gargoyle’s choices. The dark green goblin was hunched over, a mace dragging on the ground as he tried to hide behind his orc cousin. A jackyl, half man, half jackal, was on the orc’s right, his orange fur rustling with a breeze. His teeth were barred and his eyes were filled with hunger. Flying overhead was a bright orange winged harpy, her talons sharp, face contorted in rage.
Fitzroy burst through the window above and landed on his perch above the door. His wings folded inward and he once again went as still as stone; awaiting further orders from his Queen. Standing, book in hand, she took a couple of steps forward, and towered over the four minions cowering before her. The harpy had landed, and as one, they bowed before their ruler.
This was going to be fun.
She opened the book and began chanting from the page she’d found. She ignored the fear in their eyes as she called upon the magic within, fueling the words of the spell. It swelled in her heart, fingers throbbing with power, and as the last words were spoken she thrust out her hand at the four kneeling creatures at the base of the steps. Each one fell to the ground in agony; their bodies writhing in transformation.
She released her hold on the magic and let it do as she’d bid.
The orc fell to both knees, fist banging the ground as his body rippled, muscles bulged, and his shoulders widened. The harpy grew thinner, her body eating itself as her talons grew and wingspan increased. The goblin doubled in size and began throwing up green bile on her throne room floor, making her half tempted to make him lick it back up when it was over. Such a nasty creature. The jackyl’s fur lightened, eyes burned red, and his claws grew sharper.
When the transformation was complete, the four minions rose to their feet, testing the newfound strength within them.
She approached the orc first. Standing over eight feet tall, he appeared more ogre now than orc. His pulsing veins bulged over his stretched muscles and he looked strong enough to tear down every wall in the castle without breaking a sweat. Her fingers reached out and with a flick, armor shivered into place. A red cloak unfurled and two very large battleaxes appeared in the orc’s hands.
Stepping to the cowering goblin, she watched as it coughed up black sludge and spit it onto the floor; where it bubbled as it melted the cobblestones. Black spots festered on the grimy green skin, the plague raging just under the surface. Once more she flicked her fingers and armored her new creation. A green cloak slid down the goblin’s back, his mace lying forgotten by his side. She left it in rags, the open sores that had begun to sprout would be less deadly covered.
Turning to the emaciated harpy, she felt no pity for the hunger in the creature’s eyes. Skin and bones, the harpy attempted to stand, but ended up hunched over with fatigue. In her mind, she pictured the perfect armor to protect this vile creature and called upon her magic to bring it into existence. Light-but-hardened dragon scales armored the flying terror, her feathers, blades of steel.
Finally, she reeled on the seven foot Jackyl and found it standing upright, eyeing her coldly. He appeared detached from fear, his body relaxed and given in to its fate. She summoned black plate mail to cover her masterpiece and a large scythe appeared in his hands. A black cape and cowl rose from the shadows and clung to the jackyl’s body. It acted like it was alive, slithering hungrily across the floor, ready to do the creature’s bidding.
Taking a few steps back, she appreciated the four horrors that she had created, and each waited patiently for her to give them commands. “I’ve been called the Antichrist, so shall I be; for you are my Four Horsemen and the apocalypse has now begun.”
II
John had stepped in to check on his brother and was surprised to find the chamber empty, the bed untouched. That was odd. Tristan had been shot earlier that day and should have been resting; not off gallivanting about the castle. The guards were no longer posted and his mind tingled with uneasiness. Where the hell had the boy gone off to? Was he spending time with his fiancé?
He strode quickly from the royal wing and turned in the direction of the guest quarters.
Bursting into Willow’s room, he found her things thrown about, and one of her bags gone. This was not the time for those two to be sneaking off; there was an enemy horde approaching the castle! Enemy scouts could be patrolling the forest already, it was not safe to be wandering about; especially at night.
One of his general’s aides had the misfortune of walking by and became alert at the Prince’s presence. “Have you seen my brother today?” he asked the timid youth.
“No, Sire,” the young boy shook his head, clearly upset that he’d been walking down the hall at that moment.
John dismissed the aide instantly, to the other youth’s relief, and pushed hastily by; heading for his father’s chambers. Maybe the old man had an idea what was going on. He’d spent most of the afternoon with his younger brother before the War Council had been summoned and had to know something.
Reentering their family wing of the palace, he rounded a corner and bumpe
d into Clint.
The man was flustered, but his eyes were hard. “Sorry about that,” the King’s aide mumbled, hands straightening his crumpled tunic. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
John had never liked the man and he didn’t hide that as he stared at Clint with distaste. What did he care about what the aide thought of him? Over the years, the man had taken to carrying himself as if he were ruling the kingdom; not his father. And he smirked at the thought of how they first met.
Clint had shown up as a teenager on the palace steps, begging to serve his father, and he felt the old man had only allowed it out of pity. There were plenty of starving children out there; he didn’t understand what was so different about this one. “Is that how you talk to your future King?” he snapped.
Unlike the rest of the guards, the older aide didn’t stand at attention or look stricken by the remark. It actually seemed to bounce right off as if unnoticed. “If you’re going to see your father, you should know that he’s down for the night, and has ordered that no one is to bother his slumber. He had an exhausting day, you know.”
“No shit,” he snorted derisively. “We’ve all had a long day. If I want to see my father, I will or I won’t; that’s a choice I will make without the advice of my father’s lackey.”
Clint’s eyes narrowed and for a moment, he felt like the man was a coiled viper about to strike. “As you wish, my Lord,” the aide finally said after a tense moment, the last word heavy in sarcasm and spite.
The man had removed himself from John’s path and he shouldered past, nearly tossing the aide aside with rage. One of the first things he’d do when crowned was exile that smug son of a bitch. Striding around another corner, he entered the hall leading to his father’s room, and with a soft click, stepped into his father’s chambers.
