by Timothy Ray
The Captain of the Home Guard had offered his resignation; taking the King’s death hard. That had been a harsh conversation, the lax in security before his father’s assassination had been a fatal mistake. With the attack on Tristan, the guard should have been doubled around all of them. Not only had the man lost his brother, but had failed to act accordingly after an assassination attempt earlier that afternoon.
He informed the man that his men were to be absorbed into the training program for the Guardians and that he himself would retire. The man had been with the Home Guard when his grandfather passed and had been nearing the end of his days serving as its commander, yet the man still took the news hard. He had a duty and he had failed.
The conversation with Captain Reyes, commander of the Guardians, had been more constructive, and the man agreed fully with the changes John had proposed. He had been conducting his own investigation and told his new King that traces of magic had been detected in Tristan’s quarters, a leftover remnant of his brother’s guest. How could he protect himself when magic was involved? The clerics had renewed their wards on the royal families’ chambers, but it had done little to save his father.
Reyes had taken to his new duties with ferocious vigor, and the Guardians’ colors now frequently roamed the palace halls. His wife and child were assigned new guards; which were even now flanking their new charges; hugging the walls to the rear. His own bodyguard had been increased, and though he should feel safer with the added security, he still felt vulnerable to attack. The assassination of his father had destroyed his confidence and he knew he’d be shaken for quite a while.
He had seen to the funeral arrangements of his father. He would be burned on a pyre behind the palace the following morning; as was custom with his people. Two coins had been placed over his eyes; the tradition’s origins obscure but still observed. Wood was being collected for the burning and he would be expected to make a speech before ordering his father’s remains set ablaze; sending it on his way to catch up with his father in the afterlife.
Absentmindedly greeting those that came to see him, he neither wanted nor cared to hear their words of comfort or congratulatory remarks. He made his way through the receiving line, unaware of time as it passed; just focusing on remaining on his feet and getting through it. As it finally trickled to an end, he moved onto the feast that had been prepared in his honor.
Clint moved up beside him, and he remembered the hatred he’d felt for the man the night before; how quickly things had changed. He still didn’t trust the man, but there was no one else ready to take his place. He had to rely on the aide to keep him on track and moving; his mind was too wrapped up in everything else to pay close attention to the details.
Clint whispered, “the scouting parties are moving further out, but so far they are coming up empty.”
His anger returned with a vengeance. “How could they just disappear like that, as if into thin air?”
“Sire, two of the Guardians are missing as well,” Clint added, not daring to respond to John’s heated questions.
That should have been a comfort, knowing that wherever they were, they were protected. But then, there was no guarantee the Guardians were even with his brother at all; they could have easily been dispatched by the magical stranger that whisked them away. After all, he had no problem killing an old defenseless man, what difference would it make if he killed the two Guardians as well?
“Captain Reyes is bothered by their lack of communication that they were leaving,” Clint continued on. “The two elves were guests, but they were welcomed into the brotherhood with open arms and should have respected the procedures that had been drilled into them. That is, if they were still alive. He’s begun questioning the other Elven Guardians, but so far, they proclaimed their ignorance to their kin’s disappearance.”
A soldier approached them as they drew near the great hall where the feast was being held. The man went directly to Clint and after an intense whispered conversation, his aide turned to him. “My lord, a member of a search party sent north has returned. His unit was decimated and he barely made it back alive. An advanced regiment of the horde army ambushed them, mere miles from the castle walls.”
“That was sooner than expected,” he commented dryly. The sad thing was, after everything that had happened, he actually felt revitalized by the news. He could turn his mind to matters other than grief and focus his rage into something tangible. “Assemble my War Council immediately.” He grabbed a plate and started filling it; it was going to be a long day and he would need all the energy he could get.
He wasn’t about to wage war on an empty stomach.
“But Sire, you haven’t appointed one yet,” Clint jested in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.
John looked and found that his aide had actually smiled when he said it.
“What the hell is so funny? Are you making light of the fact that an army is on our front doorstep just hours after my father’s murder?” He felt a grim satisfaction when the smile fell from the aide’s face. “People are going to die. Look around. Those sitting here, celebrating this coronation, are shrouded in their ignorance and may be dead by week’s end. So, tell me Clint, what the hell do you find so fucking funny?” he paused for effect. The aide’s head was bowed and people had turned to stare at the heated exchange. “Now, until I can appoint a new council of my own choosing—the old one will have to serve. Get it done.”
Clint knew better than to say anything further. He bowed and exited the great hall to carry out his orders.
He watched him go, aware that there were already whispers over the nature of their conversation. He didn’t bother to offer any words to soothe their suspicions; the truth would be known soon enough. The scout had to be overheard when he reported in, and the fact that he returned alone, bloodied on the castle’s doorstep, was bound to spread amongst the populace quickly. Not to mention, they would soon have an army encamped before the castle walls, and that would be very hard to hide.
He finished filling his plate and turned to his wife. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“I know,” Jenna told him, raising a hand to touch his cheek. “There’s no one in the world I trust to keep us safe more than you. Go do what you have to. I’ll do what I can to distract people here as long as I can.”
A smile briefly crossed his face. “I love you my Queen.”
“And I you, my King,” she responded, a smile itching on the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were distant and he knew that she was thinking of her sister again.
Damn you Tristan, he cursed, and not for the first time. He reached out and gripped her shoulder in comfort; then turned and strode towards the Council chambers.
His brother’s disappearance would have to wait; he had a war to win.
III
Merlin had returned with another bundle and a couple of shields.
“Where did you have room to store all this?” Tristan inquired curiously. He was feeling better. He was still grieving, but he had been preparing for this day since his father’s health had begun to fail, and despite the circumstances, his heart had already hardened itself against his father’s loss. It was something he wouldn’t get over quickly, especially after their last conversation, but he was able to stand and move forward, and that was a start.
The mage smiled weakly. “Let’s say I got a bag that can hold anything I want without growing in size itself.”
“Handy,” Willow remarked, her voice strained with the depression they were both feeling. She had been quiet since the previous conversation ended; lost in her own grief and need to respond. Her sister was being told that Willow might have had a hand in the King’s death and there was nothing she could do to fix that.
“Indeed,” Merlin replied, handing her the bundle he’d been carrying. “Constantine had a gift for you as well. As you know, heavy armor can hinder a magic user’s abilities; you need flexibility that steel will not allow. But that doesn’t mean you should be complete
ly unprotected.”
His fiancé was unwrapping the bundle, her curiosity about what lay within getting the best of her. He had yet to undo his own, only now beginning to stir from their crouched positions.
Inside the wrapped confines of the stretched cloth was a beautifully oiled set of leather armor. A three-layered cuirass, dark sandalwood with decorative metal studs, and attached pauldrons was lying in the center. Lying around it were matching bracers, cuisses, corset, and greaves. The cloth that it had been bundled in turned out to be a light-weight brown cloak, which attached to the pauldrons through little golden rings.
She reached in and pulled out the helmet, turning it to marvel at its artistry. A gemmed golden crown was at its center, with light metal extending down to protect the bearer from forehead to neck. It curved back behind the ears and extended around with enough room to accommodate her gorgeous hair. The scalp was ridged and partially hidden by the two fins on either side.
“I know you rely on the amulet around your neck to harness your magic, but it’s just necklace with a gem; the true power comes from within. If you’d like, you and I can begin training on expanding your powers and learning your limits. When we’re not running for our lives, that is,” the mage finished.
Willow had a tear sliding down the side of her face.
His father’s gift was quite generous and he wished that the old man could be there to see the look upon her face. She nodded in response to Merlin’s offer and the man smiled in return. He had two identical heraldic shields that he passed to both of them bearing the crest of Willow’s forebears. The crest of Griedlok, two extended hands releasing a pigeon, sparkled upon the polished surface. It pained his heart as he was reminded of his postponed wedding; for which these gifts were intended.
Then he brought the last item forward, a very large spiked mace that could be clipped to Willow’s belt. “You never know when you’ll need this. Better to have it and not need it than be without and dead,” Merlin told her, as he handed it over.
She took it from him, holding it out and testing its balance. It didn’t look to be overly heavy and she swung it in an arc to test its feel. “Thank you,” she told the mage, overwhelmed by the gifts his father had provided. He hadn’t looked at his yet, and now he was regretting putting it off, but he was sure his father would have understood.
He untied the large bundle and felt stunned by the quality of the dark gray armor within. He separated it out on top of his new cloak, handling each piece in turn, admiring the craftsmanship rendered before him. The armor was lighter than any he’d ever used before and he’d seen it’s like only once; his father had armor like this.
“What’s it made out of?” Willow asked, picking up his grieves and inspecting them.
“Graphene,” he told her, lost in thought. “During the early days of our kingdom, shortly after the war, they had begun construction on the fortress walls when they unearthed a relic from the past. It was some kind of machine, broken and completely useless, but the metal that shrouded it was unlike anything they’d ever encountered before. Blacksmiths at the time were hard pressed to replicate it, but failed. It was a secret lost in the world’s destruction. However, it was able to be melted down and reforged. Through the ages, my forebears have used it to armor themselves. It takes a massive blow to even put a dent in it, and to my knowledge, it has never been pierced. Only extremely hot temperatures affect it once it’s cooled. It’s so rare and we have so little left—he made this for my wedding present?”
“Your father loved you more than he could say, so he decided the best way to convey it was through this. Sometimes words fail, but a gesture can relay more than can ever be said. On a side note, that machine your ancestors found? It was a space shuttle, one of the last created before the Fall,” Merlin paused, seeing the confused looks he always seemed to get. “A metaled enclosed wagon that could travel to the stars,” he explained with a smile. “Now, I’d get to putting it on. We need to be on the move and I have a feeling you’ll be needing it a lot sooner than I had planned.” Merlin turned and walked away, a frown upon his face.
Jared was standing by the horses and he and the mage quickly delved into a whispered conversation. Kore was sitting by the stream, his axe in hand, idly watching a squirrel on the other side searching for something in the ferns. Reyna was standing nearby, her black armor fastened in place, eyes locked on the armor lying on the ground.
To his surprise, she came over to stand at his side. Crouching down, she peered at the armor displayed before them and gave him an envious look. “I’m sure you’re used to someone doing it for you, want me to help you put it on?” she offered, completely out of character and taking him off-guard. “Don’t make such a big thing out of it. Merlin has asked that I test your abilities and begin your training where needed. As we’re apparently going to spend a lot of long hours together,” she sneered, “we might as well start now.”
Willow had already begun fastening her armor on and he looked down at his own gear. He nodded reluctantly. He had experience with the bulky training armor his instructors had insisted upon, but had never put a full set on himself. It was a new experience, and he’d be lost trying to work it all out himself.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Reyna told him, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of remorse on her face. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. “I know what it means to lose your parents. Jared and I were orphaned when we were four. You were lucky to have them as long as you did.”
“Thanks,” he replied weakly, then reached down and grabbed the breastplate.
“The mail shirt first,” she corrected, as she took out the long-linked chainmail shirt. As he was sliding it over his shoulders, he couldn’t help but have his eyes drawn to the helmet lying at the head of the bundle. A single piece of metal stretched up the nose, curved around both eyes and came straight down. Then in at angle, it went up the cheek bone where it drove straight up and around the ears, then passed around the back. A crown was welded above the brows, taller than Willow’s and made of gold. Runes were carved into the metaled cheeks, and he wondered if they meant anything.
After he put the breastplate on, Reyna pulled out the pauldrons and he looked at the spiked, three layered piece in appreciation.
“I wish my armor was as light as this,” the plated warrior told him, having taken off her gauntlets to be able to fasten the armor on. “You’ll have greater mobility, won’t tire as fast, and will be able to move swifter than your opponents. This is a great gift, treat it with respect. Keep it polished, oil the leather fastenings, and don’t use it for anything but its intended purpose. It will save your life, treat it properly.”
It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t heard from the weapon master back home, but when she said it, she was glaring at the orc across the way. His armor was grimy, blackened, and rarely cleaned. While hers, though black, shone with brilliance and looked well maintained. He wondered if she loved her brother as much as her armor.
“Why black?” he blurted without thinking. Only in paintings had he ever seen black armor, and usually on the villains of those pieces.
She eyed him coldly as she fastened his cloak to his pauldrons. “You see my shield lying upright against the tree over there?”
The black shield had a dark red bird depicted upon its surface, wings spread in flames. “A bird?” he asked after studying it for a moment.
“A Phoenix,” she whispered and his blood turned cold.
He jerked away from her but she had a firm grip on him as the last pieces of armor were being fastened on. “I was tortured and beaten for so long that I have no true recollection of how much time passed. Then one day, she stopped torturing my body and invaded my mind. She molded me, stripped away everything I was, and created a monster to serve as a commander in her armies. I was trained by the deadliest fighters; taught that there is no such thing as a dirty trick, or honor. To strike first and kill the enemy no matter what it took. No mercy, no quarter given. No pris
oners. The things I did while that bitch was in control—,” she trailed off.
“If not for Jared, I might be leading that approaching horde army, and you wouldn’t like that; I’m very good at what I do,” Reyna told him with a severe cough.
The last of the armor was on and she was handing him the crowned helm. “I will always be in my brother’s debt for freeing me. He put his life on the line, pulled me back from the edge, and I wear the armor to remind me of that. And when I thrust my sword through that black witch’s heart, I want her to see it’s her own creation that finally killed her.”
She slapped him on the back, gave him a crooked smile, and went to join Merlin and Jared. It was such a personal story, why had she told him all that? They barely knew each other. Maybe it was the grief they were feeling that made her open up; she didn’t seem like the “let’s be friends” type?
Some people he just couldn’t understand.
“How’s it feel?” Willow asked, stretching to test her flexibility.
“Actually, it’s not that bad. Barely heavier than wearing winter clothing. And it’s not as restrictive as I feared,” he responded as he moved about, flexing his own limbs and rotating them. “If only we had more armor like this; our army would be better equipped to handle the approaching army.”
Kylee emerged from the trees, Tuskar at her side. “We’re clear of the scouts; they’ve been recalled home.”
“Why, what’s happened?” Willow asked the elf, who had taken notice of the new armor they wore with raised eyebrows.
“I overheard a messenger. One of the scouting parties was slaughtered a few miles north of the castle; the hordes are near. If we want to avoid getting entrenched, then we should move quickly,” she advised; reins in hand. She mounted her horse and with Tuskar at her side, rode along the path winding west; disappearing from sight.
No pause for small talk.
The others were mounting theirs as well. He picked up his shield and slid his arms through it, strapping it to his back. His sword was belted around his waist and he pocketed his scroll in a pouch on the belt he wore; he’d read it later. “Time to go,” he told his fiancé.
