Revelyn: 2nd Chronicles - The Time of the Queen

by Chris Ward

  The mighty flashes lit his way and the horse seemed unafraid, so with difficulty Rema kept on at a steady pace until by the midnight he came across a thick copse of trees right by the road, under which the rain was more bearable and gave a good view to the north, for the road was straight in that place and dropped away so that any approaching would be slowed to climb it.

  ‘This then is where I will stand,’ he whispered, and on dismounting found the most sheltered place for the horse, deep in the trees and well out of sight. He tethered it loosely, but not so it could not tear free if it was left to make its own way home. He did not make a fire but sought out the best place from which to loose his arrow, and when happy with the plan he sat with the King’s Eye jammed in a low branch by his face and his bow ready; the arrow still in the quiver and still bright, yet duller than at the start.

  ‘Come to me Gryfnor,’ Rema whispered into the night. ‘Now is your time to die.’

  And the rain fell, and the road turned to mud, and the lightning flashed as the thunder roared; but Rema watched the road ahead as a snake might watch for a mouse.

  Gryfnor whipped his horse which did not seem to notice for it was a sorcerer’s horse and felt less pain, being created to do nothing more than mindlessly pull a cart. But through the mud and driving rain it struggled and strained and Gryfnor cursed and pulled his cloak about him. But he felt at least in part, some way to repairing the disaster which was the day before. Fortunately the tent in Sheldon was untouched and held all he required, and three Shadow Hunters which the slain doublmyn had brought up from Lord Ungarit’s realm upon his commands, and now three other of his false magician’s in the land were coming to Ramos all with such creatures to fight what would prove to be the final battle.

  ‘And this time I will prevail,’ Gryfnor cried into the night. I control the people at long last, he thought. The Shadow Blade cannot stand against me now for it is diminished. The Royal Sceptre is destroyed... His evil mind was consumed with such repeated thoughts that had become a simple mantra of comfort, but still the rain fell hard and in human form he was not immune to the cold. And then far off he saw a light. A farm house where I might demand some warm drink, he mused, But the driving rain made it hard to see how far off it was.

  ‘Move horse, you stubborn beast!’ he cried and whipped the unfeeling beast severely across its rump. He felt beside him and the comfort of the tent well secured upon the cart gave him cause to smile evilly.

  Rema saw him as a smudge upon the road and brought the King’s Eye up to examine the distant traveller, he judged at least a league off. The amazing instrument once more proved its worth for suddenly he could see the horse and cart and the imposing figure of Gryfnor at the reins. The rain swept hard from left to right and blocked the image but it cleared enough now and then to allow the progress to be monitored well enough. Rema waited under the trees and calmed himself. Slowly the cart came on through the mud and rain and Rema was thankful that the lightning and the thunder had moved north and no longer shook the earth as if it was about to split apart. He watched until Gryfnor was three hundred paces away and then took the arrow and notched it to his string. The arrow head still burnt bright and made it hard to see but Rema narrowed his eyes and still watched. At two hundred paces he brought the arrow up and drew his bow. The light before his eyes made sighting all but impossible and so he lowered it again hoping that Gryfnor would not be unduly concerned, but the cart came on at that same steady pace. One hundred paces and Rema raised the bow and drew full stretch in one easy motion. He sighted as best he could and loosed the arrow quickly, and then with his amazing gift he travelled on the tip where the burning light did not further blind him...

  Gryfnor saw the farmhouse light through the rain and it wavered once and then appeared again. He narrowed his evil eyes and thought it moves a little and then his heart gave a sudden jolt. He had just the time to realise...that is no lamp, when...

  Rema bent the arrow’s path which travelled so fast he barely had the time; a sudden squall of rain came from the left and he lost his target...

  The arrow hit Gryfnor in the chest just to left of his heart and somersaulted him backward off the cart into the mud. Never had he felt such pain and he suddenly could not move and deep within he felt a burning light which seared him with a fearful truth.

  I am slain. This is not possible but I am slain.

  And then after what seemed an age a face appeared bending down to peer into his.

  I know that face Gryfnor thought. He heard a curse.

  ‘I missed the heart.’ And Gryfnor knew it too and understood.

  Rema saw immediately that the arrow had not struck true and the sorcerer was still alive.

  ‘You failed boy,’ Gryfnor taunted despite that fact that he could hardly move and lay on his back in the mud with an arrow deep within his chest. And Rema paled for he could see that this was true.

  ‘Only in my heart fool,’ Gryfnor croaked, ‘and you missed. I will recover and then all is lost for you.’

  ‘No,’ Rema said suddenly knowing what to do. ‘You are wrong sorcerer, I will remove the arrow and use it once again, and from this range I will not miss,’ and Gryfnor felt a sudden thrill of terror run though his broken body. And Rema went to him and grabbed the protruding arrow and went to pull it out, but by some mighty desperate effort Gryfnor twisted to the right at the same moment and with a snap the shaft broke off and Rema stood with the broken arrow in his hand and the head still remaining deep in Gryfnor’s body.

  ‘You cannot kill me now you fool,’ Gryfnor hissed in painful triumph.’ But in desperation Rema took his bow and fired three arrows into his chest; but each one turned to instant ash. He took his short sword and tried to pierce him in a similar manner but the blade too turned to ash and Rema felt a burning pain race up his arms. He dropped the hilt and stood back, horrified.

  ‘You are doomed now,’ Gryfnor cried. ‘I will slowly recover for the arrow in me will fade. My heart still works and I am not of this world, fool. Just watch and wait or flee, I do not care but in the end you will die.’ And Gryfnor lay back and laughed as best he could but still he could not move much beyond a grotesque twitching.

  Rema went and sat on the cart and stared down upon the invincible Gryfnor. What now he thought, as the rain pelted down. Only the power of the Shadow Blade in his heart will kill him and I have failed. What now. Do I flee and hope for...for what. No I cannot, there must be some way whilst he still lies helpless...

  And then Rayven’s words came clearly to him, ‘Flee if you must, I want you back with me, alive...

  With a defeated sigh he went to jump down from the cart and in doing so he put his hand upon the tent. A sudden revelation came to Rema in that moment.

  Of course, he thought and smiled. It cannot fail.

  And then a desperation came upon him. ‘I have little time,’ he muttered as he set to work. ‘If Gryfnor recovers I will die.’ He took breath and firmed his resolve. ‘So be it.’

  He dragged the tent from the cart and over to a flat piece of ground to one side of the road where there was less mud. He laid it out and undid the ropes. Gryfnor tried hard to see what he was doing and cried out.

  ‘Leave the tent, or when I recover I will see you die an awful death.’ But Rema ignored him. As the tent started to go up, which was hard in the rain and the soft soil Gryfnor screamed out more often and his threats became more severe, even detailing the methods he had to inflict pain. He was able now to lift his head and saw that the tent was mostly up, tied to a root and the back of the cart where no other secure place was available. And Gryfnor realised that Rema had some plan and it brought him fear, for he did not know what Rema knew.

  When the tent was up Rema went back to Gryfnor and using ropes that were in the cart to secure its load he bound the sorcerer as best he could, and then stood over him. He examined the trussed magician carefully even as foul words and threats kept coming without pause. Around Gryfnor’s neck he spied a chain and
upon it a disc which seemed not to be adornment, for why he thought would such a creature wish to wear such a plain thing. Rema took it off Gryfnor and Gryfnor fell silent. He knew he was still helpless and he watched as Rema went to the tent and waved the disc before the flap. A horror ran through the sorcerer. He knows how to get inside, what else does he know?

  Rema lifted the flap and smiled, for he had guessed correctly. The sorcerer’s disc was but a key.

  ‘You have no right to enter,’ Gryfnor cried and struggled against his bonds, but Rema did not waste his breath on such a ridiculous assertion from one who took rights from any without consideration.

  He went to the sorcerer and grabbed him by the ropes and dragged him roughly over to the tent, leaving a foul and slimy track in the mud.

  ‘What are you doing, there is death in there for you.’ Gryfnor said with as much threat as he could manage, all the while struggling to get free, for he felt some strength returning, but he had no magic yet and no way to resist what was happening. Rema dragged Gryfnor into the tent and saw it was just like the one in Ramos. He put the disc in a pocket in his tunic and then with two hands dragged the helpless struggling Gryfnor through the first space and into the hallway which lay beyond.

  Gryfnor now felt an awful terror. He has been in my tent, he knows...

  Rema knelt down beside the sorcerer and whispered in his ear quite softly.

  ‘I killed your brother Zydor with my arrow, for I did not miss in Svalbard.’ He let his words sink in and let Gryfnor know that he was not without the power to do something deadly to ones such as they. And Gryfnor stopped struggling and fell still.

  ‘You,’ he croaked, ‘you. It was you.’

  And Rema whispered, ‘It was me, and now I am going to do worse to you.’ And Gryfnor shivered but did not fully understand.

  ‘The last room in this tent,’ Rema went on. I know what is in there.’ And then Gryfnor knew and begged.

  ‘I will give you anything archer, anything. I can rule in Revelyn and you can be by my side...’ but the words sounded ridiculous, even to the desperate Gryfnor, and Rema was not finished.

  ‘I am telling you now so that you can feel the terror which awaits you. I am going to send you back to Ungarit, to the one you worship and whom you have failed. You serve a demyn god who will enjoy receiving you back to the realm below. What task will you have then? What power will you enjoy? You have failed and you will never rise again. Think on that as I drag you to your doom, sorcerer...’ And Gryfnor stiffened in fear and found he could not utter a sound such was the effect upon his twisted mind. for to stand before his Lord Ungarit now, it was not possible...’ And then he realised he was moving again down the hallway and he tried to cry out and summon the Shadow Hunters, but he had no magic and no words.

  The Wrythers were driven to a sudden ecstasy in their coiling and foul mutterings when they saw Gryfnor dragged into the space and placed beside the pit. Rema felt a terrible force in the room but he was resolved to cast the evil beast down into oblivion and stood firm against the whispering and the haunted chatter. He stood over Gryfnor and said a final word.

  ‘Embrace your destiny Sorcerer for this is what you have wished for so many others.’ Gryfnor’s eyes opened wide in terror and knew it was the end of all his lustful plans. And Rema kicked him hard, twice, and Gryfnor fell and sucked the Wrythers down with him with a howl.

  And he was gone. Forever.

  Rema went quickly back through the tent, wanting to return to Ramos as soon as possible, but as he passed through the first space where the people would meet with the magician and were given Diabules as a gift, he saw another flap to one side which in Gryfnor’s tent he had seen but not investigated. He paused as curiosity tempted him. He took a quick step and lifted the flap. He stepped in for the space was small and only held a very plain but wooden chair, ornate but not overly so, and he wondered what the purpose of such a place might be. A burning in his pocket suddenly forced him to grasp at it and pull out the disc which had hung round Gryfnor’s neck. And then as he held it he heard the most soothing words and turned about but saw nothing.

  ‘Rema, you deserve more than you have been given.’

  Rema shivered.

  ‘Sit and listen to me Rema, I mean you no harm and you have proved you are not to be easily swayed by the voice of fools.’ And Rema found the words seductive and no threat for he knew Gryfnor was gone. He sat upon the seat and waited warily for what came next, not now completely in control of himself.

  ‘You sit upon a throne Rema,’ the voice came, ‘and with this comes power. I need someone to serve me in Revelyn. Gryfnor has failed me, and Zydor. They were fools and did not have what you do. Courage and strength and cunning... Put on the disc, hang it around your neck Rema, you will see then what you can have... and Rema found himself looking hard at the disc and trying in a fog to work out why he felt no fear or any other feeling.

  ‘Go on Rema, take the step in faith. It is the first step of a wonderful adventure...’

  And then Rema felt a burning in another pocket which was far more intense and this made him jump up and pull out the offending thing which had so disturbed him. And there in his hand lay the book, the book his forebear Rema Bowman had written, and which had travelled with him so long, well worn and studied. It had fallen open at the last page, and glowing from that page were the final words.

  I have written the truth.

  Rema shuddered and with an act of great self will he placed Gryfnor’s disc upon the words and shut the book upon it, sealing it with the truth.

  ‘You will not own me Ungarit!’ he cried and ran back through the tent and into the place where the pit remained yawning wide and evil. He threw the book down into the abyss and cried again...

  ‘I send you the truth Ungarit for you are nothing but lies...’ and a mighty blinding flash lit up the tent as truth and lies collided deep in the earth, and when Rema looked again the pit was gone.

  Moments later Rema stumbled out into another world. For it was not the same. He looked around and tried to work out what it might be. The sun is shining he thought, it was darkest night and a storm was all about me... but the ground is dry, and grass grows all about the tent. He looked at Gryfnor’s cart and the horse which still stood as if carved in stone, and there too the grass grew undisturbed through the spokes as if it had stood there some time. Rema ran back up the road to the copse of trees and called his horse but it was not there, only the King’s Eye lying on the ground half hidden in the grass.

  ‘My horse has wandered off,’ he whispered. ‘I do not understand what has happened.’ Rema walked in confusion back to the tent and realised he must now use Gryfnor’s horse and cart to get back to Ramos, but as he went to do so he knew he could not leave the tent. I cannot risk that what is inside will not return, he thought. It must be put in some place where no evil can restore it. And so he took the tent down and wrapped it secure in the ropes and placed it upon the cart, and as he did the clouds once more seemed to gather overhead and with the first steps toward Ramos the rain began again. Rema hated that he was on such a thing as Gryfnor’s cart but he had no other means to get the tent to ... and he realised he did not know what he was to do with it, just that he could not leave it unattended on the road. All through that day he forced the horse along but it went at one speed and so Rema threw the whip away and sat and let himself be taken south. The land shook three times but they did not stop. Water now lay deep in the ditches by the roadside and far off he could hear it running swiftly in some channel, and despite it being the busiest road in all Revelyn he passed no one travelling in either direction. And so as the light faded into twilight he reached the final crest and looked upon Ramos, and was further shocked to see that it was no longer possible to reach the city by the great road, for a mighty sheet of water stretched before him some leagues, all the way to the city wall, and to his left it swept around the city to the east. The land has sunk so quickly he thought, and then he muttered in pa
nic, ‘what if the tunnel is underwater?’ He urged the strange horse on and by the time Rema reached the turn off west to Little Ramos he knew he was in trouble with the water for it smelt of salt and was brackish to the taste, but still the horse plodded on until with the approaching sea up to its fetlocks they arrived at the walled compound and found to Rema’s great delight, his horse, which came running down from the higher ground on the hill to the south. It looked wilder than when they had parted and was wet, its mane tangled and unkempt. Rema leapt off the cart as the horse came up and nuzzled him in a happy reunion.

  ‘You left me,’ Rema said but not in anger, ‘I thought you’d wait a little.’ He patted the great steed’s neck and then went to retrieve the key which Rayven had replaced in the crevice in the wall. He left the horse and cart standing where it was and went in to find the other two remaining horses still there and overjoyed to see him and their wet companion.

  Rema went straight to the ramp down into the tunnel and knew he was almost too late. A small river of water was pouring down it, leaving little room to safely descend without being swept away and into the dark depths to the north, for once a footing was lost there would be no means to find a grip or a way to fight the rushing torrent. Rema looked anxiously about.

  ‘By midnight this will be impossible,’ he whispered but the rushing water gave him an idea. He went back to the cart and dragged the soaking tent to the ramp and pushed it into the torrent. He watched it snatched away and disappear, carried along into the depths of the earth, down into an impossible tunnel which no one could ever enter.