by R A Oakes
After a few minutes, King Tarlen said, “They’re going pretty far down. I think they might be heading for that large boulder.”
As it turned out, he was correct, and Aerylln and Marcheto hunkered down behind it.
Suddenly, King Tarlen’s head snapped around when he heard arrows being launched behind him. The wispy, whisking sound filled the stillness while the sentries that Captain Polaris had posted took aim and fired at the approaching gargoyle warriors.
How could they have possibly known we were here? King Tarlen asked himself. But the gargoyles hadn’t known. Unfortunately, the winged apes had ridden up the mountain to do the same thing the king and his men were doing. On a routine patrol, the gargoyles had decided to get a better look at the valley from a higher vantage point and had stumbled upon the scouting party completely by accident.
However, Captain Polaris didn’t allow himself even a second to ponder the reason for their dilemma. Instantly, the commander of the king’s personal guard was up on his feet, sword drawn and screaming a battle cry, “For the king!”
Two gargoyles were knocked from their charnuks as the enraged human warrior fell upon his enemy like a man possessed. There were 21 of King Tarlen’s elite personal guards against almost 60 gargoyle warriors, yet the grotesque winged apes began dropping from their mounts in wholesale numbers. As it turned out, the enemy was more surprised to see armed humans than King Tarlen’s men were to see gargoyles, most of the winged apes having never been challenged by humans before. However, the confusion ended abruptly for many gargoyles given that in short order nearly half of them were dead.
Relentless, Captain Polaris and his men continued taking full advantage of the gargoyles’ surprise, with some men leaping up behind the enemy warriors on their charnuks and slaying them with a swipe of a sword across the winged apes’ throats. A few gargoyles were carrying lances and as they fell to the ground, the king’s guards took up the weapon of the enemy and used it against them.
King Tarlen, having inherited his father’s courage as well as his good looks, was in the thick of it all. He felt no fear, only the exhilaration of being able to strike back at Swarenth’s forces. But suddenly, something he saw did make his blood run cold with fear.
A mounted warrior was riding past Genevieve and struck at her furiously. She parried the blow but in the process her sword was knocked from her hands. Next, two more mounted gargoyles spun their charnuks around and bore down on her with their lances. Without hesitation, Tarlen ran to his wife and pushed her out of harm’s way parrying one of the lances with his own sword. However, the problem was that there were two lances and both had razor-sharp metal tips.
The second one found its way into royal flesh, skewering King Tarlen in his stomach right below the breastbone. As the winged ape leaned into his lance, he shoved the stricken monarch against a tree where the lance dug deeply into the wood and snapped leaving King Tarlen pinned to the trunk.
When Captain Polaris heard his king cry out in agony, he turned around and went weak in the knees, something he’d never experienced before. In stunned disbelief, the captain’s face went white with all color draining from his cheeks as he saw King Tarlen slumped over the shattered lance with what was clearly a mortal wound. Sickened and filled with despair, Captain Polaris watched the winged ape pull on his charnuk’s reins and turn the animal around to head back into the fray, but the gargoyle quickly thought better of it when he realized all of his fellow warriors were already dead. Trying to whip his charnuk around once more, the gargoyle attempted to escape, but an enraged Captain Polaris hurled his sword at the hairy ape with an almost mindless ferocity. Spinning end over end as it flew through the air, the weapon struck the winged ape’s chest with such force it lifted him from his saddle. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Genevieve raced to her husband’s side staring at the shattered lance that was protruding from his stomach. It was soaked with blood, as was Tarlen. Realizing his worst nightmare had come true, Captain Polaris walked over to his master slowly. There was no need to run, and he was not eager to confirm that the king was dead, although he knew that he would be.
By the time Captain Polaris got to King Tarlen, Genevieve was holding up his head with her hands and kissing him full on the mouth. “You can’t leave me! I didn’t get to tell you. Baelfire says that I’m pregnant. She says I’ve been carrying our child since our wedding night. So you see, you can’t die. You have a child to help raise.”
But King Tarlen didn’t respond.
Screaming out her anguish, she shouted, “Do you want him to have to grow up without a father like you did? Is that what you want?”
Queen Genevieve fell to her knees, clutching her husband’s inert torso and hugging him tightly. Covered in her husband’s blood, she leaned back and looked at his face once more. Then looking up at her husband’s protectors, she said in a hopeless voice, “He’s dead. All is lost.”
“No, it’s not. Don’t give up!” she heard Aerylln cry out behind her.
When Genevieve turned around, she saw Aerylln riding towards her on Zorya. The teenage girl unsheathed Baelfire, stood up in her stirrups, leaned back, spread her arms wide and shouted, “Creative Light, our king is dead! Rescue him! Rescue us! With all my heart and soul I’m calling out to you. I implore you, I beg you. Help us, please! We can’t survive without you! Save us!”
Thunder and lightning ripped through the heavens, and the sky split open and out of the darkness a brilliant, cylindrical river of energy slammed down upon Aerylln with the gale force winds of a hurricane. Instantly, Aerylln began shape shifting up and down her own time line appearing to be 30-years-old, then 50, 25, 40, 15, 70 and 19.
“I am your handmaiden,” Aerylln shouted. “Do with me what you will, but god save the king!”
A radiant white light erupted from Aerylln’s body, and she grew to 15-feet-tall. Zorya became a massive white warhorse, while thin beams of purple, blue, green, yellow, orange and red light shot out of Baelfire in all directions. White Angel had returned.
In another blinding flash, ten more versions of Aerylln materialized as White Angels and began flying in a circle around her flapping their huge, incredibly beautiful wings. This was the Council of Aeryllns, ranging in age from 19 to 29, all arriving from the future except for the youngest. Then, as the angels swirled around overhead faster and faster, they started to blur. Soon afterwards, the Creative Light disappeared, but the circle within the Council of Aeryllns had become full to overflowing with pure plasma energy. The energy formed into a funnel, its tip touching the 19-year-old White Angel, and power surged through the young woman like wind hurtling through a tunnel, and she cried out, “Live! Live!”
Both Baelfire and Zorya knew from previous experience that Aerylln was a prodigy. An heir to Baelfire hadn’t turned into White Angel for hundreds of years, but Aerylln had done so several times. And when their teenage master dismounted, tears streaming down her cheeks, they had an idea of what was coming next.
The youngest White Angel strode over to Tarlen, tilted back his chest slightly, revealing the deadly wound which the shattered lance was protruding from, and let her tears drop onto it, all the time softly saying, “Live, live, live.”
With an anguished gasp, King Tarlen drew in a ragged breath. His eyes opened and were bloodshot and filled with pain, yet he managed to say, “I met my deceased father, White Angel. I reached the line between life and death, but he wouldn’t allow me to go any farther. King Ulray blocked my path, opened his arms to me and embraced me. He said, ‘Swarenth’s days are numbered, but only you can kill that madman. Only you can take his life. Even though Balzekior protects him, you, the last Kardimont, will be unstoppable and your blade will be true. Go back, my son, your kingdom needs
you.’ ”
As soon as King Tarlen said this, he began blacking out once more.
“He can’t live with this lance jammed right through him. He’ll just die again. You need to do something!” Captain P
olaris shouted at White Angel 19.
“I don’t know what else I can do,” she answered feeling confused.
“Eldwyn, I need you now!” Marcheto shouted.
With another blinding flash, Marcheto’s mentor emerged from the young wizard’s staff. Quickly assessing the situation, Eldwyn said, “He’ll die if he stays in this world.”
“But King Ulray won’t let Tarlen pass on to the next one,” Genevieve said desperately.
“He’ll have to come with me into the world of the College of Wizards,” the elderly mystic said, stroking his beard.
“Will that keep him alive?” Genevieve asked pleadingly.
“Yes and no.”
“If there’s any hope, you must take him into your world.”
“I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to come back out into this one.”
That got Captain Polaris’ attention. “I’m going with him,” he said sternly, brooking no nonsense from anyone on the matter, not even a wizard. The king’s personal guards all began murmuring, and Captain Polaris spoke for them, “We’re all going with him.”
Eldwyn shook his head and said, “You don’t understand. He won’t be coming back.”
“Then neither will we, but we follow our king,” Captain Polaris said ending the discussion.
“I’ll need some help keeping the gateway open until I can get you all inside,” Eldwyn informed them. “Brothers, I need an honor guard for the king and his men,” he said speaking in the direction of Marcheto’s staff, the gateway into the College of Wizards.
Ten radiant mystics in long, flowing robes and exuding a bright light of their own emerged from the gateway. They formed two lines facing each other in front of the gateway and Eldwyn said, “Take King Tarlen inside.”
Captain Polaris pulled the metal point of the lance out of the tree as gently as he could, lifted his king into his arms and walked without any hesitation directly into the College of Wizards, not even knowing quite what it was, only that his master would be alive in there, in some form or another. The other 20 members of the king’s personal guard followed behind, jaws set firmly, ready for any challenge the new world might offer. But most of all, they were ready to defend their king, from what they didn’t know. The College of Wizards was supposed to be friendly territory, but they trusted no one when it came to King Tarlen, other than themselves, that is.
As Eldwyn was getting ready to go back inside the gateway, he turned to Genevieve, Marcheto, Zorya, Baelfire and the Council of Aeryllns. After sighing deeply, he said, “I only hope this works. In all honesty, it hasn’t been done before.”
“I thought wizards are supposed to know what they’re doing,” White Angel 19 protested.
“Well, we do, usually. At least we try,” he said hesitantly.
Marcheto and White Angel 19 looked at each other.
“But we look to you for guidance,” Marcheto said.
“I know. However, we’re all sort of retired in there, inside the College of Wizards. Marcheto, you were willing to take on the responsibility of being heir to the wizard’s staff, and White Angel, no one forced you to accept Baelfire.”
“No, but we would have all died at Firecrest Castle if I hadn’t,” White Angel 19 pointed out angrily.
“Well, you and Marcheto are the next generation. You’re the future. I hope things go well on your watch. I dare say, this isn’t a good beginning.”
“It’s not our fault,” Marcheto said.
“I didn’t say it was,” Eldwyn said as he walked through the gateway. “But you might want to decide how you’re going to protect Queen Genevieve and the baby she’s carrying, who’s the next heir to the Kardimont throne. If Tarlen doesn’t make it, the baby is going to become very important, very quickly.”
“Protect her from whom?” White Angel 19 asked.
“Do you think Balzekior hasn’t noticed all this commotion? She’s been aching to get into the College of Wizards for years, and unless I miss my guess, she should be along shortly.”
Everyone quickly looked at the base of the mountain below Dominion Castle, and there was Balzekior, in the form of a giant lava woman, rising out of a river of fire.
“I have every confidence in you,” Eldwyn smiled awkwardly. “However, until we see what happens to the king, I suggest a tactical retreat.” That being said, the elderly mystic disappeared into the gateway.
White Angel 19 shouted, “Let’s get into formation! Genevieve, ride with me on Zorya!”
The queen was somewhat taken aback by how authoritative Aerylln sounded for a 19-year-old young woman, even if she was in the form of a giant angel. But Genevieve obeyed and White Angel 19 grasped the queen’s outstretched hand and pulled her up onto Zorya, who was still in the form of a giant warhorse.
Marcheto shouted, “Banuta kiraca destumanay ritka!”
His wizard’s staff shot up into the air, taking the young mystic along with it. White Angel 19 and all the White Angels followed him, their Swords of Fire drawn and at the ready. Once they got high enough into the nighttime sky, they looked south and saw Balzekior flying at them.
White Angel 19 and Zorya made a wide turn and faced the oncoming demon woman, an evil creature the magic horse and sword had been fighting since Baelfire was created over 500 years ago. The other White Angels took up positions around them.
“Vivitar commensurate amalgamay jituriah,” Marcheto shouted, the incantation creating an energy shield in front of them all, and Balzekior smashed into it like a meteor falling from the heavens. The shield held, but everyone was knocked about and thrown back quite a distance where they had a hard time regrouping. The White Angels had some previous battle experience yet had only fought together for the first time at Firecrest Castle.
Scattered and in disarray, the White Angels, Zorya, Baelfire, Marcheto and Genevieve pulled themselves together and turned to face the powerful demon woman who was hurtling at them once more.
“So, the king is dead, is he?” Balzekior laughed. “After all these years, the king is finally dead!” Then gritting her teeth, the demon woman bore down on her prey with all the determination of an enemy who feels victory is near and shouted, “Death to all humans!”
Balzekior crashed so hard into the energy shield that she knocked them around like they’d been hit with a giant sledgehammer, the impact throwing them far north, though not quite as far as Hawthorn Village. They were bruised and badly shaken, yet they refused to give up and tried again to regroup.
However, as Balzekior circled around for another attack, White Angel 19 thought she noticed something different about the lava woman. Balzekior didn’t seem to be burning as brightly or flying as fast. After watching carefully, the young angel was sure of it. Balzekior was weakening.
“One last time!” White Angel 19 shouted to her companions. “The farther Balzekior gets from Dominion Castle and the underground lake of demon lava, the less power she has.”
Genevieve held onto White Angel 19 tightly, her arms around her protector’s waist, as Zorya turned once more to face her nemesis, and the other White Angels grouped around her in close formation, Marcheto in the middle of them next to his girlfriend.
“Now, let’s not just try to survive the impact. Let’s push back,” White Angel 19 said, and the whole group accelerated forward building up as much momentum as they could. Then, as they were racing toward the demonic lava woman, and she was hurtling towards them, White Angel 19 shouted, “For the king!”
Genevieve, Marcheto, Zorya, Baelfire and all the White Angels took up the battle cry, “For the king!”
When they collided with Balzekior this time, they were knocked back by the impact but so was the lava woman who went spiraling off into the distance. However, Balzekior circled around again, and White Angel 20, clearly exhausted, said, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Fortunately, Balzekior was decidedly slower and her flames weren’t burning nearly as hot, and the demon woman suddenly realized she was getting
too far from her base of power. Rather than continuing the assault, Balzekior stopped while still off in the distance and taunted them. “The king is dead, thus you no longer have a legitimate claim on Dominion Castle and no legitimate right to rule the former Kardimont kingdom.”
“Well, neither do you, Balzekior,” White Angel 19 shouted back at her.
“Yes, but I have Dominion Castle in my possession, and you’ve got nothing but a dead king,” the demon woman laughed as she took a wide sweeping turn away from them. “So, come back anytime. That is, if you dare.”
With heavy hearts and feeling greatly discouraged, Genevieve, Zorya, Baelfire, Marcheto and the Council of Aeryllns flew north past Hawthorn Village, not wanting to draw Balzekior’s attention to the small community which had once been King Tarlen’s home. When safely beyond the village, Zorya made a soft landing, gliding to a halt, and Genevieve and White Angel 19 dismounted. All the other White Angels and Marcheto touched down as well.
“That was rough,” White Angel 25 said massaging a sore shoulder.
“At least no one got seriously injured,” Zorya pointed out.
“Yes, but what about next time?”
“If the king doesn’t live, there won’t be a next time,” White Angel 29, the oldest angel, said bluntly. She was White Angel 19’s second-in-command.
“While we’re waiting to hear back from Eldwyn, I suggest we get some rest,” Baelfire said, speaking up.
So, following the magic sword’s advice, the White Angels returned to the future except for the youngest, leaving behind White Angel 19, who reverted to human form, Zorya, Baelfire, Genevieve and Marcheto. For a while there was silence, Tarlen’s fate weighing heavily on their minds, and then Marcheto whispered, “He’ll make it. The king will live.”
“But will he ever be able to fight again?” Genevieve asked. “The king doesn’t fear death, but he does fear being crippled and unable to lead his men into battle. And even if he regains his health, what if he can’t return to the physical world?” Genevieve asked, her concerns welling up inside of her. “If he ends up being a king without a country, he’ll shrivel up inside. He might actually prefer death to having to live the life of an exile. So, were we wrong trying to rescue him? Were we being selfish? Should we simply have allowed him to die a warrior’s death?”
