by Susan Faw
“Is that so? Well then, they should have no difficulty with this assignment.”
She held up her bejeweled hands to quiet the men. When silence fell, she raised her voice to carry over the crowd.
“Brave men and soldiers of the realm, a great honour is to be granted to you this day. You have been chosen as the elite of the realm to serve your queen. Honour and glory such as men have only dreamed of are to be yours for never in the history of the world has an army been blessed with such a quest.
“The time has come to avenge the people of this great land against the Primordial infidels plaguing this world. They hide and cower on the other side of the Highland Needle, practicing their pagan beliefs and customs, which all know are an abomination to the true faith. It is time to wipe out these heretics once and for all.”
A murmur rose from the helmeted men below at these words. The seasoned soldiers shook their heads, knowing this task was nigh impossible.
Alcina raised her voice, drowning out the grumbling. “I do not need to tell you this will be perilous. These he- and she-devils practice magic and other foul rituals in order to corrupt the nature of the divine. Has not our mage said it is so?”
More murmurs rose to her ears. Soldiers butted their spears on the ground, a rhythmic pounding to show their approval of her words. The sound swelled in the confined space. The hooded mage to her right bobbed his head in acknowledgement, his rheumy eyes peering out at the crowd.
“Ours is a righteous battle!” Alcina shouted, and her eyes gleamed in the firelight of the wall torches. “We will triumph! It is the will of the gods! I have seen it! In a glorious dream, the Great Goddess came to me and commanded me to not leave these heathens to pollute the land. The land cries to be cleansed, to be bathed in righteousness. If it must first be bathed in blood, your sacrifice paves the path to freedom for all lands and all peoples. Are you hungry to serve the Great Goddess? Or are you to be counted with the cowards and the heathens?”
A roar accompanied her words as the soldiers thundered their solidarity. Alcina painted a shallow smile on her face and then raised her hands to touch her forehead then her lips, and then pressed her open palms over her heart, the ritual blessing of soldiers. The mage joined in and together they blessed the assembled men. He spoke for the first time, in a squeaky, high-pitched voice. “Go forth! Know the Great Goddess guides your swords. Be proud of your calling. Be proud of your destiny! Her glory is yours! Kill the infidels!”
Alcina dropped her hands. “Attend me, Cyrus.” The mage bowed to her as she departed.
She stepped off the balustrade and into a side meeting room of the Great Hall. The room was warmed by a vigorous fire dancing in a stone fireplace on the far wall. Cyrus pulled closed the gilded double doors behind her. Alcina placed her lacquered-fingered hand on his face, tapping his cheek. His eyes found her pitiless ones.
“My queen, our spies have located the primary Primordial force. They are camped at the pass to the Primordial lands on the north side of the switchback trail that leads to the highland village of Sanctuary-by-the-Sea. They lay in wait for our armies.”
She dropped her hand and poured herself a cup of blueberry tea from a tall copper flask beaded with moisture and then gestured to Cyrus to help himself.
“I hope the mage’s foreseeing is correct. This battle should eliminate the usurper of the throne forever. We must find him before he can begin to gather a following. Cursed prophesies. ” Her mouth twisted in an ugly grimace. “The mage believes the prophesied one was born near the lands of the Primordials. We will never gain entry to search the Primordial lands as they guard the mountain passes and our spies have not located him yet outside of those lands.” She paced in front of the fieldstone fireplace, and it cast a distorted shadow that flickered like the Ancient Ones of the Dark.
“Of course, I would prefer to face the insolent pup myself, but so far he has eluded my conscription ranks. We know from the mage’s foreseeing that he is of an age to be recruited, and we also know from prophecy that he will be reluctant to kill another being. If we can pull him into the ranks of the legion, he should be easy to identify. Recruit all boys his age, I commanded. Scoop him up with the recruiter’s net, and yet my legions fail me in this one, simple task; FIND THE BOY AND BRING HIM TO ME. It is a simple request.”
Frustrated, she slammed her cup down on the table as she paced past it.
“Fools and children of fools! How I want to be the one to locate him!” She paused in front of the window to the balcony, arms folded across her chest, back rigid, and then she sighed and dropped her arms. “But I must rise above such petty self-indulgences. I expect you, Cyrus, to bring me the head of this saviour. I would have it as a trophy, stuffed and mounted in my throne room for all to see.”
“It shall be as you say, my queen.” Cyrus bowed to her stiff form then left the room, leaving the queen contemplating her plans.
Chapter 4
CAYDEN SLIPPED BEHIND a couple of quenching barrels, tucked into the shade at the rear of the blacksmith’s shop, ducking low and running crouched to avoid detection. He spied his best friend Ryder, through the open casement window, as he draped the neck strap of his smithy apron on the wooden peg at the rear of the shop.
Clearing the window undetected, Cayden stopped at the rear door and placed the squirming bag on the ground. The bag writhed and flopped as the snakes squirmed over each other, seeking an escape from their confinement.
Cayden lifted the lid off the washing barrel, picked up the scoop for dipping and hung it off the side of the barrel rim by the curved handle. He placed the lid back down on the barrel. Loosening the drawstrings, he placed the bag of snakes upside down inside the bowl of the scoop and quickly stepped back behind a container of rough iron ingots and waited.
The door opened and out stepped Ryder. A huge yawn cracked his jaw as he stretched, then he bent down and picked up the lid to the water barrel. With his other hand, he reached over to pick up the water scoop. Noticing the bag resting in the scoop, he pulled it away from the bowl. Ten tiny green wiggling snakes dropped out of the bag. Some fell back into the spoon, the rest spilling over the sides to the ground below. All hissed in warning.
With a yell, Ryder threw the scoop at the wall and fell backward to the ground, doing a swift crab crawl on all fours away from the snakes.
Cayden burst into laughter as he watched his six-foot-two muscular friend scramble away from the tiny snakes, a high-pitched girly scream echoing down the alley. Cayden snorted and gasped for breath as he tried to stop laughing. He felt twinges of his earlier pains from Avery’s prank, he was laughing so hard.
“If you could see your face,” he wheezed. His cheeks hurt from grinning so hard. His chest hurt from holding in his mirth. “It’s priceless!” He barely got the words out between snorts of laughter.
Ryder hesitated for only a moment and then punched him in the stomach. Cayden’s eyes bulged and his laughter cut off abruptly as he doubled over, gasping for air in truth this time.
“Good Goddess, Cayden, you scared the life out of me! I should hand-feed you to those snakes bit by bit! What are you trying to do, frighten me to death?”
Still gasping for air, Cayden straightened up and grinned weakly. “Man, you sure can punch hard, Ryder. Remind me to never get on your bad side, eh?”
Ryder grinned back. “Where did you find so many snakes? Why are they out of their dens at this time of year? It’s way too early.”
Cayden pretended to be searching for escaping snakes, reluctant to meet Ryder’s gaze. He couldn’t tell Ryder about what happened with his flutes. He decided on a piece of the truth. Reaching into his pocket, Cayden pulled out the flute of carved oak he made earlier in the day. He handed it to Ryder.
“I was sitting on the rocks playing my flute when suddenly I noticed some snakes. Maybe they were disturbed by my playing?” His mouth twitched into a smile. “Maybe I was too loud?”
Ryder inspected the flute. It was about seven
inches long, shaped and rounded to fit comfortably in the hand. The holes were saucer shaped and smooth, the right size for Cayden’s hands but much too large for his sausage shaped fingers. A small oak tree was carved into the bell-shaped end of the flute. He handed it back to Cayden.
“They were sunning themselves, curled up and still as rocks.” And listening to me, he thought to himself. He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “I know, it sounds weird, eh? Well, I decided I couldn’t leave them all there, so I brought you some. I know how much you like snakes.”
Ryder grinned. “I loathe snakes.” He could not stop himself from checking that all the snakes had slithered away.
“Some dashing knight you will make,” said Cayden. “You will throw your horse, before the horse can throw you, the first time you spy a snake out on patrol!” He ducked as his friend made to grab him in a headlock.
Laughing, Cayden nodded his head in the direction of the inn. “Fancy grabbing a pint before we head home? I saw strangers in town earlier. They must be here for the festival.”
“OK. Let me wash up first. You don’t have any more snakes hiding around here do you?” Ryder’s suspicious eyes raked the area around him.
“No, that was it,” Cayden chuckled. “Hurry up. I’m thirsty!”
Stripping off his shirt, Ryder quickly dunked his head into the barrel and poured water over his muscular chest and neck. Grabbing a towel, he dried off and then donned his shirt before joining his friend.
***
Avery lifted her long skirts and carefully placed her booted feet on drier patches of ground as she crossed the street. The spring air dampened her dark ringlets and they glistened around her fine features. Stepping up onto the boardwalk, she opened the door and entered the baker’s shop, setting a bell to tinkling. The smell of baking bread filled the air. Sniffing appreciatively, she approached the display counter.
“Good morning, young miss!” said the portly owner of the shop. “What can I get for you this fine day?”
“Six of your honeyed sticky buns, Master Hampton, and a loaf of raisin braid bread.”
He wrapped the goods in brown paper and handed them over the counter. She tucked the items into her bag. Placing the proper payment in his waiting hand, she thanked the baker and left the shop.
Preparations for the spring festival were well underway. The village square was buzzing with people setting up a large central stage in the round for the traditional resurrection plays. Large striped canvas booths were being erected along the sides of the square for games and challenges. At the far end, a strong man erected a tall pole. Brightly striped in green and red, the strong man’s pole contained multiple weights suspended by ropes and run through a series of pulleys on a cross arm. These ropes were guided through and secured to sets of metal eyes that were grasped by the hands of the contestants.
A silly pastime, she mused, but one the men of the village seemed to eagerly anticipate almost as much as the archery competition which was set up in the open field behind the blacksmith’s building.
She drew the hood of her cloak up around her head and continued on toward the inn.
Her ears registered the sound of horse hooves ringing on the occasional paving stone of the street. She drew back into the entranceway of a building and watched as the procession approached. Men on horseback, clad in dark red metal breastplates and matching helmets, rounded the corner and entered the square.
They were riding three abreast and five rows deep. A man to the right of the central figure carried a flag, red background with a white circle in the middle. A black hand clutching a golden sceptre was centered in the disk.
Behind the riders came several rows of men on foot, all wearing leather vests dyed dark red and sporting matching leather caps. An arrow quiver was visible on each of their backs and unstrung bows were held in their hands. Behind them came a similar group of men, but these carried broad shields and two swords were strapped to each of their backs in crisscrossed scabbards.
Surprised, Avery withdrew even further into the shadows of the doorway. Something smelled wrong about these men. The very air around them brought to mind a festering swamp full of leeches and rotting vegetation. She shuddered and raised a sleeve to cover her nose. She didn’t think it was the actual odour of the men, but more a sensation of decay that crept along with them, causing the hair to rise on the skin of her arms. They seemed to be an abomination to her soul, an offense to her very being. Gagging, she slipped into the alley between the buildings to either side. She kept to the shade in order to avoid detection.
The central horseman of the front row was dressed similar to his men; however, he also wore a dark red cape lined with black silk held in place by a silver clasp over his armour. The same symbol as on the flag was embroidered on the left breast of the cape. Steel gauntlets covered his forearms and his lower shins were also encased in armour.
As he strode past, his head swung in her direction. For a brief moment, she felt his eyes rest on her. She sensed open hatred in the gaze. The cold of a murderer stalking his victim assaulted her senses. His gaze roved over the inn and fixed on an object in his line of vision.
Turning her head to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw her brother Cayden about to enter the inn on the other side of the green with his friend Ryder. Cayden glanced up and their eyes met. He grinned, waved to her, and continued on into the inn. A blue glow emanated from his skin. The glow brightened, growing stronger to her eyes as she watched. She first noticed it about six months ago. No one else seemed to be able to see it except for her.
She slipped out the back end of the alley and ran back toward the direction she had entered town. She recognized the flag carried by the bearer to be the Queen’s Guard, and there was only one reason for them to be in town. They were there to recruit.
Hiking up her skirts, she ran.
Chapter 5
CAYDEN AND HIS SISTER’S EYES MET, worry shadowing them. He saw a blue glow surrounding her. Does she know she glows like that? No one else seemed to notice but he.
He followed Ryder into the inn. As he did so, he saw the riders entering the village square. Military men, the Queen’s Guard for sure, Cayden thought. He pushed Ryder in ahead of him and entered the inn.
Eyes followed Cayden, he was sure of it. He felt the intense gaze of the man at the head of the column. Cayden glanced back and found himself pinned by the man’s hawk-like gaze. A sudden fury rose in him and he glared back in challenge.
The door swung shut behind them, shutting off the noises and view of the street. Cayden tried to shrug off the feeling of foreboding that followed him into the room. Ryder was also looking apprehensively over his shoulder.
“Did you see those guys? They’re legionnaires, without a doubt,” Cayden said.
Ryder nodded and quickened his pace, heading for the bar at the end of the hall. “They are probably heading here for a meal and a drink. First village they would have seen for days, right? I bet that is all it is.” He shrugged, as though not convinced of his own words.
“What will it be, boys?” The sweaty innkeeper, Hans, was mopping his brow on a soiled apron tied to his generous waist.
The inn was busy with the usual dinner crowd and swollen with the addition of merchants and tradesmen recently arrived for the festival. It was the only reputable inn in the village. The only other place to stay was old Molly Bechard’s boarding house if you needed to rent a room, complete with bedbugs to keep you company at night.
“Two pints, if you please.” Cayden set the coppers on the counter in exchange for the beverages and then picked up the pints and settled into a booth near the rear door of the common room. “Hey, why don’t we have a bit of fun with them tonight?”
Ryder paused with his mug of ale halfway to his lips. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, it would be fun to check out their camp. See what it is like. I have never seen a soldiers’ camp before, have you? And they can’t all stay here. The inn is too full.
I’ll bet only the officers stay at the inn and the true soldiers set up camp in Geordie Frenchman’s hayfield out on the south end of town. It’s the closest cleared ground to the creek. It’s a natural spot to set up camp.” Cayden took a hefty swig from his pint and set the beaded mug back on the table.
Ryder scratched at his five o’clock shadow, considering. Grinning, he leaned in closer. “Well, what if we made off with a couple of their swords? Or better yet, a couple of their horses?”
Cayden frowned. “That would be stealing.”
“No, it wouldn’t!” Ryder waved vaguely in the direction of the next town. “They stole it from some farmer further up the road along with all their food supplies and metals for melting down into more swords. The merchants tell stories of what happens when one of these legions come through. They take everything of value. We would be giving them back a taste of their own.”
Cayden nodded in agreement. He had heard the stories. But Ryder had lived them.
Ryder burned with hatred and longed for a chance to set right the wrongs being carried out in the name of the queen. He had lost his parents to such a raid when he was five years old and had been sent to this village, Sanctuary-by-the-Sea, to be raised by his aunt. Ryder still remembered the smell of the smoke, the stench of burning flesh and blood spilled, and the cries of his friends as they were burned alive.
The soldiers had descended on the town on an afternoon not dissimilar to this one. The mayor had stepped out to greet the strangers, and before he could do more than say “Greetings, my fine fellows, how may we help you?” the lead soldier had run him through with a sword from horseback. While the mayor lay bleeding to death on the ground, the remaining soldiers spread out through the town, rounding up all the citizens they could locate and herding them to the central square. There, they were held and selectively questioned about their beliefs and if there were any witches or healers in the town. When the townsfolk failed to produce a witch for burning, the soldiers separated out all the young men who appeared to be of military age, between sixteen and twenty-five and took them off down the road. The rest of the people, women, children, and men over the age of twenty-five, they forced into the village inn and barricaded them inside. Then, they had set fire to the building.
