by R A Oakes
“For the king!”
“For the king!” his men shouted wildly.
They, too, had seen the blood on their master’s hands and knew what it meant. It was the end of exile. The end of hiding. The end of dodging Swarenth’s gargoyles. They were warriors, and the time had come for them to stand and fight openly as the king’s men!
These men were once the finest warriors to be found at Dominion Castle or anywhere else in Ulray Kardimont’s kingdom for that matter. They were the best of the best. And, 30 years ago, they had served as King Ulray’s personal guard.
For the last three decades, they had fought the most difficult battle of all. They had fought the desire for vengeance that burned within their breasts. They had pushed back the almost overwhelming urge to avenge the death of King Ulray, their beloved master.
Some had grown sick with anger and pent-up frustration. Yet, they had done their duty. They had waited until the time was right. Well, that time was now!
Men in their 40s and 50s screamed with rage as they bore down on the rabble in front of them. The elite of the personal guard of a long-dead king fell upon Lord Ridgewood’s vermin like savage thunder.
Meanwhile, Aerylln, Zorya and Baelfire raced to protect the farmer and his family. White Angel held her mighty sword in her right hand and with her left pointed at the warriors closest to the children. Light arrows shot out of the tip of her index finger cutting down the marauders.
White Angel began firing light arrows from both of her eyes. She cut down Lord Ridgewood’s men with the unbridled power pouring out of her.
But next, something happened that shocked and sickened her. One enemy warrior had entered the farmhouse using the back door, and he crashed through a large, porch window shattering it and spewing glass all over the porch. Then, as Aerylln watched in stunned disbelief, the warrior rammed his sword through the youngest child, a three-year-old girl.
White Angel cut down the warrior with a hail of light arrows. His body was riddled with purple, blue, green, yellow, orange and red shafts of light, every color of a prism.
Aerylln rode up to the front porch and leapt off Zorya. She took the young girl in her arms and cried bitterly. The magic horse and Baelfire looked on, their hearts breaking over their master’s grief.
They knew that this young woman had little experience in battle. Two of the hardest things of all to accept were the ravages of war and the permanence of death.
White Angel’s blouse was stained crimson from the dead girl’s blood as the young woman rocked back and forth on her knees with the child in her arms. She cried as only the innocent can sob when struck by such a tragic loss for the first time.
Baelfire and Zorya looked at each other and sighed. They realized it was a shame that their master had to grow up and encounter harsh realities, but life and death were as basic as things could get. At least that had been their experience up until now.
“Live. Live,” White Angel began to whisper.
Zorya started to cry as well as she witnessed the depth of Aerylln’s pain.
“Live! Live!” White Angel began to wail uncontrollably.
Zorya walked up to her master and nudged her gently. “Aerylln. Aerylln,” the horse said softly. “Let her mother and father take the child now, Aerylln.”
At that moment, the farmwife ran onto the front porch and threw her arms around the angelic young woman and the dead child.
White Angel began to hand the girl to the grieving mother, but as she did so, her tears fell onto the child’s wound. Swamped by her emotions once again, White Angel spread her wings and cried with all her heart while tears streamed down her face and onto the little girl’s chest.
“Live! Live!” the young woman sobbed.
And then it happened. The child suddenly took a deep breath, coughed loudly and began breathing normally. The farmwife shouted her joy and hugged the baby to her chest.
“Thank you! Thank you!” she cried.
Feeling drained and exhausted, White Angel stood up in a daze, stumbled into the front yard and watched as Tarlen Arandar’s men finished routing the enemy. Shortly afterwards, the white light filling Aerylln began to dim and falter. White Angel’s wings disappeared, and she returned to her normal size. She was a young woman again who had little experience in war.
Aerylln began to feel dizzy and started to faint, but strong arms gripped her and kept her from falling. The young woman felt herself being hugged and heard someone say, “I’ve waited so long for this day.”
Aerylln opened her eyes for a moment and saw the bloodstained warrior who was clutching her to his chest.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am your king,” he answered.
A flicker of bright, white light ran through Aerylln covering them both.
“But you’re more than that, aren’t you?”
Through the blinding light, Tarlen Arandar’s warriors, who’d now gathered around them, saw their king transform. The glare of the light made it hard to see, and they had to hold their hands in front of their eyes, but there was no mistaking what was happening.
In the center of the light, an 800-pound tiger was gently licking Aerylln’s cheek.
“Tell me who you are and what you want,” Aerylln said.
“I’m the Tiger of Dominion Castle, my lady, and I want to go home.”
Stroking the tiger’s face, Aerylln said, “I’m young and inexperienced, and I’m not sure what I can do.”
“When I was only six-years-old, the burden of being king fell upon my shoulders. You’d be surprised what a person can do if there’s no one else to carry the burden.”
“Have you no one else to turn to?”
“No, White Angel, no one. I’ve been waiting for you for 15 years, ever since my Mother Protector spoke about you.”
“In all honesty, the human member of the Trinity of Light hasn’t turned into White Angel in over 300 years,” Zorya said. “I was stunned when I saw it happen.”
“So was I,” Baelfire agreed. Both she and the horse looked at their master and knew Aerylln was the prodigy they’d hoped for and dreamed of coming some day.
“I’m just a young woman,” Aerylln protested once more.
“You’re far more than that,” the tiger said.
“Who am I?”
“For Swarenth, you’re the angel of death,” the tiger said smiling. “An angel of death cloaked in white.”
“If you want to meet a real dark angel, you should meet my friend Chen,” Aerylln said.
“You mean the black leather panther back at Skybrook Castle? The one they call Black Scarlet?”
“Yes, and Black Scarlet will fight by my side. Then, Swarenth will know what it means to feel fear.”
With that, Aerylln drifted off and fell into a deep sleep.
“Purrr. Purrr,” the tiger sighed contentedly.
King Tarlen had found his pathway home.
In the background a little girl cried, as a grateful mother held her close to her breast.
Captain Polaris and his men all knelt before their master and his new ally.
Marcheto walked up to them and said, “There’s someone else here who has been waiting 30 years to meet you. He thought you were long dead.”
The young wizard placed the bottom of his staff onto the ground and braced himself. There was a flash of multicolored prism light, this one coming from Marcheto’s wizard staff.
Eldwyn stood before them now and said, “Oh, King Tarlen, what a relief to see you. We have much to talk about.”
“I recognize you, you’re the wizard that Carplorthian said had fought like a lion defending my family!”
“I’m sure you heard wrong, my lord. It’s quite obvious that I failed you totally. Your family’s dead, and we thought you were too.”
“Oh, I heard correctly. Carplorthian had spies in the secret passageways. One was witness to my father’s death and that of my family. He said a warrior fought like no one he’d ever seen before. That warrior was y
ou!”
“But I let your family die.”
“It wasn’t your fault, and you gave them an honorable death. They went down fighting with a warrior possessed by the strength of a tiger and the speed of a cheetah. You did us all proud.”
“They still died, sire.”
“Yes, but I’m alive, and I want my castle back.”
“Then let’s go reclaim your heritage.”
“Yes, let’s do that.”
“You mentioned Carplorthian, sire. Whatever became of him?”
“You’ve seen him at Skybrook Castle. He’s Minister Rowkar.”
“The roly-poly gentleman? Chen’s devious old coot?” “Yes,” the king laughed.
Captain Polaris and his men almost wept for joy when they heard their master laugh. It was a long time since he’d done so.
The captain of the king’s personal guard whispered to the men closest to him, “If just talking about recapturing Dominion Castle reinvigorates King Tarlen this much, imagine what taking action to make it happen will do for his spirit.”
Captain Polaris and his men fingered their weapons. If there were ever men ready for war, they were it.
Chapter 10
Skybrook Castle. Later the same day.
Black Scarlet, Lord Pensgraft and Minister Rowkar were discussing the minister’s trip to Firecrest Castle. The warrior woman was thrilled when she learned that he’d gotten rid of General Zarkahn and Rathlor.
“I could hug you!” Chen shouted, and she jumped up and bounded over to the elderly gentleman with her scarlet cape swirling around her. Grabbing the portly minister, she held him firmly with a hand on each cheek and planted a big kiss on his forehead.
Smiling broadly, Black Scarlet looked over at her friends and declared, “This man’s a genius, an absolute genius!”
Andrina, Gwendylln and Corson, who were guarding the entrance to the great hall, couldn’t help overhearing Minister Rowkar’s report on how Ambassador Valkira had ordered General Zarkahn and Rathlor to return with him to Dominion Castle.
The warrior women were surprised that Rowkar, a harmless-looking “devious old coot,” could pull off such a deception and were almost in awe of his cunning. Andrina, who’d survived many military campaigns using her intelligence as her main weapon, was particularly impressed.
“Well, General Zarkahn and Rathlor may only be gone for a month or two,” Minister Rowkar said humbly. “It was all I could manage.”
Chen knew false humility when she heard it. The warrior woman realized the minister was proud of his accomplishment, and she didn’t blame him.
“I have a feeling our ‘Gray Fox’ has more to tell us about his experiences at Firecrest Castle,” Lord Pensgraft said. And the nickname had stuck. Thenceforth, the silver-haired gentleman was known as the Gray Fox. The short, roly-poly minister loved it. “Makes me sound dashing,” he would laugh as he rubbed his big belly and ordered another helping of whatever they were having for dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast.
“Well, there are one or two points I could elaborate on,” the Gray Fox said smiling. Then, he paused for dramatic effect.
Andrina provided the necessary prodding as a salve for the ego of the victorious, chunky chess master. To Andrina, all of life was one big game of chess.
“Oh, please tell us,” she said with great drama. But she thought, If I'm begging even in a joking manner, he had better be able to deliver the goods.
Andrina stared hard at the Gray Fox letting him know he’d better have something good up his sleeve, or he was in serious trouble. However, Minister Rowkar loved his moment in the sun. He wasn’t beyond basking in the praise of others and being the center of attention, especially when he deserved it.
“Well, when General Zarkahn was sort of drafted against his will to Dominion Castle, he wanted to let his warriors back here know what to do in his absence. And being the trustworthy fellow that I am…”
At that, Black Scarlet broke in with a boisterous laugh. She was getting a real kick out of listening to someone whose mind was as devious as her own.
“By your laughter are you implying that I’m not trustworthy?” Minister Rowkar asked feigning a highly offended tone of voice.
“Not in the least. I would never think of questioning your integrity,” Black Scarlet said with mock gravity. Both realized they were shameless opportunists.
Andrina gave Minister Rowkar a warm smile and said, “You mentioned the general wanted to communicate with his troops back here. How did he plan on doing that?”
With a great flourish, the Gray Fox pulled a stack of sealed letters out of a pouch and tossed them to Andrina. “These personal dispatches from General Zarkahn might be of use to you.”
Holding them with both hands, Andrina stared at the letters in disbelief and asked, “How did you intercept these?”
“I didn’t. He gave them to me personally. And the general told me that it says somewhere in those dispatches that his captains are to seriously listen to my advice before taking any action during his absence.”
“These could give us control of his troops,” Andrina said breathlessly.
“If we had a good forger, we could alter the documents to make them even more useful,” the minister said. “That is, if we could avoid breaking the general’s seals or have them appear unbroken.”
“I can take care of that,” Gwendylln said.
When in her early teens, Chen’s second-in-command had served as an apprentice to a seemingly reputable bookmaker and learned calligraphy. She had also displayed a talent for copying handwritten documents. But above all, she had showed a knack for forging seals. This was an art requiring a high degree of skill, and Gwendylln had proven to be gifted at her craft.
After a few years, however, her formal schooling had ended abruptly when her teacher was arrested for forgery. He hadn’t been the most reputable of employers, but he’d once rescued her from a tight spot.
Shortly before meeting him, Gwendylln had counterfeited a small denomination of paper money and tried to pass it off to a shopkeeper. It had been a good first attempt by a young woman with no previous training but not good enough.
When the shopkeeper had confronted her, another customer who was a regular patron looked at the counterfeit bill and instantly recognized the young woman’s natural talent. He immediately paid the shopkeeper, giving the merchant a generous tip to remain silent about this transgression, and hustled her outside. The money he used to pay off the shopkeeper had been forged as well, but at least it was of such high quality that his work was never questioned.
Gwendylln had proved to be an eager student, and her mentor expected great things from his young charge. He’d once told her, “If you turn out to be as good as I think you’ll be, we can open our own bank.”
From her teacher, she had also learned her sense of values. Crooks were those who had no money and robbed people to get some. Bankers, on the other hand, had money and used it to create situations to rob people. The difference between jail and wealth, the forger had explained, was a matter of start-up capital. Gwendylln’s mentor had further instructed her that, “Theft, forgery and foreclosures are much the same thing.”
However, after her mentor was arrested, Gwendylln had lost a credible-looking adult to pass her counterfeit wares. Ever the survivor and always adaptable, she had resorted to a secondary skill, swordsmanship, and began fighting for sport in local taverns. A pretty, young woman skilled with a sword had proven to be a great source of entertainment for the patrons. This had gone well, at least until she killed someone of note who’d been illicitly carousing with the lower classes.
Andrina, ever drawn to violent places, had witnessed the fight. The warrior woman had been impressed by Gwendylln’s skill and offered to help her escape the town constable, if she agreed to become a member of Chen’s personal guard.
This second career turned out to be Gwendylln’s true calling. She rose rapidly through the ranks and was soon Chen’s right arm. Her enforcer
.
But now, in the present, Gwendylln was more than Chen’s second-in-command. The warrior woman was one of Black Scarlet’s best friends, as were Andrina and Corson.
Lord Pensgraft was greatly pleased when he learned of Gwendylln’s talent for forgery, but he was also eager to hear what else Minister Rowkar might have to say. The giant was good at reading body language and could sense that the Gray Fox had yet more to tell.
“So, what other news do you have for us?” Lord Pensgraft asked.
“More news?” the Gray Fox asked innocently.
“There’s not more to tell is there?” Corson asked. She could hardly believe all she had heard up until now.
“Oh, just a bit, I suppose,” Minister Rowkar said.
With that, he opened a cloth bag and took out the thick, gray tunic that Ambassador Valkira had given him. Everyone could see it was emblazoned with Swarenth’s symbol, black claw marks across the front.
“This is the uniform of Swarenth’s gargoyles,” he said. Then, he took out the signet ring Ambassador Valkira had given him and put it on.
“I’m Swarenth’s spy here at Skybrook Castle. Ambassador Valkira chose me personally. Now everything you say and do will be reported back to Swarenth. I am so sorry, but I sold you all out to the gargoyle warlord. My sincerest apologies.”
“The Gray Fox strikes again! Now we can feed Swarenth all sorts of false, misleading information,” Lord Pensgraft said. “If Marcheto could turn you into a gargoyle, we’d be all set. You could get a job as Swarenth’s top advisor, and we’d own Dominion Castle in a matter of months. You could defeat the enemy single-handedly.”
Lord Pensgraft realized that this idea might not be so far- fetched.
“Griktas helm Swarenth,” Minster Rowkar said.
“What’s that mean?” the giant asked.
“It means, ‘I’m a friend of Swarenth.’ It’s like a password, and Ambassador Valkira said it would help protect me when their gargoyles overrun Skybrook Castle.”
“He specifically said they were going to attack this castle?” Andrina asked.
“Yes, but he didn’t say when.”
