by Jon Kiln
Qutaybah raised an eyebrow. “What sort of powers do you speak of?”
“You call her a witch… and I have heard others speak of her as being some kind of mystic.”
Arexos was riding behind Qutaybah and Yazid. He remained silent, but he was intensely interested in their conversation—any talk of magic intrigued him.
“You shouldn’t believe fairytales!” laughed Qutaybah. “There is no such thing as magical powers. The Duchess is just a clever woman who knows how to rule. Her power is her mind, and her ability to outwit the foolish men that attempt to control her. Some men see that as witchcraft.”
The border crossing between Vandemland and the Berghein Valley was controlled by small guard-posts on either side. The party of one hundred soldiers on horseback from Vandemland caused some concern at the Berghein Valley guard-post, but Qutaybah had a letter of invitation from the Duchess which quickly secured their safe passage.
It was Captain Versance, the Duchess’s captain of the guard, who rode out to greet the approaching party from Vandemland, escorting them to the barracks that had been assigned to them and arranging for the stable-hands to tend to their horses.
“The Duchess is ready to receive you at your earliest convenience, Master Qutaybah.”
“Excellent. Shall I bring my deputy with me?”
“I think it would be perhaps best if you met with the Duchess alone.”
“Of course, Captain. Please, lead the way. I do not want to keep the Duchess waiting.”
The Duchess received Qutaybah in her study. The light was shining brightly through the windows, illuminating the room and catching the silver thread that was embroidered on the blue dress that she wore. The Duchess stood as Qutaybah was shown into the room.
“Master Qutaybah, welcome,” smiled the Duchess, inclining her head slightly. “I am grateful that you have answered my call for help.”
“Your Excellence, it is indeed an honor to meet you.” Qutaybah bowed respectfully.
“Well, to coin an old phrase, we live in interesting times. Our friends become our enemies and our neighbors become our allies. I’m sure your networks of intelligence gatherers and informers will have kept you abreast of our troubles, but I imagine that you are not exactly sure why I have reached out to you.”
“You are indeed correct, Your Excellence. The turmoil within the Kingdom of Palara is known to me, as are your personal tragedies. I am sorry for the loss of your daughter,” proffered Qutaybah.
“Thank you for your kindness,” acknowledged the Duchess. “The good news is that I believe that my granddaughter is safe. My granddaughter is the rightful heir to the throne of Palara. It is her claim to the throne that is the reason that I have sought your assistance.”
“You intend to attack Duke Harald? You will march on the Kingdom of Palara?”
“Yes. Yes…and no.”
“I’m not quite sure I follow you?”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, Duke Harald has amassed a sizeable army, plus he has built an impressive naval fleet. All of this was designed to launch a full-scale assault against the Caliphate of Vandemland, but it seems that he intends first to cut his teeth against the people of the Berghein Valley,” explained the Duchess. “Of course, my small army will be no match for him. His forces will crush us within a matter of days, if not hours.”
“So you will not march against him?” asked Qutaybah, beginning to feel confused.
“I will distract him. I will draw his eye towards the Berghein Valley, towards Castle Locke… and while I draw his eye, I want you to kill him.”
53
The druids’ temple lay in ruins. Duke Harald’s men had been merciless. Zaim, the arms-bearer, had done as instructed and lain waste to the druids and their living quarters, setting fire to the wooden buildings and destroying the stone monuments.
After killing the druids, Zaim’s men had loaded the barrels of fire-powder onto the druids’ wagons to transport them back to Castle Villeroy. The bodies of the men that had been slain lay scattered throughout the temple grounds, across the garden beds where they had grown vegetables, across the altars at which they had prayed, slain while trying to protect the ancient artifacts and relics that were used in their ceremonies and prayers.
As the wagons rolled through the surrounding farmlands, the villagers looked on in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the changing world in which they lived. A world in which the sacred and revered druids could be so brutally cast aside, the gods and temples that had been worshiped so easily desecrated.
“Excellent! This is exactly what we need,” exclaimed Duke Harald as he inspected the barrels that had been forcibly confiscated from the druids.
“Have you used the druid’s fire-powder before, sir?” asked Zaim.
“No, we will need to test it. We need to trial it against something that is of similar thickness to the walls of Castle Locke. We’re going to need to be able to blast that old witch out of her nest.”
“There is the old fort that protects the bridge at Athacar. Of course, it is quite useful as a strategic defense, but it’s the only thing that I can think of with thick walls apart from the castle here.”
“Well, we’re not blowing up Castle Villeroy! We either blow up the fort or we try and tackle Castle Locke without any clue as to how much fire-powder we would need to get the job done. Let’s assemble a small advance party and march towards Athacar with the barrels of fire-powder. The rest of the army can be mobilized to join us when we are ready to launch our attack against Castle Locke.”
It was a party of several hundred soldiers that were tasked with transporting the wagons loaded with fire-powder along the road westward towards the town of Athacar. Harald surveyed the old stone fort—a remnant of the days of Chief Terrick who had united the tribes.
“We’re going to need a point in the wall where we can dig down towards the foundations.” Harald tried to visualize how they would most effectively launch an attack against Castle Locke. “So, we’re going to need to have some sort of protection overhead to enable us to dig. We create a hole at the bottom of the wall, pack it tightly with the barrels of fire-powder, and then light it up. The force of the explosion should be enough to create a breach in the wall that we can then break through and crush their defenses.”
“But how many barrels of fire-powder do we need to use in order to create a big enough explosion?” asked Zaim.
“That’s what we’re here to test out. Let’s start with ten and see what sort of mess that makes.”
Zaim took charge of overseeing the digging operations, while also tasking his men to build several different types of contraptions that could provide some sort of overhead protection. The main concern would be arrows being fired down from the walls, but fire and hot oil were also commonly used by defenders trying to repel a siege. Eventually, Zaim reported back to Harald that they had created a hole at the foundations of the wall of the old fort and packed it with ten barrels of the druids’ fire-powder.
“We can light it with a flaming arrow. That will give us enough time to get our men clear of the explosion.”
“Excellent!” Harald rubbed his palms together in anticipation. “Well, let’s see what happens!”
As the dust slowly cleared, Harald was beaming with delight as he surveyed the ruined wall of the old fort.
“Castle Locke doesn’t stand a chance!” laughed the Duke, surveying the destruction that lay at his feet.
54
“Myriam, my child, you have made it!” The Duchess was waiting at the gates of the castle, immediately hugging Myriam as soon as she had been helped down from the horse that had carried her across the Berghein Valley.
“Grandmother!” gasped Myriam. It felt slightly surreal to be in the arms of this woman, a woman she had met a long time ago when the world had seemed to be a different place, a safer place. “I have so much to ask you, so many questions!”
“Shhh…. there will be time for questions. But first we must care for you. You need
food, you need to bathe, you need to rest. Come, go with the maids and I will come and sit with you in a moment.” The Duchess turned to the rest of the waiting party. Ganry could sense a steeliness in her. She was clearly a woman that was in control, a determined woman who knew what needed to be done.
“Zander, you have impressed me yet again. Well done.”
“Thank you, Your Excellence,” bowed Zander deeply.
“Introduce me to the rest of the party.”
“These are my men, Yasir and Karam. This is Ganry and Artas who have traveled with Myriam since her escape from Castle Villeroy, and this is Hendon, who I believe they met in the Cefinon Forest.”
Ganry could feel the Duchess’s eyes fall on each of them, assessing them somehow, processing the information that Zander was providing.
“You each have my utmost gratitude. I can only imagine the hardships that you have suffered together on your escape from Palara. Your commitment to protecting my granddaughter is proof not only of your loyalty, but also your immense courage and bravery. I am sure that we have much to talk about, but I can see that you are all exhausted. Please, follow the household staff and they will help you with food, bathing, and fresh clothes.” The companions gratefully began to move towards the castle doors where food and rest waited for them. “Hendon,” said the Duchess suddenly. “A moment please, I would like just a quick word with you before you join the others.”
***
There was a quiet knock on the door of the sleeping quarters to which Myriam has been assigned.
“May I come in?” asked the Duchess politely.
“Of course, Grandmother! Of course,” beamed Myriam. “I can’t quite believe that I am really here. It all feels a bit unreal at the moment, if that makes sense?”
“It makes perfect sense my dear, you’ve had quite an ordeal.”
“Grandmother, I know that you said that there would be time for questions later. But, please, can I ask… my mother and father… they’re dead aren’t they?”
The Duchess took Myriam in her arms and held her close. “Yes dear… I’m afraid so. I felt it too, as I’m sure you did. And Hendon felt it as well…”
“Hendon,” murmured Myriam. “Yes, Hendon! Who is Hendon? Why do I feel such a connection to him? How does he have a ring that matches the dagger that you sent with Zander?”
“Shhh now,” soothed the Duchess, “don’t get yourself all worked up. All will be revealed in good time. But you need to know that Hendon is a part of me, just as much as you are.”
“But… how can that be?” asked Myriam, looking up at her grandmother.
“Shhh now… all in good time.”
***
After bathing and eating, Artas had gone for a walk out along the walls of the castle, finally feeling as if he was able to breathe, finally, for a moment at least, not looking over his shoulder, waiting for danger at every turn. Artas was staring out across the plains of the Berghein Valley when he heard a voice behind him.
“Hello,” said the voice. Artas turned to see who it was that was talking to him. The face looked familiar, but it was strangely out of context. Artas tried to piece together the puzzle that was before him. A face he knew but somehow didn’t recognize. Finally, it dawned on him.
“Linz? Linz? Is it really you? What are you doing here?” gasped Artas.
“They said that you had gone for a walk, I came to find you.”
“No, I mean, we left you back at the lake… you rescued us… how are you here now at Castle Locke? I thought it was forbidden for you to leave?”
“It’s all been a bit of a blur, to be honest.” Linz shook his head quickly, as though trying to juggle his memories into some sort of order. “After you left, nothing seemed the same. My mother persuaded my uncle to let me come and try and help Myriam regain the throne of Palara.”
“But how did you manage to make the journey to Castle Locke? We’ve only just survived. We lost several of our companions to the arrows of the soldiers,” said Artas sadly.
“I’m sorry for your loss. The monk, Ghaffar, traveled with me. He seems to be able to travel without attracting too much attention to himself.”
“Ghaffar, that old fox!” laughed Artas. “I should have known that we hadn’t seen the last of him. Well… I must say that I am glad to see you again. I feared that we would never have the chance to spend any time together.”
“I’m glad, too,” smiled Linz. “I’m glad, too.”
***
“You asked to see me, Your Excellence?” asked Ganry, cautiously entering the Duchess’s study.
“Ganry, please come in,” instructed the Duchess. “No one seems to know very much about you, but my granddaughter speaks very highly of you and that is all I need to know. I am under no illusion that she would not have been able to survive without your care and attention.”
“It has been my pleasure, Your Excellence.”
“I understand that Leonidavus, Myriam’s tutor, paid you a small fee to transport her here. I am happy to double that. I will have the gold prepared so that you can collect your reward and be released from your obligations.”
“Your Excellence? I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s not enough? You demand more gold?” asked the Duchess.
“No, no, not at all. It’s just that… I don’t really want to be released from my obligations.”
“You are a mercenary, are you not? You have completed your mission and you should be rewarded for that,” pointed out the Duchess.
“I think perhaps that my mercenary days might be over,” said Ganry slowly. “No amount of gold in the world can make me walk away from Myriam now. I need to see this through. I need to help her reclaim the throne of Palara. I need to help her free her people.”
“You haven’t developed some sort of ridiculous romantic attachment to her, have you?” snapped the Duchess.
“No, not at all, quite the contrary,” explained Ganry quickly. “I think of her as a daughter. She reminds me of the daughter that I lost long ago.”
“I see,” nodded the Duchess approvingly. “I can see that she was right to trust you. Good.”
“Good?” asked Ganry, not sure exactly what the Duchess meant by this.
“Yes. Good,” affirmed the Duchess. “We have difficult days ahead. My granddaughter will need all of her friends and allies beside her. I want you to be her personal bodyguard. I want you to promise me that you will protect her.”
“Of course, Your Excellence. I promise to protect her with my life.”
The Duchess walked to a window and stared out across the valley below. “He’s coming for her,” she said quietly, staring into the distance.
“Duke Harald?” asked Ganry, unsure if the statement had been directed towards him, unsure if he was required to give a response.
“Yes… he’s coming for her,” repeated the Duchess. “He will not rest until he has killed her. He will march his armies against us and will crush everything that stands in his way.”
“Should I take her away? Take her somewhere safe?”
“No. There isn’t anywhere. Nowhere is safe. She must remain here. She is the bait that will draw that snake in.”
“You’re using Myriam as bait?” Ganry was not really sure that he had heard the Duchess correctly. “Isn’t that a fairly risky strategy?”
“Ganry,” said the Duchess, turning towards him with a smile, “in this game, the only way to win is to risk it all.”
55
The bells in the towers of Castle Locke sounded the call to arms. Captain Versance had assembled the army of the Berghein Valley. The farmers, the tradesmen—they had trained them as much as possible, they had equipped them with as many weapons as possible, but as Captain Versance surveyed the faces of his men, he knew that it wouldn’t be enough.
“We are no match for what marches towards our borders,” observed Zander Moncrieff, seeing the concern on the captain’s face.
“This is ma
dness,” said the captain.
“I don’t think it would be wise to accuse the Duchess of madness,” chuckled Zander lightly. “At least, not to her face. These walls are built to withstand a siege. We just need to hold them as long as possible.”
“Is that the plan then?” asked Captain Versance. “Try and sit out a siege?”
“I think that is part of the plan, but I have to confess that the Duchess hasn’t taken me fully into her confidence as to how she intends to defeat Duke Harald. I think it’s interesting though that the battalion from Vandemland have moved out.”
“They rode off towards Vandemland,” replied the captain. “I assumed that they were heading home, not prepared to sign up to a lost cause?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s the case at all. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of our friends from Vandemland. We live in interesting times, old friend. We live in very interesting times.”
***
The Duchess sat in her study. On one side of her sat Myriam, on the other side, Hendon. The three of them wore the rings of Berghein, the stones glowing brightly, almost shining as they reflected and amplified the sun’s rays. In front of each of them sat their matching dagger. Myriam reached out and caressed the blade of Harkan—the name of her blade, the name that had been told to her by Leonidavus, her tutor, when he had given it to her.
“Ready?” asked the Duchess quietly, looking at first to Myriam and then Hendon. They both nodded solemnly. The Duchess demonstrated what had to be done. They each took hold of the dagger in front of them and ran the sharp blade across the palm of their left hand. As the blood began to flow from their self-inflicted wounds, the Duchess showed them how to hold their hands over the silver bowl that sat in the middle of the small wooden table. They watched silently as their blood began to drip steadily down into the bowl, collecting and combining as it formed a small crimson pool.
“Close your eyes now,” instructed the Duchess, “and visualize our future. Visualize a future where the Berghein Valley is safe once more. Visualize a future where Duke Harald has been defeated. Visualize a future where Myriam has been crowned as the rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Palara. Now we must visualize the sun setting and rising three times… dusk to dawn… dusk to dawn… dusk to dawn… together we create the future. There… you can open your eyes now.”
