by Jon Kiln
“You’ve lost your minds.” Ganry stared wide eyed at the panting youngsters.
“That monster is here for the sword that Harald holds, even he doesn’t know it. But once he does…” Myriam’s eyes roamed the ravaged countryside frantically. The dying screams of men overwhelmed her senses.
“Too late.” Ganry pointed with Windstorm. “Harald already knows.”
The regent stood in a clearing, holding his sword high over his head with both hands, a power hungry leer on his face. The dragon swooped down and circled him twice, and then blasted a deluge of fire down on the laughing regent.
The sword in his hands was aglow and seemingly drew in the flames from the dragon’s assault. It began to glow red hot, rivaling even the morning sun. A strange transformation began to come over Harald. He seemed to grow larger. His arms and legs stretched the armor he wore, and his helm fell off his head. He had a maniacal grin on his face and a sliver of drool down the left side of his chin.
“Princess,” he roared, pointing at her direction. “At long last, I have you.”
He waved the sword at the onrushing troops of Lake Men and the dragon took to the air, turning its attention and fiery breath upon the armies of Linz. The Palaran army, bolstered by a dragon on their side, renewed their assault on the armsmen of the south.
Men fell like hacked saplings under the great Dragon Sword as Harald cut a path towards Myriam. He didn’t care who was in his way, his own men or the enemy. He moved ahead unperturbed. His sole focus on the princess alone.
“Stay back, Myriam,” Ganry barked, stepping before her, Windstorm in hand. “Get on Bluebell and get away, back over the stream.”
“No, not while that monster is killing our allies.” Myriam defiantly stood her ground. “Linz is in danger.”
Hagar rode up. “Don’t be foolish, your highness. Flee back up to the creek and leave the battle to us.”
“I commend your concern for me, sir Hagar.” Myriam gave him a tight smile. “But I am fed up of fleeing. It's time I faced my fears.”
“Yes, it is,” Hendon added, leaping up on Bluebell.
Myriam took his hand and climbed up on Ganry’s large warhorse. The forester kicked the beast into a furious gallop, not away from, but into, the heart of battle.
“They’ve gone mad!” Hagar yelled.
“Are we any different?” Ganry cursed, breaking into a run after his horse.
He knew he had to get to Harald before the power mad regent could reach Myriam. An arrow bounced off his shoulder, slicing a tear on the leather armor. He ignored the pain, glancing up at the dragon as it roasted the Lake Men army. His eyes went wide as he saw Myriam and Hendon on Bluebell head right under the flying behemoth. But before he could call out to them, something knocked him down from the side. He quickly rolled back up to his feet, Windstorm up in reflex to protect himself.
Harald glared down at him from atop Thawban, the magnificent horse stamped its well shod hooves close to the ground where Ganry had fallen.
“You!” Harald roared. “You are the one who’s been defying me all along. Your head-”
“Is fine where it is, usurper,” Ganry spat, cutting a blazing arc in the air with his longsword.
“You shall pay, outlander.” Harald leapt off his horse and came right at Ganry, Dragon Sword raised high, primed for a killing blow.
Windstorm parried the strike inches from his head, but he felt the jarring impact all the way to his shoulder. Ganry leapt back, slashing Windstorm about in a blur before him. He knew he was on the defensive here, and there was something about Harald, something more powerful than he had ever faced before.
The sneering regent followed him, bearing down the great Dragon Sword on him again and again. Windstorm blocked and swatted aside each blow, but only just, forcing the large former mercenary down on one knee.
“Your Grimlock sword is no match for the legendary Dragon Sword I wield, fool,” Harald’s voice filled his mind. “Forged in the pits of Hell, and that’s where it will send you.”
“Ganry!” Myriam cried out, glancing back at the kneeling warrior. “He’ll be killed…”
“He can take care of himself, princess,” Hendon said with assurance. “And look, there’s Linz.”
“Oh, Linz, thank the heavens.” Myriam exhaled deeply as the young leader of the Lake Men rode up.
“Quick, princess, Hendon,” the boy urged, “we must use the stones, to thwart this menace.”
“How can we…” Hendon began.
“Oh, he knows, he knows. Just like he did with the Rooggaru.” Myriam’s eyes shone with some hope.
“Yes, princess.” Linz nodded. “Now, quickly. As my men force a circle to protect us, we must use the stones together, and locate the fourth stone.”
“The fourth,” Myriam and Hendon chorused.
“Yes, hurry.” Linz whipped out the dagger he had found in the Rooggaru’s treasure horde. Its milky white blade was aglow.
Myriam and Hendon held their daggers high, beside Linz. The rings on their fingers, encrusted with the same stones, were glowing too. A loud shriek from the dragon soaring overhead sent a chill down Myriam’s spine, but she held fast.
The tips of the glowing blades touched and the three closed their eyes. Images flashed before their minds. Horrific images of death and destruction, making them shiver, but they held on. The dragon screeched, flying around in circles above them. It had ceased its assault on the Lake Men, the glowing stones were affecting it somehow. Suddenly Harald’s infuriated face flashed before them. The three youngsters opened their eyes with a jolt. Linz sighed in relief. It was a flash of an image they saw. But how, and why Harald?
They resumed their position, holding aloft the blades and closing their eyes. This time Harald was standing before them, his Dragon Sword blazing in his hands. Another sword rose before their eyes to clash with Harald’s downward stroke.
“It’s Windstorm!” Myriam gasped. “Ganry!”
“Yes, we see what he sees.” Linz sounded confused.
“It’s him. I mean, his sword,” Hendon cried excitedly. “Windstorm holds the fourth stone.”
“This is unbelievable,” Myriam gasped.
“We have the dragon under our control,” Linz announced, holding his dagger up at the screaming dragon above him. “It’s time to turn the tide of this battle.”
Myriam looked at the lad briefly, amazed at the confident and brave young man she now saw. No more was he the shy little heir to the throne of the Lake Men. He began to sound and behave more like his uncle Clay now, but only just.
Linz turned the dragon on the Palaran army. It soared over them, burning and killing, breaking their ranks and making them retreat.
Ganry looked around him in surprise as the battle was turned. He leapt to his feet, but Harald was undeterred. He came at him, Dragon Sword thirsty for blood.
Ganry had never seen his longsword like this before. Windstorm had a strange white glow about itself, and the round stone at the base of the grip was just as milky white as the stones he had seen in the daggers the children had. There’s no such thing as magic, he heard himself say. There is an explanation for everything. But that would have to wait. He had a more pressing matter at hand.
The Dragon Sword came at him with force again, driven hard by Harald’s newly developed sinews. Ancient metal clashed on ancient metal, covering the two duelists in showers of blue and red sparks. Ganry felt the effect of Harald’s blows lessen by a great degree, and for the first time in their battle he didn’t feel pushed back. Instead, he began to move up, forcing Harald on the back foot. Windstorm seemed alive in his hands. It surged ahead to strike the Dragon Sword all by itself.
“He’s winning!” Myriam clapped. “Windstorm is the fourth stone. Who would have thought.”
“Harald is all but finished,” Hendon whispered as the regent fell heavily.
“Yield, murderer.” Ganry offered the regent mercy as the man huffed, down on one knee. “And you shall be
judged for your crimes.”
“Never!” Harald leapt to his feet, bringing the mighty sword down in an overhead strike.
Ganry stood his ground. Windstorm rose to meet the descending blade. Bright light, like a lighting blot flashed between the two men, followed by a clap of thunder. The Dragon Sword fell off Harald’s grip, cut neatly in half. Ganry stood as still as a statue, Windstorm still in his hands, thrumming with an eerie energy.
“You have lost, Harald,” Ganry said. “Your army has surrendered, your navy lies decimated, and your elite guard are all dead. You have no other choices but surrender, and death.”
“Die!” Harald screamed, diving past Ganry. Rising up swiftly, a thin bladed dagger in hand, he rushed at Myriam.
The princess screamed as the dull thud of Harald’s head hitting the ground and then rolling to rest near her feet echoed around the still battlefield. Ganry looked at the blood on his blade with disgust, and then wiped it on the still quivering body of the regent.
The dragon shrieked as if in agony, soaring above them. Its scaly skin began to glow, and then it suddenly evaporated in a puff of smoke. Ash and dust blew in the wind where it had soared a moment ago.
“It is done,” Linz said, closing his eyes again, as the dagger in his hand glowed brightly.
“Aye,” Hagar rode up. “The usurper is dead. Long live the Queen!”
The chant rose through the battlefield. “Long Live the Queen!”
45
“How could this be?” Myriam wiped the tears away, but couldn’t stem the flow.
“She still lives,” Hendon said soothingly. “We would have sensed it otherwise.”
“I know, Hendon.” The princess forced a smile. “But to think she was held in those horrible dungeons and tortured, and she endured it all. For me.”
“She was a brave woman, princess.” Ganry nodded. “The bravest I have met, next to you.”
“We have to find her, Ganry,” Myriam sniffed. “Whatever hell she’s been taken to, we have to find her.”
“Yes, we do,” Ganry agreed. “Yet there is much to do for you as the Queen of Palara. Your people expect much from you. They may be happy now that the oppressive rule of Harald is over, but in time they will want to recoup their losses, and then the grumbles against the kingdom will resume.”
“You are wiser than you’ve ever been given credit for,” Myriam laughed.
She knew he was right. She had a lot to do, and the work of her father, the late King Ludwig, had to be carried on, regardless of the damage Harald had brought upon the kingdom. She looked around the throne room, shuddering at the thought of having to sit on the ugly throne before a host of nobles and courtiers.
Linz had returned to the Lake with his army. She knew that she could count on him as an ally, without question. And Artas, the young noble who had given so much to her, had to come home, almost crippled, and find his parents, the Lord and Lady Holstein, murdered. And so it was with people all over Palara. Almost everyone had lost someone dear to them over the last few months. So much loss and much more to be done, she sighed.
“My Queen, Lord Parsival of Ival Hold, rescued from the dungeons, wishes an audience,” a guardsman announced.
“Yes, I sent for him. Please let him enter,” Myriam said, apprehensive of her first official meeting with a noble as the Queen.
The young man stepped into the room. His wounds had been cleaned and bathed, and he bowed with a slight grimace.
“How are you faring, kind sir?” she asked him.
“I am well, your highness,” he said, eyeing her warily. “You had sent for me?”
“Yes, I must apologize for your harrowing experience in the dungeons.” She smiled at him.
“But it was Harald who…” Parsival looked confused.
“Yes, I know…” She closed her eyes, wiping away a tear. “I apologize for asking you to relive those moments. You did say to the guards who let you out that you saw the Duchess leaving the dungeon while you were there.”
“Yes, I did.” He nodded once, glancing at Ganry.
“Was anyone with her?”
“Yes, I recall now… a small man in grey robes of a monk.”
“Did you hear anything about where he might be taking her?” Ganry asked him.
Parsival looked up nervously. “No, but I did hear him say to her who he was.”
“What did he say?” Myriam leaned forward.
“He said he was Ghaffar of the Marawi.”
Warden
1
Queen Myriam was saddened. This should be one of the happier moments of her short life with her ascendancy to the throne, yet all she could do was grieve. She was only just coming to terms with the murder of her parents, King Ludwig and Queen Alissia, murdered by the usurper Duke Harald. She had been numbed to the events unfolding around her, but now, she had to face her losses. Her people were relying on her. Not too long ago she had been a happy princess, living out her life at Castle Villeroy, being trained and prepared for the moment when she would rule. Now, she was the Queen of that castle and all its lands. She had to make the decisions and lead the armies.
Luckily, she did not have to face these difficulties alone. She had a close and trusted entourage who would lay down their lives to keep her safe. Friends who had stood by her side in her darkest hour and helped her overcome the evil tyrant, her uncle. Not only had he beheaded her parents, he had proven to be a cruel man. Her people were looking to her to help them move from the darkness of her uncle’s rule, and into a brighter, better future.
The people might be joyous now, while they celebrate his death and their new Queen’s crowning, but soon they would remember the changes he had enforced and the loved ones they had lost while ruled by his cruel hand. Higher taxes needed to be lowered again, and freedoms he had curtailed restored. The deaths of many during the battles needed to be mourned and losses recompensed. Indeed, she had much to undo that her Uncle Harald had inflicted in his short reign on the people who lived in the Kingdom of Palara.
As if the politics of such times were not enough to concern her, she also worried over the disappearance of her grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue. Were it not for the Duchess’s bravery, these lands may still be ruled by the cruel usurper.
In the short time she had spent with her grandmother, when she had taken her under her wing at Castle Locke, Myriam had learned what a strong and loving woman her mother’s mother truly was. Despite her own loss at the death of her daughter, Myriam’s mother, she still managed to ensure that her granddaughter had escaped the castle when the usurper’s men came for her.
Myriam had already decided that she must find her grandmother. She knew that she was alive, as the magic of the stones of Berghein linked the D’Anjue bloodline, inexorably. Although the Duchess did not hold one of the stones, they would have told Myriam if her grandmother was gone from this world. Yet no path they followed had yet led to any indication of the Duchess’s whereabouts. Also, the strange little monk, Ghaffar, who had managed to release her grandmother from the dungeons had disappeared as well. There had to be a link.
Queen Myriam went out onto the large balcony of the castle. She had been instructed of her duty to show herself to the gathered people. Myriam knew her responsibilities, what was expected of her, but she did not seek their adulation. She only wanted to rule in their best interests. Her family had much to make up to them.
As she waved and smiled to the cheering crowds, she was not alone. By her side stood Artas, a nobleman who had also lost much. His parents, too, had been beheaded for their loyalty to the King, her father. Artas was her friend and guide and she would need his council over the coming days. His bravery in battle and loyalty to the royal family had earned him a knighthood. He, like many brave soldiers and fighting subjects, were to be rewarded for saving their kingdom.
Myriam had asked Ganry, the former mercenary turned bodyguard, to lead her armies, but he had refused the role. Leading armies was too much a reminder of Ga
nry’s former life, which ultimately led to pain and sorrow. He felt his talents were now best served at her side, as her personal protector.
This she could not refuse for she had come to rely on him and his strength. He wanted no riches, no lands, only to live in Castle Villeroy. Many call him a retired mercenary, but he would argue that his sword was still active, should anyone ever dare to threaten his Queen.
She had provided for him in the castle, giving him his own quarters and manservant to help, and he was now head of the honored Queen’s Bodyguards. This role he was happy to take, knowing that only those who he had personally chosen could get close to her. The arrangement also suited Myriam. With the loss of her parents she was in need of many who could advise her, and Ganry was one of few who she truly trusted.
Looking out over the castle grounds and the village, she enjoyed all the adornments in an array of beautiful colors. The town had been decorated with hanging streamers of colorful banners and ribbons. The people wished to bring brightness and joy back into the Kingdom of Palara, and they hoped that with the crowning of a new Queen would come prosperous and more peaceful times.
Whenever their Queen looked out of her windows, she would feel uplifted and her grief would ease with the love of her people. King Ludwig had kept peace over the lands for many decades and his people had loved him for it. Now, they had the same hopes in his daughter.
Myriam wanted nothing more than to find peace for her people. Yet first she must find her grandmother, her only living relative. Surely the people would not deny her this small favor.
2
In looking for a solution to find the Duchess, Myriam called a private meeting. She wanted only her most trusted advisors and friends. Being still uncertain of the loyalties of most of the politicians and noblemen, of which many had supported Harald in his reign of terror, she was wary of them.
A week ago, she had contacted Hendon, the forest dweller. She would also liked to have Linz here too, but he was now chief of his tribe and had much work to do there after the ravages of battle.
