by Jon Kiln
To his right, the massed army of the Mirneans surrounded the castle, and directly below him, the ancient forests of Palara swayed in the breeze. As he concentrated harder, he discovered that he had the power to direct the bird’s mind, making it fly wherever he wished it to go. The bird’s tiny brain offered no resistance to his commands as he directed the creature to swoop lower over the tree tops.
He controlled the bird for almost an hour, time passing by quickly as he desperately searched for the witches. Although Cronos was not physically flying, mentally it was very tiring trying to keep a connection with the bird. Exhaustion seeped over him, and he had almost let the bird go when he spotted an area on the ground that didn’t look right. It was almost as if it were submerged in water, as the terrain wavered around. With one last effort, he directed the bird to fly down to investigate the anomaly. The bird circled lower and lower, until it perched on a tree inside the strange area.
The witches did not give the bird a second thought as it landed and perched on one of the branches high in a tree. With a powerful spell cast on the area they occupied, it distorted the light waves making it impossible to see within. They felt secure in their illusion.
Yet, a little boy named Cronos had found them, thanks to his feathered friend. The bird had landed inside the witches base of operations. The place from where they were directing the attacks. He could see that they were formed in a seated circle, performing some sort of ritual. A faint chanting came to him via the birds hearing, but he could not make out any of the archaic words.
“I’ve found them,” he said to the wolves. “I’m not sure what you want me to do, or even if I can do anything?” he questioned.
Grecia approached him in her wolf form and she spoke to his mind directly with her thoughts. Well, little pup, it seems it’s your turn now. Don’t arouse their suspicions. I want you to lead us there. Can you do that?
The boy nodded and animated his body to stand so his giant protector, Rochmyr, could put him back on his shoulder. It was not an easy task keeping the bird perched on the tree watching the witches and animating his body. Once settled, Rochmyr strode off through the woods, his long legs striding out to cover the ground quickly. The bird had played his part and the boy freed it. Coming back into his own body, he could now sense exactly where they were going and were now close by. As he broke his contact, he saw the bird soaring into the air, confused as to how its hunt for food had taken it so far from its nest.
In a few minutes, they burst into a clearing that at first seemed empty. All Rochmyr could see was a glen, bereft of trees and vegetation. Instead, there were large rocks with a sandy ground. It seemed barren and deserted. Yet, even the giant knew something was amiss. When he rubbed his eyes and opened them again, he could see a shimmering essence just off the ground, as if the landscape had no substance.
Grecia was leading the wolf pack and she was not fooled by the illusion. Quickly, they ran into the area and broke the circle of magic, attacking the witches where they sat. They had been taken completely by surprise, confident in their own ability to hide themselves, but they had underestimated the boy and his power.
Grecia jumped upon the female in the center, the one who had approached the castle. This, she felt, was their present leader. Leaping her full wolf body, she knocked the witch onto her back with her jaws snapping at the exposed throat, looking for a quick kill. Suddenly, the witch was no more, instead a huge powerful bear was in its place. The witch had shape shifted in seconds, and it caught Grecia by surprise. With a huge roar the bear grabbed the female wolf by the front legs and swung it around before releasing the furry body. Grecia flew across the forest floor and crashed into the trunk of a tree, winding her and leaving her barely conscious.
Cronos knew immediately that the female leader of the wolf people was in danger as the bear approached her, looking to finish her off while she was winded.
“Rochmyr, quickly, Grecia needs your help,” Cronos whispered into the ear of his giant guardian.
Rochmyr was uncertain what to do. He did not want to take the boy into the battle. He had been instructed to keep him away from danger. Besides, the shape changing bear was almost upon Grecia and he would never cover the ground in time.
You can save her. A voice whispered inside Cronos’s head. For a moment, the boy’s face crunched in a puzzled frown. Then he opened his eyes wide and smiled. He knew what he had to do. Sitting on his lofty perch on Rochmyr’s shoulders, he closed his eyes to the world and focused his thoughts upon Grecia.
The bear was almost grabbing for her, its teeth bared and claws extended ready to make the kill. With a triumphant roar, it raised high on its hind legs, readying itself to drop onto the prone wolf. Its triumphant roar soon turned to a frustrated cry as Grecia suddenly disappeared. The bear was confused, for the witch knew that the wolves were not capable of this type of magic. Yet the wolf had vanished into thin air right before her eyes.
Grecia could see the bear advancing through her heavy eye lids. The force of the throw and then the collision with the tree had taken her breath completely away. She was unable to move. Baring her teeth at the approaching bear, determined to leave her mark on her assassin, she felt a rush of warmth spread throughout her body, like a soothing elixir. She immediately knew this was Cronos. Yet she could not understand what was happening. The look of malicious joy on the bear’s face soon turned to one of puzzlement, and then frustration. Cronos’s voice came into the wolf’s head, whispered to Grecia.
It’s alright, she cannot see you, but lay very still.
Somehow the boy had managed to make her body disappear. She could still feel herself, and knew that she was in exactly the same spot where she had landed. Somehow, the bear could not see her. It stood roaring in its anger. Cronos had made her invisible.
Furious at her prey being taken from right in front of her, the bear turned around looking for something else to vent its anger on.
Making the most of her invisibility, with her strength quickly returning, Grecia launched an attack on the bear as it moved away. Running after it she leapt on to its back, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh at the back of its neck, looking to bite right through the spinal column.
While Grecia fought with the shape changing witch, the other wolves attacked the remaining witches in this coven. The witches fought back, using their magical crafts, but they were no match for the wolves of Palara. Soon, most of the witches lay on the ground, throats torn open and their life’s blood staining the forest floor.
The bear felt an agonizing pain and knew what had happened. Somehow, the wolf had become invisible, and now it was on her back looking to end her life. The bear desperately tried to throw the wolf off, bucking and writhing around, but Grecia’s grip was firm, her teeth clenched against the bear’s backbone.
The bear was tiring as it fought with the wolf, its strength waning with every effort it made. With horror, the shape changing witch realized that death was close. She made one last effort to save herself, slamming her back against a tree to crush the wolf between her and the trunk. Grecia, winded once again, loosened her grip and slipped off the bear’s back.
The bear ran, angry at her fellow witches for allowing their magic circle to be infiltrated by a mere boy. She was furious with herself for underestimating him. How had the boy discovered his magic skills so quickly? The Emperor’s son was crucial to their plans. Without his blood and sacrifice, they could not raise their powerful mistress from her banishment. Running deep into the woods to search out other witches who were in hidden camps, the leader needed to regroup. Things were not going as planned. Ravyyne knew that it should all be over by now, resulting in her mistress’s return. The almighty Queen Thalia should be taking her rightful place as ruler of all these lands.
36
Myriam was not unfamiliar with the use of a sword, and she was determined to stand by her soldiers in the heat of battle. Her advisers had warned her, countless times, that she should not be risking herse
lf, as leader of her kingdom. Yet how can a Queen expect her people to defend their land if she was not willing to do the same?
She had first learned how to use a sword to defend herself at the time of the coup, when her uncle had usurped the king, her father, and had taken over the kingdom. He had murdered her parents and would have done the same to her if he could have found her.
As a Princess, her life had been in danger, and she had been on the run for many months. After she had regained the throne for the house of D’Anjue, she had traveled to the neighboring lands of Vandemland, to rescue her kidnapped grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue. They had battled with the Akkedis lizard creatures who lived underground. No, she was no stranger to combat and danger. Her life had been full of it, and thanks to Ganry, her personal bodyguard and trainer, her sword skills were well honed.
The Mirnean soldiers were relentless. It seemed no matter how many fell under the onslaught of arrows, they still kept coming forward and climbing over their fallen comrades to get over the castle walls. Further afield, the enemy had trebuchets—large catapults—and were firing heavy stones at the castle walls, but so far they had been unable to breach them.
Further around on the east side of the castle, the Mirneans had put ladders against the walls. They climbed them constantly to try to gain entry onto the battlements. Many were pushed over sending those on the ladders to their deaths on the rocky ground below. There were too many and soon Mirnean soldiers were on the battlement in hand to hand combat with the Palaran defenders.
Myriam found herself face to face with a huge Mirnean attacker who towered over her. He held a large broadsword, so big, even he had to use two hands to maneuver it. With a malicious smile on his face, he advanced on Myriam. He couldn’t believe his luck, the Queen of the Palarans on the battlements, undefended. She was a mere slip of a girl, and she was his for the taking. He swung his great broadsword back, and brought it crashing down where Myriam stood.
Only Myriam was no longer there. She had seen his moves coming and balancing herself on the balls of her feet, she twisted first one way, then the other. As the sword had come crashing down, she had thrust her own sword into the gap in her opponent’s armor. The sharp point of the blade slipped easily between the metal and into the attackers abdomen. As she withdrew her sword, it was tinged red with the large Mirnean’s blood.
The Mirnean warrior cried out in pain and dropped to one knee. As the blade was withdrawn, a look of shock was imprinted on his face. In his arrogance and eagerness, he realized he had underestimated this little girl. In frustration, he shouted out his battle cry and swung his heavy sword at Myriam, but again she was no longer in the same spot. Still on one knee, the Mirnean lost his balance and toppled over onto his back.
Myriam knew instinctively that this was her moment to finish him off. He was on his back with the heavy armor weighing him down, making it difficult for him to get back up. She quickly darted under his flailing sword and thrust her own weapon into his neck, the blade easily cutting into the flesh and sinew, then exiting through the other side. A gush of bright red blood spurted and bubbled from the warrior’s mouth as he convulsed in his throes of death.
Myriam felt relief flood over her, but it was tinged with a sadness. She had killed a man with her own hands. Despite the fact that it was his intention to kill her, she still felt a terrible guilt. Watching, horrified, as he gurgled out the last of his breath, she felt a hot sting on her leg. Quickly she turned to see another Mirnean soldier had slashed at her, cutting between the joint at her thigh and hip. A sticky, warm wetness ran down her leg. The wound was deep and painful. That was one thing Ganry could not teach her, how to cope with pain.
She fell backwards onto the ground, blood flowing freely from her wound. The Mirnean soldier, certain of his kill, advanced on her with his sword raised. Her own weapon had fallen from her reach. She had no strength left to lift the blade in defense anyway. As she braced herself for the fatal blow, at the very last moment a Palaran Guard, moving in a blur, ran his sword through her attacker’s chest, and he fell to the ground, dead.
“Come, my Queen, you are in need of rest and someone should look at that leg. It bleeds heavily,” her rescuer said.
As he spoke, a few men crowded around and helped her down the stairway of the castle turrets. The man returned to the fighting and she hoped he would live to see this through. He had just saved her life.
The children who were hiding away ran to gather around her curiously.
“Who was that man?” she asked, hoping to remember him.
“He is just a farmer,” one child answered.
“I know him, he is in the neighboring farm to me,” a small girl said, her big eyes wide open, happy she could help the Queen. “He is Pedro Langley. He is not just any farmer, he has a pig farm.”
Myriam nodded at the information. If she lived through this, she would seek out Pedro Langley the pig farmer, to thank him properly.
The children held her up so she could hobble to the medical area. Here, her grandmother and other women were busy patching up the wounded. She could also smell cooking. It seemed odd, the smell of food, but no doubt it was a warming broth to keep up the strength of those who passed through.
The children helped her gently to the floor, her back to a wall so she could sit up. Smiling, she watched them as they ran off, eager to play their part in the grown up battle. Myriam waited her turn to be fixed. Maybe she could go back again once she was bandaged. Someone handed her a cup of steaming broth and she took it willingly. Her own strength was weakening. Looking at her leg, she could see a round pool of redness on the floor. She was losing blood fast.
“Myriam!” her grandmother cried, seeing her granddaughter in such a bad way. “Help me get the Queen inside. She’s losing blood too quickly,” her voice echoed in Myriam’s head, seeming to be a distance away as if it was echoing down a tunnel. Myriam tried to concentrate on the voice but her vision spun, and she soon slipped into unconsciousness.
Two women lifted her slumped frame and carried her to a quieter room. The Duchess D’Anjue set about caring for her granddaughter. She could not afford to lose her. Who would rule in her place? Besides, she happened to have a lot of love for this girl, who had bravely rescued her from a barren desert land.
The Duchess quickly took off Myriam’s armor. The wound was indeed deep and the Duchess felt out of her league. She knew she would need to stem the blood flow, and do it quickly before the Queen bled to death.
Making up a tourniquet, she ordered one of the women to go and find a healer. They had a number of skilled healers in the castle, although she wished their good friend Hendon was here. He would know what to do. Busying herself in cleaning the wound, she put the thought of death out of her mind. Her granddaughter could not die, it was not an option. As she worked, uncontrollable tears trickled down her cheeks, blurring her sight. In her attempt to tie the tourniquet to temporarily stop the blood flow, she looked at Myriam’s pale features and contemplated the unthinkable. Was she going to lose her granddaughter? Was the kingdom going to lose its young Queen?
37
As the battle raged in front of them, Ganry ordered the men to move stealthily towards the walking corpses. They were slower moving than the Mirnean soldiers who had become separated from them. Oblivious to all around them, they simply shifted on in their single purpose of moving forward. With no hearing or sense, they had not heard nor were they aware that their attackers were coming up on them from the rear.
They were easy prey, with only one simple purpose, to march towards the castle and push upon its gates. Occasionally they might stop if they sense living meat, though they could not recognize the Mirnean soldiers as meat, because the witches had protected them. Ganry and his men laid into them with sword and axe. There seemed little reaction from them, and when they did smell the meat of the Palarans who were attacking them, it was far too late. Already more than half their number were in a heap on the ground with heads detached
from bodies. The rest, slow moving and cumbersome, were soon dispatched the same way.
Ganry gathered the men together, surrounded by the fallen corpses. It would prove an eerie sight should an outsider look in on them; a group of men surrounded by decapitated bodies.
“The next stage will be harder,” Ganry told them. “If we are swift with our attack, I believe we will be successful.” He tried to rally the men, who were still a little shocked at their experience with walking corpses. Nothing can prepare a man for that type of work. It did not help that many were kinsman, neighboring farmers and herdsmen of Palara.
“Stay under cover as long as possible,” Ganry continued with his instructions. “Swoop in and kill as many as you can before retreating back again. Remember, the forest is your friend, it will help you evade capture. Once it is clear, then attack again. Don’t let them settle. The longer they are looking over their shoulders then the slower their advance. We cannot win this war with these tactics, but we can slow them down, giving the boy and the wolves time to find the witches.”
Ganry gave the men time for his orders to sink in to their weary minds. He could see doubt on their faces, but he knew he could trust them. These were the best the Palaran army had. They would fight to the death.
“Artas, Riley, I want you two to lead the men. Remember what I said: strike and retreat. Don’t get bogged down in long battles, you will soon be outnumbered and overrun. This is about causing chaos and fear in the ranks of the Mirneans.”
“What of you?” Riley asked, though he already knew the answer.
“I work better alone. Besides, I have a personal matter to attend to.”
With the plan finally settled, the men were prepared to go their separate ways. Artas and Ganry embraced before they left each other.
