by Jon Kiln
The men cheered at her rousing words and most found new courage to face the battle ahead.
Ganry stood, impressed. He too had seen the morale crumble at the sight of so many undead creatures advancing on the castle. The queen’s speech had given them hope. Myriam had changed much over the last few years, from a slip of a girl to a confident monarch who commanded the respect of her people.
Myriam approached Ganry and Artas, and embraced them both, lovingly.
“Keep safe my friends. If anything were to happen to either of you, I’m not sure I could continue.”
“You will be fine,” Ganry said. “You are truly the Queen of Palara. While you stand, so does the Kingdom. Now go, the men are roused and will fight to the death for you. Don’t make it pointless because you fall on these battlements.”
Myriam nodded and quickly headed to the underground chamber. As much as she was loathed to leave them, she knew Ganry was right. If she died then the kingdom would too.
The chambers under the castle were even more ancient than the castle itself. Once, the royal family had lived underground in these chambers. Those were the days when dragons ruled the world, and no human was safe above ground. Those dark days had lasted far too long and her royal ancestors had called upon the shape changers to help them rid their lands of the fire-breathing beasts. Together they had fought, until it was safe to live above ground. For their help, lands had been bequeathed to the shape changers within the safety of Palara.
Once the queen had left for safety, Ganry looked over the turrets at the highest point of the castle. The open fields before him were covered with the walking corpses. On one side a huge forest, Hendon’s homeland, and on the other, the huge mountain range of Palara.
The skies above were becoming darkened as black clouds moved over the area. A thunder crack roared in the distance as lightning flashed over the peaks. A storm was moving in, though it was not clear if it was natural or created by dark magic. Were the witches making it as difficult as possible for the humans?
He looked down onto the masses of the dead, most of which had severe injuries. Their deaths had been cruel. There would be a long and painful mourning period for the Kingdom of Palara, once this was over. If it was ever over.
The dead at the rear were relentlessly pushing forward, crushing those at the front against the gates and the castle walls. The pressure on the gates was immense. He just hoped that they would hold, for if the masses of the dead entered the castle, all would be lost.
He found Grecia waiting patiently for him with a small pack of wolves. They had already changed, but she was still in her human form. The wolves were majestic and powerful creatures, not only in stature and physical strength, but also of the inner magic they possessed. They were lithe but fearsome, and moved with a natural grace. There was no doubting their incredible abilities, and their courage in battle was legendary, but would it be enough? There were hundreds of walking corpses out there, and they numbered only a few.
“We have dallied long enough. Are you ready, Ganry? We must go,” she asked him, concern in her face at the delay. “If we do not act soon, this will not be a battle, it will be massacre.”
The dead did not fight as they had no co-ordination. They just moved on relentlessly, crushing, biting and tearing at any living flesh that got in their way. Their bodies were weak, many deformed from the blows that had killed them, and they were animated only by magic. The witches must be close by though, directing their army of undead onto the gate of the castle. If they were to break through, the end of the battle would be close. Ganry knew they had to avoid this happening at all costs.
Riley and Artas joined them, both armed and ready for battle.
“You stay, Artas,” Ganry ordered. “If the walls fall, then I rely on your to save the queen and the child.”
Artas was clearly disappointed. He had wanted to show his worth in battle, especially after what the witches had done to him. Ganry was right though, and it was pointless arguing with him.
“Take care, Ganry, and return to us. You have much still to teach me,” Artas smiled at his mentor, trying to lighten the mood.
“You protect Myriam at all costs. If we lose the castle, we may still fight another day. If we lose the queen, then all is lost. Do you understand this burden?”
Artas nodded his understanding. Saluting Ganry he turned and made his way back to the men.
Ganry and Riley headed through an underground tunnel that would lead them outside the castle walls and into the thick forest. Once there, the wolves would leave Ganry, for they could move faster and make their way to the rear of the masses.
By the time Ganry and Riley arrived on foot, the wolves were busy battling with the undead, and already many headless corpses littered the ground. The wolves attacked as a pack, darting between the slow moving creatures, and with amazing speed, easily decapitated them with a snap of their jaws. Their attack was devastating, but still, there were far too many undead and too few wolves for this to be effective. They needed to find the witches, and General Jeon.
The undead, as if sensing life, turned from their relentless march forward and moved towards Ganry and Riley, advancing on them with a slow purposefulness. Others joined in as their numbers grew and soon they were surrounded by the walking corpses.
Both drew their swords and stood back to back. Despite their slowness, they were surprised at how easily they had been surrounded. If they weren't careful they would be overrun.
With a battle cry, Riley swung his sword in a wide arc and quickly decapitated two of the nearest corpses, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a heap. Others, behind, trampled over them, eager to get at the living beings in their midst.
Together, standing back to back, Ganry and Riley swung their blades back and forth, removing the heads of any creature that came within range. Before long, the advancing dead had to crawl over the bodies that piled up around them, almost as a protective wall. It was exhausting work as they came on relentlessly. Constantly they were in danger of being overrun. Just as it seemed all was lost, a pack of wolves appeared and joined in the attack, snapping and snarling, biting into the ranks of dead. Ganry noted the silver strip of fur on the back of one of the wolves, and knew it to be Grecia. It was not the first time she had come to their aid.
The reinforcements eased the pressure on Riley and Ganry. They managed to move away from the advancing hordes as the wolves were relentless in their attack. Moving so quickly they were nothing but a blur. Bodies soon littered the field, their heads removed.
Ganry and Riley moved back for some respite.
Unexpectedly, they were suddenly surprised by a small group of dead who appeared out of the forest. One of them, a huge man with thick muscled arms, wrapped them around Riley’s chest, pinning his arms to his own sides. The creatures had mouths agape, readying to plunge their teeth into Riley’s exposed neck.
Riley could feel the cold clammy skin of the creature that had him trapped. With his arms clamped firmly, he was unable to free himself. He felt the chill of a cold fetid breeze as the creature’s face moved close to his. With one last desperate attempt, he pushed his head forward, avoiding the bite. With all his might, he thrust his head backwards and his skull crashed into the face of the creature. Riley had the satisfaction of hearing the crack of bones under the blow. The creature staggered backwards, releasing him, before it fell to the floor, motionless.
Ganry feinted and twisted his body, moving with the ease of an experienced fighter, a veteran of many battles. Never had his foe been so fearsome. His sword swung first one way then another, arcing through the air and cutting down any that stood in its way. Soon the small group that had waylaid them had all felt the hard edged steel of his sword, and they lay in a heap.
“We cannot stay here, Ganry,” Riley muttered, panting. “We will be overwhelmed.”
“We must find the witches and the General if we are to have any hope of winning. But, you’re right,” Ganry agreed. “Let’s f
all back into the woods and search for the enemy’s camp. If we find that, then I’m certain General Jeon will not be far away.”
A loud horn could be heard in the distance. The undead stopped advancing, as if listening. Then they were seemingly drawn by the noise and began to shuffle towards the sound, moving away from the castle.
Ganry watched as the walking corpses moved off in the same direction. He and Riley stared at each other in surprise. With great relief, they laughed.
27
Myriam watched the strange young boy, Cronos Fontleroy. He looked much older in years than his given age of eight. He was meditating, sitting cross legged on a large cushion. It seemed a strange thing for a young boy to do, Myriam thought.
“I can watch the progress of the battle, if I concentrate,” he spoke to her as if he had read her mind. “I’m unsure how to help, just yet, but I will learn.”
“I apologize, young Cronos,” the Queen said. “I did not mean to stare, but it is unusual for a boy of your age to look so calm in a crisis.”
“The wolves have taught me how to control my emotions and use the gifts that have been bestowed on me.”
“Gifts?” she asked, curiously.
“I am a seer, I can see events, even though I am not there. The wolves tell me that with training I can also affect those events, but I do not yet possess such a skill.”
“You are but a boy. Your childhood is an important time, don’t grow up too soon.” Myriam sat down beside him. “At eight years old I don’t think you need to worry about events beyond your control. You will have plenty of opportunity to worry when you grow older and become the Emperor of Mirnee.”
“In effect, I already am the Emperor. My father ails and those he thought of as friends would see him dead, Queen Myriam. I wish to go home to see my father, before it is too late.”
“I do understand, Cronos, for I too have had to take my place as a leader, before my time. However, I do have some years on you. You are hard on yourself.”
“Age is of no consequence to me, other than I need to be taller,” he replied.
Myriam laughed. “Yes, you need to be a lot taller yet, but you’re not far behind me, and you are quite tall for your age.”
The strange boy did not reply. He just continued to sit there with his eyes closed.
“Your mother, Cronos, do you look forward to seeing your mother on your return? You speak so little of her.” Myriam wondered about her, as he had only mentioned his father.
“My mother died giving birth to me,” he replied, matter-of-factly. ”She told me, when I was born, that my purpose in life was to help my father and save my people.”
Myriam had no response to such a odd statement. Had Cronos really communicated with his dead mother as she passed away on the birthing table?
“Your own mother tells me that you are doing a fine job and you must have more faith in your decisions,” Cronos told her.
“I know you mean well, Cronos, but my own mother is also d…”
“Dead,” he said for her, interrupting before she could say the word. “I know this, Myriam, but she lingers in the castle and speaks to me. Your father has moved on, once he saw you were safe, but your mother wanted to watch you for a while. She may wait for your grandmother, the Duchess of D’Anjue.”
“Is my grandmother going to pass away soon?” she asked, unsure what to make of this peculiar boy’s words.
“I cannot know when a person is to leave this world, but she misses her own mother, the Duchess.”
“Cronos, I know you mean no harm, but the things you say are hurtful,” she said.
Cronos smiled momentarily, puzzled that she did not wish to hear from her mother, but he said nothing. His face was once again a mask of concentration.
“You can see now what is happening outside the walls? How goes the battle?” Myriam asked, dreading the answer.
“The odds are heavily against us. The undead are legion and relentless. Still, your man Ganry fights bravely and the wolves are helping. They need to find the witches, but as of yet I cannot see them. They have created a fog in my mind that hides them, but I search, still.”
“Ganry, you saw Ganry. Is he in danger?”
“He was, but I spoke to Grecia and they went to his aid. The wolf pack return now. Ganry is with them. He is well,” Cronos spoke with such certainty in his voice that Myriam believed him.
“I like you, Queen Myriam,” Cronos said to her. “We will be good neighbors, once I am rid of these witches and take my place as Emperor.”
“I like you too, Cronos, and I am glad to seek diplomatic peace between our kingdoms. It was always my hope that we would.”
“We can unlock the doors, now,” Cronos announced to the guards. “The witches have gone, but they will be back, and I fear in larger numbers.”
“Cronos, shouldn’t we await the return of Grecia?” Myriam was struck by how easy this child took charge. He was a natural leader, that was most obvious.
“We are safe for now. The witches have called the dead to retreat.”
With those words the doors flew open, seemingly of their own accord, and coming down the stairs and into the chamber was Ganry and Grecia.
Myriam suspected the boy had opened them. She wasn't sure how he had, but nothing this young boy did surprised her. The young Emperor-to-be of Mirnee was indeed a strange one, and Myriam was certain he would have a large part to play in this, before it was all over.
28
At the crack of dawn the next morning, scattered corpses could be seen across the fields and around the castle walls. The ones at the front had been crushed against the walls, but while they were immobilized, bones crushed and broken, they still tried to move. Their pitiful moans, while quieter than before, still froze the hearts of all who heard.
Ganry dispatched a small team to decapitate the remaining corpses, finally putting them to rest. Those left in the field that had already been finished by Ganry and the wolves were also collected together with the others. A huge bonfire was started to burn the remains, though the bones would eventually have the right of burial and ceremony. The sight of the mound of burning corpses did nothing for morale. These were their countrymen, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters of Palara.
Myriam would have preferred to bury them now, but it was impractical and burning was the best solution to prevent disease from spreading. Later, when all this was over, she would build a monument to those who had been so defiled.
A sickly stench of death was overpowering as bodies burned on the pyre, but before the sun was high in the sky, the flames and the stench had receded. The castle could breath again and a meeting was called by Myriam to discuss the best way to hunt down and kill the evil conniving witches.
Orders were dispatched and distributed by messengers to the outlying villagers, who were to be gathered and moved away from the border of Mirnee. Myriam wished she could house them all in the castle, but that was not practical. Neither could she spare many soldiers to protect them, as they would be needed in the battle. Still, moving them further inland should offer them some protection.
“I have called for more of my people to come,” Grecia said to the humans sat around the large wooden table. “You have a good strong army of men, Queen Myriam, but a sword will not rid the world of a witch of this caliber. Only magic can do that. I fear the next attack will be even more devastating.”
“The soldiers are finding it difficult to fight with the undead.” It was Artas who spoke, for he had been amongst the castle guards and seen their suffering, first hand. “These walking corpses were once their neighbors.”
“I understand how humans can be tormented with such violations of the dead. None of us like to see our dead befouled in any way. It is an evil deed,” Grecia sympathized. “That is their very objective, to spread fear and distress. Your men must stand firm against this evil adversity.”
“We will, but we are fighting a battle we cannot win alone.” Ganry was the next to speak.
“We can provide numbers, men with weapons, but it is magic that is at the root of this. We must target the witches. We searched for them yesterday but they were hidden from us. We sorely need Hendon, is there no word of him?”
“No,” Queen Myriam replied. “He has not returned from battle. I do hope he still lives. We must make do with the magic that is amongst us, and hope for Hendon’s safe return.”
It was agreed that the shape changers would lead the way in the search for the witches, whilst the soldiers would defend the castle.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a messenger came rushing in. “Your Majesty, they return with a great army!” he shouted, fear written in his eyes.
There was clearly no point in questioning the man before them. Ganry was the first to leave and others quickly followed as they all headed for the battlements.
When he arrived and looked over the parapet, Ganry was stunned to see so many undead surrounding the castle. Are there any people still alive in Palara outside of this castle, he was beginning to wonder. This time though, it was not only the undead they faced, but a force of Mirnee soldiers were also present. Perhaps they had led an army of undead Mirnee citizens too.
“Queen Myriam,” a woman’s voice boomed. “Send out the albino boy, before you have no people left in your Kingdom!”
Ganry could see the owner of the voice. A tall, pale woman who sat upon a majestic, raven black horse. The horse’s mane and the woman’s black hair billowed in a wind that seemed to only affect them. Her voice was clear and seemed as though she stood directly before them. Clearly magic was at work here.
