by AJ Nuest
After finalizing the last of their war strategy, Rowena had left the armory to convey her instructions to Marcelene. His new queen was adamant the women of the castle shoulder their portion of the burden, and had formulated a list of chores to utilize their talents to the best of their abilities.
The headmistress would make ready the infirmary, and his love’s ladies-in-waiting were to be given the special task of tearing bedding into white strips. Arm bands for the Dregg legions, she had stated, so they could be easily identified from those same creatures who served Braedric’s command.
Eager to set their plan in motion, Caedmon and Denmar had departed soon on her heels to convey their orders to the guard.
Lightning knifed the horizon with a blinding crack. Caedmon sighed and darted another glance to his left. His lady fiddled with her wrist blade, nodding as Fandorn spoke in her ear from upon his gray horse. Yet when her gaze inadvertently lifted to Caedmon’s, she jerked her eyes toward the open field heading north.
Following their conversation with the guard, Caedmon had left Denmar to field their questions and gone in search of the gray wizard. Though whether he’d hoped to bring Fandorn abreast of their preparations or he merely sought a word of fatherly advice, Caedmon did not know.
Even then, the tension pervading his shoulders and neck bespoke the impending wrath of his white-haired beauty. To ensure she remained safe, she must stay at home.
It wasn’t until he’d come upon the foul cloud of blue smoke permeating the lower levels of the castle, he’d quickly vacated Fandorn’s laboratory in lieu of other distractions. His old friend was deep in the throes of his own schemes to thwart Seviere and his vile wizard, and Caedmon recoiled at becoming ensconced in dealings he had neither the skill nor ability to employ.
Making for his bedchamber, he’d awaited his lady’s return, ordered up a light meal and then paced before the hearth as the food grew cold.
The moment the familiar cadence of her footsteps had stopped in the hall, he’d spun for the door. The lock had barely clicked into the latch before she was in his arms, holding tight to his neck and sealing their love with a kiss.
The next words he’d spoken had been mistake. He’d known as much before they’d even made their way past his lips. Yet he could no more stop them from forming than he could deny she held the entirety of his heart in her hand.
He would not—he could not—allow her to ride for the realm of Seviere.
Irritation had flickered in the depths of her eyes, and those same embers had been the catalyst of many harsh words that had sparked between them. Refusing to see reason, she had stormed from their chambers without so much as a backward glance.
“Based on the visual daggers slicing the air, I take it all is not well between the king and queen.” Denmar reigned in his bay roan beside Caedmon. “Far be it for me to bend the king’s ear on the brink of battle, yet a man must ask himself what in all of Helios’ bright reign you were thinking. Ordering Sorceress Rowena to remain sequestered in her chambers was foolhardy at best and imprudent beyond measure. She is a fierce warrior, Caedmon. Sworn to the king’s army. And in case you’ve not noticed, our forces need every blade we can muster. As a member of the royal guard, she has every right to bear arms against our enemies. Indeed, if one were to weigh the risks, I daresay our king would better left shuttered inside the castle. To forfeit your life in battle would leave our kingdom floundering without an Austiere seated upon the throne.”
Caedmon’s eyebrows remained elevated the same distance his jaw had unhinged. “She confided in you our disagreement?”
“Don’t be daft.” The captain scowled. “More seasons than I care to recall have passed since I accepted the terrible privilege of Captain of the Guard, and if there’s one thing I know it’s my soldiers. One only has to lay eyes on the lass to know you blurted some illogical nonsense.”
Anger razed Caedmon’s skin with the same white-hot potency of Helios’ penetrating rays. “You do not know the outcome of the day, Denmar.” Several guards stiffened in their saddles and Caedmon lowered his voice. “She rides to her death.”
“And yet you would have her stare into the faces of her brothers and declare her life is of more value than theirs. You would wait until she is at her weakest and then deal her the harshest blow of all.” The captain urged his mount forward, though his one eye remained pinned to Caedmon’s face. “We all risk our lives in service to our king. If her presence this day safeguards the kingdom, then she ascends into paradise with my blessing. As do each of the men at her side.”
Clods of dirt flew into the air as Denmar spurred his horse along the ranks of the guard. “Who shall ride with me and usher in the wrath of Austiere fury against our enemies!”
“Aye!” Shouts reverberated against the sky and armor clanged as the men extolled Denmar’s battle cry.
Caedmon muttered a dark curse even as his heart iced in his chest. But he could not refute his friend’s sage advice.
Wheeling Zephyrus around, he heeled the horse and it jigged to the side as several shouts rang out from his men. “Movement on the horizon. They come. They come.”
Reigning his horse full circle, Caedmon skimmed the jagged line of the cliffs. A spattering of royal blue tunics topped the ridge and sprinted at full speed toward their waiting mounts. Behind them, a wave of black surged and spilled through the jutting boulders, unfurling like the tentacles of a kraken.
He spun in the saddle and met the tearful gaze of his utmost love. She pressed three fingertips to her lips, her white steed dancing beneath the firm grip she held on the reins. The blue-white arc of a lightning strike seared her image into his mind as she blew him a kiss.
No. She mustn’t leave until he’d righted things between them. Until they’d shared a parting kiss and her silken cheek had warmed his palm.
“Hashishans to me.”
Caedmon whirled back to the cliffs at his brother’s fierce command. A group of Braedric’s henchmen split from the group. The wind whipped their robes into a demonic blur as they rode muzzle to tail on Braedric’s heels. The ground shook as the hooves of their black steeds ate up the distance. The sky broke open and cold, heavy droplets pelted Caedmon’s face.
His brother lifted his sword and aimed the bloodied tip at the rear of the guard. If Braedric reached the lower ranks, all would be lost. Caedmon’s depleted army would be trapped just as his love had predicted.
Unsheathing his blade, he let loose a warrior cry. Several of the departing men reeled their horses around in answer to his summons. They spurred into action and charged headlong into the fray.
With a final glance over his shoulder, the flick of a white braid and a flash of silver, Caedmon prayed the goddesses would shelter his love within the arms of their eternal grace.
Zephyrus whinnied and sprang forward as he kicked the horse’s sides. Aimed to converge on his brother’s path, Caedmon leaned over his horse’s neck and zeroed in on his target. “He is mine. The reigning prince is afforded only my blade this day.”
Thunder cracked. Rain ricocheted off his armored chest plate. The pumping of his pulse matched Zephyrus’ lunging stride. The wind in his ears muffled the clash of metal as his brothers engaged steel on either side.
Braedric lowered his sword arm. Evil danced in his eyes as a cruel smirk twisted his lips into a sneer. “Come to me, brother.”
The distance shrank, and Caedmon’s stomach plummeted as his focus narrowed to one inescapable truth. The sheeting rain had impeded his vision. His angle was slightly askew.
A jarring impact as silver collided, and pain radiated up the bones of his arm. He was flung from the saddle. The gray clouds held him to their bloated bosom a moment before he was slammed to the unforgiving ground. Scrambling to his feet, he took up his battle stance. Braedric jerked his horse around and whipped the tip of his blade in a wide arc.
A desperate ache formed in Caedmon’s soul. Unseating an armed rider, especially his deranged half-brother hell bent
on some ill-advised revenge, ranked high on the list of improbabilities. His jaw firmed.
Yet he would not yield. For his love, for his country, to ensure his people’s freedom and the future of the Austiere kingdom, he would fight until Braedric had pried the steel from his dead, lifeless hand.
Braedric’s mount side-stepped before leaping into a full gallop. Caedmon braced for the incoming assault and held a breath trapped in his lungs. An eerie shriek pierced the pummeling rain and a ball of fire streaked a trail of black smoke across the sky. The projectile exploded on impact and Caedmon dove for cover amid a patch of tall weeds.
A loud cheer rang out from atop the castle and he grinned. Goddesses bless those damnable gypsies. They’d just swayed the odds of this battle in Austiere’s favor.
Rolling to a low crouch, he searched the terrain. Another fireball sang its deadly tune, followed by a third and fourth. The ground surrendered under their violent assault, spraying dirt and bits of flaming sod into the air. Weak fires dotted the field, their flames blanketing the grass in a bank of low fog. And throughout the battlefield, Braedric’s hashishans had been scattered to the four winds.
Some fled back to the castle, where they would meet their fate with the gypsies. Others escaped on horseback toward the forest and higher ground.
Yet where was Braedric?
A glint of silver caught Caedmon’s eye through the haze of ash and smoke, and he tamped down on the urge to sprint to his brother’s aid.
Footsteps unsteady, dragging the tip of his sword along the uneven ground, Braedric used the length of his forearm to clear a curtain of blood from his brow. He lurched several steps to the side, his teeth starkly white as he grinned at Caedmon through a mask of red death.
No. Not like this. Shaking his head, Caedmon squeezed his eyelids closed. Of all the ways he had envisioned ending the hostilities between them, at the very least, he had hoped to deliver his brother a warrior’s end.
“I should have insisted Seviere kill you in his dungeons.” Stumbling forward, Braedric collapsed to his knees. A thick laugh gurgled in his throat, and he slid his hand inside the arm hole of his chest plate.
Caedmon’s stomach rebelled as his brother’s leather glove re-emerged soaked black with blood. A clench of his fist and a crimson stream dribbled from the crease edging Braedric’s palm.
“Mayhap Gaelleod foresaw my demise and Seviere cared not for the ramblings of a dead man.” He lifted his gaze to Caedmon’s, for the first in all their seasons together glittering with an awareness that thrust the shards of anguish ever deeper into Caedmon’s bones. “I am cold, brother. My life drains.”
Caedmon seized Braedric’s arms as he toppled sideways and lowered him gently to the ground. A hard mass built at the base of his throat. Braedric could not pass this way. There were too many unresolved injuries between them. Too many unsettled hurts.
What of all the arduous years they’d shared? What of the hate? To what god did Caedmon pray his resentment would pass amid dreams of what their future may have wrought?
Mayhap another chance would have been granted them. Another occasion to negate the wrongs and forgive.
“Will you hear my confession?” Agony seared a lash mark across Caedmon’s heart as Braedric searched his face. “To the last, my life has been one of dishonor and disgrace.”
Perchance therein lay their path to redemption. He would hear and consecrate his brother’s final plea. “Speak now, Your Highness, and find peace.”
A low chuckle spilled a rivulet of blood from Braedric’s lips and he seized Caedmon’s arm. “Even now, you give absolution. An olive branch from the sanctimonious king.” He wrenched Caedmon’s ear to his lips. “Do not be fooled. No peace awaits my soul in the afterlife. I killed her, you know. With a poison that mimics the wet lung sickness. The lethal concoction worked so well, I killed them both.”
Shock struck him between the brows and Caedmon shoved his brother away. Braedric had been no more than a boy when Isadora took ill. A young man of thirteen seasons.
Revulsion and shame blotted out his rationale and he staggered back, fisting his hands in his hair. His anguished roar was answered by an ominous rumble from the weeping sky. How could a child harbor such murderous intent? What perverse taint had converted Braedric’s loyalty to treason?
Lowering his chin to his chest, Caedmon expelled a harsh breath.
Gaelleod.
Even then. Even twenty years hence, the evil wizard had whispered his forked lies in Braedric’s ear, using the malleability of a boy’s trust to bend his character to wickedness. Perchance the wizard had even planted the first seeds of jealousy. Painting Caedmon as the king’s favored son. Isadora as the gypsy replacement for a pure blood’s forgotten mother.
Braedric had become Gaelleod’s instrument of corruption, of immorality and sin, splattering his depravity on all those within reach. He locked onto his brother’s tortured gaze. The venom ran so deep, it had become the totality of Braedric’s existence.
Tears burned as Caedmon snatched his sword off the ground, the hilt cold and wet in his hand. As long as Braedric remained alive, Gaelleod retained a foothold in the Austiere Kingdom. Striding toward his brother, he poised the blade high over his shoulder. Braedric had been offered the adoration of a younger brother and, in return, he had killed that boy’s mother. He’d been granted a wealth of love and yet had murdered their father and king.
Caedmon’s muscles tensed for the killing blow. If given half the chance, Braedric would have seated himself upon the throne and ruled their people with malevolence and fear.
Death would be his recompense. He would die today exactly he deserved.
The blade spliced through the rain and Caedmon pulled up short, pressing the sharp edge to the underside of his brother’s chin.
“Do it.” Braedric’s throat worked a swallow. “Release your rage and become the mighty king.”
The rain beat down. Caedmon’s shoulders slowly relaxed. He lowered his sword from Braedric’s neck. And become what else as the outcome?
Gaelleod’s pawn? The manifestation of everything he despised?
He withdrew a step.
As king, he would not allow his first act to be filled with murderous hate.
He tossed his blade aside. And this time, he would not offer his brother forgiveness, or the unearned prize of an honorable release.
A hand landed on his shoulder and Caedmon turned toward Eibel. Several of his brothers stood back a pace, their faces bloodied and covered with grime. “Allow me the honor, Sire?”
Caedmon shook his head.
To the north, a war raged. His lady wife rode toward her death.
Spinning from his brother for the last and final time, he strode toward his horse. “Leave him to the vultures. We have more pressing tasks at hand.”
* * * * *
Forward. Forward. Forward.
The steady beat of Belial’s hooves formed a hard rhythm in her chest. The jangle of silver and the wind in her ears kept the time.
As long as she kept moving, there was hope.
Forward. Forward.
She couldn’t give up. She couldn’t fail.
Ahead through the rain, Seviere’s red army waited before the notched backdrop of the leafless trees. But the rain had messed with her depth perception. Dammit, she’d cut the distance too short.
A yank on the reins and Belial snorted, tossing his head as they veered left. On the right, the peal of a brass horn sliced through the downpour. Seviere’s men hoisted their swords and a roar mingled with the rumble of hooves as they charged.
“Run like the wind, my friend. I didn’t leave us much room.” Pressing her heels into the stirrups, she rose from the saddle and leaned over Belial’s neck. She had to be lighter than air, dodge and weave through the stampede like one of Dart’s downy feathers.
The front line of both armies converged. The grass between them stretched and narrowed like a carpeted green hall.
Gritting
her teeth, she gave Belial free rein. Without a miracle, she and Fandorn were about to be smashed like two pawns on a chessboard.
Blue clashed against red. Armor rattled and horses screamed. Belial reared, his white feet thrashing the gray sky. A flaming blue streak crackled over her shoulder and the red soldiers ahead of her were thrown from their saddles. They shrieked and flailed, batting at the wizard’s fire engulfing their armor.
The pathway cleared, and Rowena tossed a grin over her shoulder. Fandorn and his gray steed rode fast on her heels, a wisp of white smoke trailing from the head of his crooked staff.
If they made it through this, she was gonna kiss that stinky wizard full on the mouth.
A kick to Belial’s sides, and he leapt forward, bursting through the downed men onto open ground. Steering him north, she skirted the battle and raced for the trees.
The bare branches would no doubt slow their progress, but she and Fandorn wouldn’t have to fight them for long. Those white arm bands weren’t the only things she’d delivered to the Dregg legions, and if Reddeck had followed her instructions, he and a few of his clan would be waiting just inside.
Lightning sizzled and she flinched as the sky cracked like it had been fractured by an iron hammer. The jagged spike remained imprinted on her vision, and in the iridescent shadows that followed, Caedmon’s adoring smile appeared in front of her eyes.
He would never forgive her. Not once he found out she’d used a lie of omission to cover her tracks. But during that horrible argument they’d had in his chambers, she couldn’t help but think his worry for her would never allow him to understand.
She was the only one who could save their kingdom. The only one who could face Gaelleod and destroy his chance at success.
If Caedmon didn’t at least let her try, the unending tension and lives continuously would eat away at her. She’d end up hating herself and the key would become nothing more than a ball and chain slung around her neck.
Belial’s stride slowed as they reached the tree line. Fandorn reined in his horse and pointed left. “There. Make toward the Black Forest.”
