She walked over to the other fallen Paladin. Sir Tomfrey was already kneeling beside him. She stood beside Tomfrey and looked down realizing that it was Sir Carson, Sir Tomfrey’s brother. He was still alive, but barely. Blood gushed from his mouth and a gaping hole was evident through his armor. Tomfrey squeezed his hand. Ashleen watched as the life left Sir Carson’s eyes and he died. She gently placed her hand on Tomfrey’s shoulder. She heard him choke back tears.
“All I ever wanted was to be like him,” Tomfrey said. “I joined the Paladin because he had.”
“I’m sorry Tomfrey.”
Sir Tomfrey turned his head and looked up at her. “I know,” he said. “But others have lost more than I in this war already and it has just begun.” He nodded toward the villagers all huddled together in one large mass, clearly terrified. Tomfrey turned back to his brother while Ashleen walked toward the villagers and removed her helmet, holding it in the crook of her arm.
“There is no need to fear,” she said. “I am Princess Ashleen of Caerwynspire and these are the Paladin of Caerwynspire. You are safe now.” She heard sobs coming from the villagers which she estimated to number around forty. The villagers still did not move. Ashleen could tell they had been through a horrifying experience. A lone woman stepped out of the group of villagers and walked toward Ashleen.
Korey walked right up to the Princess and then dropped to her knees. She stared up at Ashleen as tears flowed from her eyes. “Kill me,” she whispered.
“What?” Ashleen asked.
“Please, kill me,” Korey said louder.
“Why would I kill you?” asked Ashleen. Before Korey could answer, Tompkin reached her and knelt down beside his wife.
“C’mon Korey,” he said. He looked up at Ashleen. “I am sorry, Your Highness.” He stood and pulled at Korey.
“It is alright,” Ashleen said to Tompkin. She knelt down in front of Korey and looked the woman in the eyes. “You are alright now, Korey,” Ashleen said. “Everything will be alright.”
Korey shook her head. “No,” she said. “It will never be alright again.” Tompkin pulled Korey to her feet and led her away. Ashleen stood. She looked at the other villagers who had begun to open up. One, an older man, walked toward her. When he was a few steps from her, he dropped to one knee.
“I am Cliven, the village elder, Your Highness,” he said. “Thank you for rescuing us.”
“Please stand,” Ashleen said and Cliven rose. “Is there somewhere we can speak?”
Cliven nodded. He led her to a small house on the other side of the green. He opened the door and stepped inside. She followed him in. It was a one room house with a dirt floor. Windows allowed light. Cliven motioned to a wooden rocking chair at the side of the room. “Please sit,” he said. She sat and he sat in the rocker beside her.
“What happened here?” Ashleen asked.
“The drakmere have held us captive for…I don’t even know how long it’s been. I was fortunate. My wife passed a few years ago. My children are all grown and gone.” He reached down and lifted a wooden box from the floor. He opened the lid and pulled out a long pipe and some leaf. “Smoke?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” she said shaking her head.
Cliven stuffed leaf into his pipe bowl and lit a match. He held the match to the bowl and began to puff at it, the smoke drifting to the ceiling. “They ate the children first,” Cliven said. “Korey lost two boys. Marcus was four and Luke was six.” Ashleen gasped. “Since that day, Korey has not spoken, until she spoke to you just a few moments ago.”
“Have you heard any news about the rest of the Kingdom?”
“Just before the draks arrived, we heard that Riversmeet had been attacked and destroyed. The rumor that reached our village was that some wizard had conquered the capital with an army of draks. They said he sent draks down the rivers and took them by surprise.” Cliven puffed his pipe before continuing. “But once Riversmeet fell, the royal family was murdered and this wizard offered the crown to whichever lord would bow down to him, kiss his ring or whatever. But none would.” He took another puff off of his pipe and blew rings up toward the ceiling. “He got so angry that none of the lords would bow to him he ordered the lords to be killed and for the entire kingdom to be razed and everyone in it to be killed. Soon after we heard that story, these draks showed up, so I reckon what we heard was true.” He stared at Ashleen as he puffed his pipe.
“Well, you’re safe now,” she said.
Cliven laughed out loud and choked on his smoke causing him to enter a coughing fit. When he recovered, he looked Ashleen in the eyes. “Safe?” he asked. “Are you and your Paladin planning on staying here to protect us?”
“No, we are on our way south.”
“Then how are we safe? These draks conquered Riversmeet, they could come back anytime they want.”
Ashleen nodded. “We leave in the morning,” she said, “so at least you will be safe for the night. I would advise you and your people to pack up whatever belongings you can carry and head north to the White Fortress. I will send a letter along explaining things to my father, the King of Caerwynspire, and anyone else who may question you. You will be safe there. No drak army will sneak up on the White Fortress.”
“I suppose we don’t really have a choice,” Cliven replied and puffed his pipe as he stared out the window at the darkening sky.
After speaking to Cliven some more about logistical matters, Ashleen emerged from his house. The sun had almost disappeared behind the hills. Sir Auberon approached her. “There is nothing more we can do here, Commander. We have buried our dead. It is getting dark. We should make camp soon.”
“We will camp here for the night,” she said. Auberon nodded and walked away to pass the order around to his men. Ashleen looked at the villagers. They had been through worse than Ashleen could ever imagine and the Princess swore she would kill every drak she could find between the village and Dracengard. And when the war was over, she fully intended to invade the swamp and eradicate the entire species.
Chapter 5
Prince Erec was escorted through the castle between four human guards—two in front and two behind. Erec knew they were Morgan’s men. He was now clean and dressed, wearing a deep blue doublet over a light blue shirt and dark brown pants. His hands were bound in front of him. It was night and the castle halls were all but deserted, the torchlight casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls. Erec was led to the throne room where he found Morgan sitting upon the throne, crown atop his head, wearing the same gold doublet as before. To the right of the throne stood the Wizard wearing green satin robes, an arrogant smile upon his face. At the bottom of the dais and to the left of the throne stood the Black Knight, Rayfen, in his customary black armor. A handful of Morgan’s soldiers and some draks were also present, but no nobles were there. Whatever was going to happen, was intended to be conducted in secret, because the nobles had been told that Erec was already dead.
The guards halted before reaching the steps to the dais and the Wizard looked down at Erec. “You should kneel before your rightful king,” he said as his lips curled into a sneer.
“You killed the rightful king,” Erec shot back.
The Wizard nodded to the guards standing behind Erec. The one on the right shoved Erec to his hands and knees on the floor and then placed a boot on the prince’s back to ensure that he remained there. The Wizard walked down the steps of the dais, taking each step slowly to intensify the drama as his long robes flowed behind him. He came to a stop right in front of Erec.
“I do not care about you, Erec,” the Wizard said in a voice that indicated boredom. “I do not care about your sisters. The only reason I need you is so that you can tell me where the Dracenstone is. Once you tell me, I shall release you.” Erec remained silent. “Your sisters were smarter than you. They did not board the royal ship at Lattingham and managed to escape on a smaller ship. But we know where they are going and will have them soon enough. Unless, you tell me where yo
u hid the Dracenstone. Once I have it, I will have no need for your sisters and they may live in peace.”
Erec sighed. “I don’t have the stone,” he said. “I was carrying it in a brown satchel,” he lied, “but we were ambushed by your draks and Sir Gwillym pushed me into the river so that I could escape. It is not easy to swim with all the weight I was carrying. I dropped my sword, removed my armor, and dropped the satchel with the stone in it. The stone is somewhere on the bottom of the river.”
The Wizard stood staring down at Erec. “You expect me to believe that you just left your family’s Dracenstone on the bottom of the Ehren River?”
“I do not care what you believe, but it’s true. I, for one, am not going to let some ancient rock drown me. I certainly do not believe it has any kind of magical powers.”
The Wizard laughed. Was the boy really so arrogant as to believe he completely understood the universe, so as to doubt everything he had not seen for himself?
“If you cannot give me the stone, then you are of no use to me,” the Wizard said. He then turned and looked up at Morgan. “Prince Erec is a threat to your control of Avonvale. What should you do with him? Kill him?”
“He is too valuable to kill,” Morgan said. “At least for now.”
The Wizard considered this for a moment and then nodded. “Very well,” he said. “He may live for now.” Then to the guards he said, “Take him to the dungeon.” The guards reached down and lifted Erec from the floor.
Erec laughed at Morgan as the guards drug him away. “You should have let him kill me, cousin. Before this war is over, I shall have your head on a pike!”
Erec was taken down stone stairs, deep below the castle to the dungeon. It stunk of mold and mildew. Soon the guards stopped before a heavy oak door. The dungeon keeper fumbled with the keys, which he kept on a large iron loop, before finally finding the correct one and inserting it into the keyhole and opening the door. Erec was shoved inside.
He spun around to face his captors. “All traitors shall die. But if you help me escape, you will be rewarded for your loyalty,” he said. The door was slammed shut without a word from the guards. Erec looked around to discover that he was in a small cell with stone walls.
“Erec.” He heard a raspy voice behind him and he turned to see his father, Alexandeon, lying on the floor on a bed of straw. Erec ran over to his father and knelt down beside him.
“Father, I thought you were dead,” he said, confusion and relief hitting him at the same time.
“The Wizard tried to kill me. He tried to drain the life from me, but I was too strong,” Alexandeon said and then began to cough. “I am not so strong now and fear that I truly am dying.”
The King did look sickly, like he was close to death. His skin was a grayish, pallid color and cold to the touch. His eyes were lifeless and sunken into his head. He shivered as he pulled a small torn gray blanket up over his body.
“Where are your sisters?” Alexandeon asked.
“I do not know,” Erec replied. “We were separated. I had feared they had been captured or killed, but the Wizard revealed that they had not.”
“Well then, where are they?”
“I am not sure. The royal ship that waited to take us to Dracengard was captured by draks long before I arrived. The Wizard mentioned that they had escaped on another ship, but I do not know if he is telling the truth. I do not trust a word that snake utters.” Erec was happy to discover that his sisters had not been captured or killed. At least not yet, but that did not mean that they were safe. He was also extremely happy to find his father alive. Perhaps all was not yet lost.
***
Auguston Greynault laid on the wooden cot set up in his tent at the cavalry’s bivouac site. He was unable to sleep, his mind filled with worry. He could not believe that his father was dead—dead from heart failure—when they were so close to battle. Now Auguston was the head of the House of Greynault and possibly Avonvale’s last hope for liberation from the Wizard. That terrified Auguston. He just wanted to go home, to take his father’s body back to Castle Greynault, but he knew that would not be possible. He would have the body sent home to his mother to bury, but he would not be able to accompany it or to comfort her. As he laid on his cot looking up at the ceiling of his tent, he noticed the front flap of the tent slowly open. Auguston bolted upright and saw Anne stick her head inside.
“Lady Anne,” he said and quickly swung his feet down to the ground and reached out and grabbed a nearby shirt.
“I am sorry to disturb you, My Lord, but I was afraid to be alone. May I please come in?” Anne asked sweetly as Auguston pulled the shirt over his head.
“Of course,” he said as he stood.
Anne smiled at him and ducked into the tent. She looked around. It was not as nice as his father’s command tent, but still afforded much better accommodations than the men. For one, his tent was private. Most importantly, he had a wooden cot with a straw stuffed mattress and did not sleep on the ground. His boots stood in a corner below his armor which was strapped to a wooden form held up on a stand. He even brought a mirror and stand which stood in another corner.
“I trust your quarters are adequate,” he said, not really knowing what to say.
She giggled. “My tent is superb, thank you.”
“Would you like to sit down?” he asked motioning to the end of his cot, which was the only place to sit other than the ground.
“Thank you, yes,” she said and stepped over to the cot and sat. He sat beside her. “I am sorry to disturb you. I hope I did not wake you,” she said.
“Not at all,” he replied. “I was finding it quite difficult to sleep.”
She nodded. “I understand,” she said. “As you know, I lost my father last year. You have my deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I am saddened by my father’s death of course, but my main concern is the battle ahead. You spoke of tens of thousands of drakmere. I just…” he stopped, leaned his elbows on his knees, and looked away.
“You are strong and brave, Auguston. That is why I came here tonight. I needed the comfort and security I would feel being with you.”
He turned his head to look at her. “Truly?”
“Yes,” she said with a confident smile. “Why else would I be here?”
He shook his head and laughed to himself. “I don’t know,” he said and looked down at the ground.
Anne tilted her head to the side, staring at him. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his wavy brown hair. “Of course, you are quite handsome as well,” she said. It was true, Auguston was quite handsome and a well known ladies’ man. He sat up straight and looked at her. She bit her bottom lip as he slowly leaned in toward her. She leaned toward him as well and they kissed. He reached up and grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her to him. She grabbed his left wrist and pulled his hand up to her right breast as she moaned. Then she stopped and pulled away. She reached down and pulled out a dagger in sheath which had been tucked into her belt. She showed it to him and giggled. “For protection,” she said as he smiled at her, amused. She dropped the dagger on the ground beside the cot and stood up. Smiling seductively, she began to slowly unbutton her dress as he ripped his shirt off over his head, revealing his muscular young body. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his legs as she pushed her dress down to the ground and stepped out of it.
“Lie down,” she commanded and he obediently laid back onto his cot as she straddled his body. “Close your eyes,” she said mischievously as she licked her lips. He smiled a boyish grin as he closed his eyes. He felt her breasts press against him as she leaned forward and nibbled on his ear. “I’ve always liked you Auguston. This isn’t personal,” she whispered.
“What isn’t personal?” he asked still smiling. Then he felt her hand cover his mouth and a cold blade slit his throat. His eyes opened wide as he thrashed about, but he could make no sound but a gurgle. As he slowly bled to death, she stood and wiped his
blood from her hands with his shirt. She then pulled on her dress and buttoned it up. As she was doing so, she caught a reflection in the mirror out of the corner of her eye and turned to see what it was.
In the mirror she could see the reflection of a face, at least the outline of a face—it was like the darkness itself was smiling—just over her shoulder. Startled, she spun around to see what was there, but there was nothing. When she turned back to the mirror, the face was gone. She shook the thoughts from her head. She was clearly imagining things. She finished dressing quickly, took the dagger and slid it back into its sheath after wiping the blood from the blade. She then stuffed the dagger back into her belt. She bent down and covered Auguston’s body with his blanket. Hopefully no one would realize he was dead until morning and by then she would be a long way away.
Anne turned to the tent flap and pushed it back stepping out into the night. She let the flap fall and then turned to walk to her left, nearly colliding with Sir Galt. Anne jumped with a squeal. She looked back at Auguston’s tent guiltily.
“Lady Anne, what are you doing coming from Lord Auguston’s tent?”
She bit her lower lip. “Sir Galt, please don’t tell anyone,” she said. “It would ruin my reputation.” The knight smiled at her, but was laughing on the inside. Everyone knew that her reputation had been ruined long ago. In fact, it was the primary reason Anne’s family had been unable to find a husband for her. They had attempted a match with Auguston years ago, but Lord Theron had politely declined.
“Your secret is safe with me, My Lady,” the knight said. “Please excuse me, I must speak to Lord Auguston about transporting his father home.” He started to walk around her, but Anne grabbed his arm.
“It will have to wait until morning, Sir Galt,” she said. “I am afraid Auguston had a bit too much wine tonight. He is passed out on his cot.”
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