by K. M. Shea
“Come, child. This way.” The old couple smiled at the boy, and led the way south while Briar helped the husband and wife mount the remaining two horses, and then she passed up their younger children to them.
The wife screamed when two forest goblins popped up at the end of the street.
Though her horse shied away and reared, Delanna shot the first goblin before it could move. The second one ran forward a few steps and began to heave its spear at them. The guard fumbled for a weapon as the goblin shrieked, but Delanna downed it before it could finish its throw.
Both goblins fell with a croak.
At any other time, Briar would have whistled. To shoot two targets—one of them moving—from the back of a spooking horse? Delanna must have taken it hard when she learned the Magic Knights didn’t take on girls.
Briar forced herself to return her attention to the couple. “Southeast, to the next village,” she reminded them.
The guard peered around the street, leaving a trail of ash wherever he walked. “I’ll sweep north and tell anyone I can find to come to the stables.”
“Should I go with you?” Briar asked.
He shook his head. “No—get more horses ready.”
The woman Briar had saved was already in the stables, preparing another string of mounts.
Briar took them from her and led them outside. “How’s the mage fight?” she asked.
Delanna wiped sweat from her forehead. “Can’t tell—but no magic users have descended on the village, and the flames have stayed down, so they must be holding out.”
“More goblins are getting through than I would like,” Briar said.
“I’d rather face goblins than a magic user or one of those Chimera,” Delanna said as she downed another one of the green-skinned monsters. It died with a shrieking gurgle.
Two young boys tore out of a charred building.
“Goblins behind us,” the first boy—a tall, lanky lad—said.
“A pack of ’em,” the other—who was almost as ashen as the building they had burst out of—shouted.
Delanna grimly prepared arrows. “Get on Misfit, Briar.”
The ash-covered boy shouted and toppled over—a goblin arrow poking out of his shoulder.
“Adso!” his friend yelled.
“Briar—no!” Delanna shouted too late.
Briar ran down the street, reaching the boy as the first of the goblins burst out of the barn. They could only file out one by one due to the small door, but there had to be at least ten of them.
The taller boy had not left his fallen friend, but his eyes were clouded with tears.
“Help me carry him,” Briar said as she hefted the boy up by his pants.
Delanna dropped the first two goblins. “Briar!” she shouted.
The tall boy grabbed his friend’s uninjured shoulder, and together they dragged him down the street.
A goblin squirmed in between his pack mates—which were dropping like flies under Delanna’s onslaught—and made it past. He ran towards Briar and the boys, darting out of Delanna’s range.
The goblin smiled—revealing razor-shaped teeth smeared with red—and hefted a rusted, rudimentary sword above its head.
“Briar!” Delanna’s screamed.
Bracing herself, Briar reached for her dagger, but a dark shape appeared behind the goblin, grabbed it by its scrawny neck, and threw it into the wall of a building.
Briar gaped up at Misfit in shock. The even-tempered horse snorted and circled Briar. Though he did not chase after the goblins clustered at the barn door—as any warhorse would have—Briar could sense his intent clearly enough.
He would attack anything that came close to them.
Lightheaded with relief, Briar dragged the injured boy the remaining distance to the stables. She and the woman carefully hefted him onto a horse, and his friend clambered up behind him.
“You’ll have to go with them,” Briar told the woman. “That arrow will need to be taken care of.”
“It’s just as well—these are the last of the horses.” The woman gestured to the four mounts she had brought out in Briar’s absence.
“Thank you,” Briar said as she helped her onto a horse.
She shook her head. “No, thank you, Your Highness. Come, boys!” The woman led the pair down the street, disappearing quickly into the swirl of ash and smoke.
Delanna shot the last goblin from the swarm that had chased the boys. “I’ll need arrows if we keep this up,” she said.
“Can you retrieve them?” Briar took a drink from the water skin Delanna had attached to Misfit’s saddle for her.
Delanna shook her head. “Too dangerous in these conditions.”
“Sole! For Sole!” The guard ran down the street, a small cluster of people trailing behind him. He coughed and slowed down when he reached Briar and Delanna. “North is cleared,” he rasped.
Briar offered him her water.
He took a grateful slug. “Found two other guards from my squad—they’re moving south and clearing out parallel streets.”
“These are the last of the horses,” Briar said.
“Are the goblins still coming?” Delanna asked.
“Yes,” one of the evacuees—a man wielding a pitchfork—said. “Though there’s a Magic Knight holding most of ’em back.”
Briar exhaled tightly. “Isaia.” She swallowed sharply. “What else can we do to help?”
“Check the next street over. Ottone is searching that street. He could use the help,” the guard said. “I’ll organize these folks.”
Briar hopped onto Misfit, landing on his back with more force than necessary. The horse gave no indication of his previous bout of blood-thirst and good-naturedly nibbled on Briar’s shoe. “Good luck,” she said.
“To you, as well.” The soldier pointed to the path that would connect to the next street.
Briar and Delanna urged their horses down the road.
“How many arrows do you have left?” Briar asked.
“About a dozen,” Delanna said as they careened into the next street, almost skidding. “Look out!”
The sorceress in the purple robes was positioned at the top of the street, riding a sickly- looking horse. She smiled and threw a fireball at them.
Delanna dragged her horse back into the connecting road, and Briar kneed Misfit so he shot across the street—avoiding the fireball.
“Prin—” Delanna cut herself off with a panicked look at the sorceress.
“My, oh my. It seems I am in the presence of royalty. How lucky for me!” Her black hair and black eyes seemed to pull in any light that touched them, giving her an empty look.
“Briar!” Delanna shouted.
Briar immediately squeezed Misfit, who leaped into a canter. She continued down the road she and Delanna had been riding, leading the sorceress away from her friend. Briar risked a glance over her shoulder to make sure the magic user was following and almost got her hair scorched when the woman threw another fireball at her.
They loped up and down streets, steadily moving west. If I can’t shake her, I can at least drag her back out by Firra and Donaigh—they’ll pull her off me.
Briar and Misfit shot past the edge of town, reaching the open fields that surrounded the city. Her heart beating faster with a combination of adrenaline and fear, Briar almost whooped! I made it! She looked north, where the fields were spattered with everything from lightning to fire to the barely discernible blur that was Donaigh.
She was so intent on searching for the mages, she didn’t notice the sorceress charging a new spell until it was too late.
A ball of orange lightning hit Briar and Misfit dead on.
Briar was tossed from his back, and Misfit fell with a thump.
Her ears rang, and her spine jolted as leftover bits of the shock jumped up and down her back. Everything hurt. Briar groaned and tried to sit up, but the breath had been knocked out of her. “Misfit,” she muttered. She had to get to Misfit—the sorceress wo
uld be on her soon!
Briar managed to prop herself up to her elbows. Misfit was some distance away, also struggling to stand.
She tried to crawl towards him, but the sorceress’s cruel laughter pinned her in place like a spell. She peered over her shoulder, her heart in her throat as the sorceress dismounted and approached her, a malicious smile folding her lips.
The sorceress raised a hand encased with black magic and laughed. She flung her arm at Briar, throwing the magic at her.
Isaia stepped between them and thrust his shield up, bracing himself.
The bolt of magic hit his shield and spit sparks. The shield glowed white-hot, but its anti-magic spells tore the attack to shreds.
The sorceress grit her teeth and spoke—not the light and powerful words of magic that Angelique and the others used, but black, tarry words that smelled like blood. She shot bolt after bolt of magic at Isaia.
The shield repelled them one by one, but Briar could see in the taunt line of his body the exertion it cost Isaia to keep the shield steady. She crawled to her feet and looked wildly around for Misfit but couldn’t find him.
“Go!” Isaia yelled. “I can’t hold her back much longer!”
“I’m not leaving you!” Briar shouted over the hungry roar of the sorceress’s attacks.
“I’ll be fine,” Isaia said.
Liar. Magic Knights were meant to work as a team. Alone, Isaia’s armor and shield wouldn’t hold up under the onslaught of a sorceress.
Briar shielded her eyes and looked for Donaigh or Firra. The field to the north was a blast of noise and colors as the magic users fought. She couldn’t make out anyone—not even Angelique.
Isaia grunted, and his body jolted—the sorceress had cracked a corner off his shield and struck him in the shoulder.
Briar moved to run towards the main fight, and the sorceress blasted a fireball at her.
Isaia lunged in front of Briar and grabbed her with his free arm, pulling her to his chest. His shield was hot from the strain, though it kept blocking the spells, but she could feel his body shake as he tried to hold out.
The shield would give soon, and neither of them would survive.
Someone help us!
As if summoned by her thoughts, two men in elaborate armor appeared on either side of them. Each lifted a massive shield from their back and thrust it into the ground. The shields glowed white, and a strand of light shot from their shields to Isaia’s, forming a line of three.
Instantly, the strain on Isaia’s shield dissipated, strengthened by the others.
Briar whirled around. Coming up behind them, mounted on warhorses covered in gleaming armor, was a band of at least twenty Magic Knights. One of them blew a horn five times, and off in the distance Briar could see another group of knights come galloping up over a hill to the west.
The sorceress cursed and ran back to her horse, fleeing to the other battle line.
Sir Lucio and Sir Roberto rode at the front. Roberto lifted his sword and shouted, “Form your lines!”
Briar cried with joy as the Magic Knights thundered past them in a tight, organized formation. The runes on their armor and weapons glowed as they activated the spells.
As one, the knights roared. “For Sole—for the Briar Rose!”
Sir Lucio pulled out ahead of the group and flung a dagger at a pack of goblins. The dagger struck the ground and flooded the area with an explosion of light. The goblins shrieked and grabbed their eyes, stumbling blindly into one another as the light faded and the knights descended upon them.
The other squad, led by Sir Artemio and Sir Virgilio, pushed in from the west. They fell upon the Chimera—awful creatures that had the body of a lion and three distinct heads—a lion, a goat, and a serpent.
Sir Virgilio’s lance glowed gold as he lowered it and thundered towards one of the Chimera. The creature tried to launch itself at his horse, but Virgilio thrust his lance forward, and a shield of white light appeared in front of him. The Chimera smacked into it and was thrown backwards.
Briar had thought the thirty or so Magic Knights would easily be able to mow over Carabosso, the sorceress, and the two dark mages with them, but the knights had arrived in the nick of time, for Donaigh was sprawled on the ground, and Firra was fast running out of power.
We could still lose.
“Rosalinda!” Angelique shouted. She was fighting with the two dark mages, and behind her the sorceress threw dark orbs on the ground. Each erupted into another Chimera. “Look up!”
Briar spun around, and her heart sang. Flying overhead were three swans. They wore an ingenious hookup of ropes that allowed them to carry a sword suspended between them. They circled, and Isaia squinted up at them.
“Is that…?”
He didn’t get a chance to finish, for bright light enveloped the swans, cutting the ropes off them.
The sword fell and struck the ground blade first.
The three swans—now impossible to see in the white light that surrounded them—hurtled like rocks and hit the ground with tremendous cracks that made bits of dust and debris spiral around them.
When the light faded, it was not swans that stood before Briar, but two women and a man. One of the women was clothed in a white shirt and a black pinafore. Her bangs drooped over her eyes, but when she grabbed a spear from a fallen goblin and twirled it, she did it with such skill, Briar couldn’t help but gape.
The other girl wore black trousers, a white shirt, and was barefoot. She shoved her hair—ash blonde at the roots and corn silk at the tips—out of her face. “That was beyond dangerous. We are never doing that again! Angelique, do you hear me? We are smugglers—not thieves!”
“Technically, it was not stealing as the princess has a right to the sword.” The lady enchantress jabbed a finger at the dark mage that was attempting to loop chains of black magic around her, smacking him in the face with a wet fish.
The attack was an odd one, but it admittedly stunned and distracted the mage.
“Oh, is that why you told us under no circumstances could anyone find out what we were doing?” the beautifully wild blonde girl snorted.
“Princess, meet Nadia and Misha of the Black Swan Smugglers, and their leader, Odette, the Swan Queen.” Angelique crouched, missing another chain of black magic.
“Stop calling me that!” Though her words came out as a snarl, the Swan Queen caught three daggers the man—Misha—threw at her. With reckless abandon, she waded into the thick of things after Nadia. The woman fought with great ease though she was barely armed and still barefoot.
Briar lunged for the legendary sword, almost giddy with glee when she recognized the blue and gold edging. She touched it, shivering when she felt its whispery magic brush the back of her mind, and pulled it from the ground with a grunt. “Isaia!”
Isaia, having hooked his shield on Valor, was about to plunge back into battle with his two-handed sword. When he saw what Briar held, he took a step back. “No. Briar—Princess Rosalinda—you can’t!”
“Too bad, my blood says I can.” Briar stubbornly dragged the sword towards him.
“It will hurt you!” He backed away.
“No, it won’t,” Briar said.
Isaia removed his helm and shook his head. Briar hated the disbelief she saw in his eyes. “It will. I’m not worthy—it won’t accept me.”
She wanted to wring his neck. Again he didn’t believe her! But as the sword warmed her hands, it occurred to her. Is it me, or himself he’s doubting? Briar glanced at the chaos of the battlefield—the sorceress had Angelique pinned and was using her to keep the knights away from her. Carabosso was nowhere to be seen.
“Isaia, you told me once I would be the perfect queen—the queen Sole needs. Do you still think that?”
“Of course,” Isaia said.
“Then you have to believe me when I say this sword is yours. I’m not giving it to you because I love you. I’m giving it to you because you are what a Magic Knight of Sole is supposed to
be. The sword recognizes you. I recognize you. The only way this will end badly is if you don’t recognize it in yourself.”
Isaia’s forehead wrinkled as he stared at the sword Briar tilted hilt-first in his direction.
“Do you trust me?” Briar asked.
“Always,” Isaia said.
“Then take the sword.”
Isaia yanked his sea green eyes up to meet her gaze. He swallowed sharply, and Briar could still see the fear in his eyes, but he reached out in trust and grasped the hilt, keeping his eyes on her.
Briar smiled. “Thank you.” She looked down at the sword. Now how do I do this?
The magic in the sword tickled her mind, and Briar placed her left hand on the blade and lightly squeezed. The edge bit into her fingers, dotting the blade with her blood.
“Blaze…Faro!” Briar shouted.
She and Isaia were encircled in a column of light. Tufts of grass and rocks began to float around them, and Briar couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was looking at her, inspecting her soul. Something clicked into place, and the sword sucked up the light and burned white hot.
Isaia turned toward the magical battle and swung the sword—which produced a white light that sliced through the earth as it sped towards the sorceress, hitting her straight on.
She screamed as the attack flung her backwards. When she collapsed, she lay there, smoldering and racked with spasms. The ground between her and Isaia was gouged as if a giant had dragged a sword and made a ditch.
“Well.” Briar blinked at the deep ridge. “That worked nicely.”
Isaia lifted the sword and stared at it. “Stay here,” he ordered Briar. He swung up on Valor, her white dapples gleaming in the faint light, and galloped towards the battle.
Briar sagged with relief. With three—now four—legendary knights fighting, there was no way they would lose. Briar scanned the area, looking for Misfit, and thought she saw her horse trot back into Tavo.
Every muscle in her ached, but Briar forced herself to jog after her misplaced mount. “Misfit,” she called as she reached the edge of the town. “Misfit!” She didn’t see him, so she climbed through the wreckage, walking two streets into the empty town. “Misfit?”
“Hello, Princess.”
