Wings of Light Special Edition

by Lloyd Baron

  He had been in love once before with a woman who had helped him at the roadside after a fall a few suns before. She was the most beautiful creation he had ever seen. She had been short and stocky with a full bosom, yet it was her face that had captivated him. Her hair had fallen loose from its tight bun to cascade down her face. She was meek and quiet like a mouse, giving him the impression that she was not used to being close to strange men. Her sad face had haunted him for many months afterwards and he was sad to remove the bandages from his leg as it was all he had left of her. He had not seen her since. He knew nothing about her. Not even a name. All he did know was that he had fallen in love with her kindness and the expression upon her face when she was helping him. She had seen into him, past his muscles and his beauty, into his very core.

  “Fia!” a man’s voice calls from the road ahead. “Fia, the Princess!”

  Fia stares at the man who jumps up and down waving and pointing down the road. He sees the hindquarters of Hurtle vanish around the corner and the sound of her hooves fading. He curses under his breath and kicks Brimstone into a gallop.

  Narinda glances at Fia who has drifted off into his thoughts. She glares at him for a few seconds. Bile rising into her throat. He always looks that way when he is thinking about that woman. She hates her. She hates even the thought of her. How could he love a woman he met once on the roadside? A short, fat beast by all accounts.

  She turns in the saddle and spurns Hurtle onwards into a sprint. The side gates from the city are just beyond the next street. If she can get there before Fia can bellow his order to lock them down, then she will be free of the city and into the plains.

  The wind rushes through her hair as she races into the tunnel at the end of the road. With a few yards to go she hears the deep booming voice of Fia echo from the walls. The guards react quickly but not quickly enough to shut the gates on her. She thunders past the two startled men and out into the plains. Laughter escapes from her and she has to wipe tears of joy from her face as the horse crosses the hills.

  It lasts only a second. Fia’s dun-colored horse speeds past her and reins to a stop not far from her. She pulls hard on her reins and almost tumbles over the front of her saddle. She regains her balance, takes up her reins again and begins walking the horse around her bodyguard.

  “How dare you!” she screams, a rage erupting inside her. “How dare you frighten me and frighten my horse.” She pats Hurtle on the head. The horse whines. “You pathetic man. How dare you chase me down like a-

  “Shut your mouth, Princess,” he spits. “How dare you! How dare you run away like a spoilt little child! Risking yourself by charging your animal down a busy road and racing through a closing gate. You could have killed yourself, your horse or even a trader who did not see you coming.”

  Her temper falters and she takes a shuddering breath. “You will return to the castle and you will not visit me again today.”

  “We will return together.”

  “No,” she snaps. “I will finish my ride alone. Now leave me.”

  The large man stares at her, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared. Finally he lets out a sigh and turns his horse to go. She follows him with her eyes until he has reached the gates. She lets the reins go a bit and the blood returns to her knuckles.

  “Excuse me,” a small voice drifts from behind the horse. Narinda pivots in the saddle and glares down at a dirty young woman with long matted hair the color of straw. Her long grey dress hangs limp and grubby. A beautiful white horse grazes beside the small pond, called Jaspisp Pond, named after a great King who drowned in it after a drunken night with his mistress.

  “Yes,” Narinda barks at this peasant. The woman shies away from her then and her smile is apologetic. “Sorry. I am not in the best of moods.”

  “It’s fine really,” she mutters almost inaudible.

  Narinda softens and swings out of the saddle. The girl steps back but does not seem afraid of her. It hits her then. She has no idea who she is. “Hello. I’m Narinda.” She holds out her hand for the woman to take. Her mother would go crazy if she knew she had dropped the most important part of her name. It was odd speaking the word without having Ales’d till Abenbeth attached to the end. But if this girl did not know she was the Princess of Atlantia then she would act normal around her and treat her like a friend and not as the next ruler of the country.

  The girl takes her hand and shakes it firmly. “I’m Canace Al’drea,” Her eyes sparkle with an amazing green in the sunlight. Narinda is instantly jealous. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I saw what happened and well I wanted to know if you were alright.”

  Narinda’s heart lurches and she regrets her harsh words and feelings towards the girl. She touches her elbow and smiles warmly. “It was nothing. Just my pig headed bodyguard forgetting his place and forgetting who pays his wages.”

  “Maybe he takes his role to heart. Maybe he thinks more of your safety then he does money. I wish I had a bodyguard sometimes.” A haunted look enters her eyes and she scans the horizon. “I feel so exposed here.” She drops to a sitting position in the tall grass and all but vanishes from sight. That must have been where she was when she rode up. Another few feet and she could have trampled the girl into the ground.

  Narinda looks around at the empty plains before crouching beside the woman. She touches her arm again and waits before she looks at her then smiles. “Whatever you are afraid of I am sure you are safe here.”

  “That is what we all thought in Zul and Yeril, yet he found us there too. All that running, and he was there before we were. How can you be safe from that?” She suddenly seems to realize what she has said and shuts up. A frown on her face and hands dry washing in her lap.

  “Who are you running from?” The girl shrinks away from her words and the frown deepens across her brow. “You are frightened, did you break the law? Are you running from the palace guard?”

  Canace slowly shakes her head and a tear slips down her cheek. “It’s so much worse. We need to get to the Princess. We have to get her and take her away.”

  Narinda’s stomach flips and she shudders away from the girl. Dread creeping across her body, running chills down her spine. Goosebumps break out across her skin despite the warm sun shining down on them. “We,” she repeats the girl’s words, but before she can answer the sound of horses hooves drifts to her on the breeze. She stands and turns full circle. From the north there are three riders and from the south two. All heading for the pond.

  “You know who I am!” she screams and runs for Hurtle. Fear attacks her and she tumbles and staggers the short distance. Hurtle picks up on her mood and whines as she clambers into the saddle. “I would run from this country now, little girl, before the full force of my army comes down on you and crushes you into the ground.” She spurns the horse on and flees for the safety of the castle and home.

  Tears cascade down her cheeks as the sound of hooves thunder closer to her. This cannot be the end. She will not die in this field or being tied to a post and held for ransom. The noise in her ears is drowned out by the pounding of blood in her veins and the painful explosion in her heart. Then there is silence and she risks a glance behind her. The plains are empty.

  She stops Hurtle a few meters away from the gate and bursts into uncontrollable sobs. This was not the birthday she thought it was going to be.

  19

  MAKING GOOD a THREAT

  Katilena Grei shifts in the shadows beside the palace walls. Her pale white skin prickles under the humid heat of the midday sun. The heavy brown woolens covering her like a sack are damp under the arms and down her back. She plucks at a strand of hair which is plastered to her face and pushes it behind her ear. Today is the day she will get what she wants one way or another.

  Clanking and scraping drifts into her ears and she peeks around the corner at the huge golden gates to the palace. Stepping through them is an elderly man clad in the palace livery, black tunic and baggy breaches, a half cape and shining sun embro
idered on the breast. The man glances around him hurriedly before ambling over to her hiding place. He clutches an envelope in his hands which shake with his nerves. He reaches her and passes it to her.

  She allows herself a moment of joy and grins as she drops a small bronze key into her palm. The man holds out his hand, waiting for his payment. She had promised him fifty gold coins to betray his Kingdom and bring her the key to the King’s villa. She glares at his filthy fingers. Hatred boils throughout her entire being.

  “You betray what you have always served so easily,” she spits at him. Grabbing his scrawny neck in her hand she drags him close to her face. “You sicken me! The only thing we have in this life is the trust of those who look up to us and follow us. You would give that up for gold!” She squeezes until she hears crunching. He grasps at her hands weakly, groaning and gasping for air. His grey eyes bulge out of their sockets, becoming bloodshot. “You will have your payment. The payment you deserve for treating your King with betrayal.” The man’s skin becomes ice under her grip and his agonizing breaths abruptly end. She drops the frozen, blue-skinned body to the ground. Giving the man a final kick, she strides out of the shadows and into the sunlight, letting the brown woolens ripple into a fine green gown of the lightest silk. Her skin screams from its release and cools instantly. She flicks her hair and it tumbles upwards into a nest of curls.

  She flicks the key into the air and it twists into a broach, landing pin down in her palm. She curses the decision to make a broach as she wrenches it free of her flesh and stretches it into a long ebony hairpin, clipping it into her curls.

  She laughs to herself, a hollow eerie sound like whispered voices on a breeze. Tonight she will have the Books of Prophecy, or the Kingdom of Stone Hilt will lose all of its children.

  King Garnock shakes as he drops into his throne. The letter he had been reading flutters from his fingers and rests by the foot of Lord Bosley. Dread and anger hit him with equal conviction and he shudders under its weight. The letter had arrived that morning. One had been sent to each of his lords and to the keepers of the library. They had been expected but the threat and demands made are beyond anything they had expected. At the stroke of midnight she will come in person and take either the books or the children. Just how she expects to manage such a thing they do not know, although that she will manage—unquestionably.

  In attendance are his most trusted aides and rulers. Lord Bosley and his wife Lady Mariget sit together at the head of the meeting table. Either side of them are Donaghan Bazel and Lee Han'al of the Granit Army. On the far side of the table are two members of the women’s guild with the High Lady Vivi Asstel, and at the head of the table the Mayer of Letty Jesse Kelik and his good wife Hannaa Kelik. All of them full of raw emotion.

  “My King,” Lady Mariget says from the high chairs of the Lord’s Table. “We are risking our children.” Her voice quivers as she speaks, her earlier tears still wet on her cheeks. “How are we still even considering this?”

  Her husband and Lord of House Faler, second to the Granit Throne, stands abruptly, sending his chair flying backwards. “My King, please!” He shouts with anger and pleading mixed together. “You are a fool! This has to end. We cannot let her have the children.”

  Garnock glares at the man. He should have him removed and punished for such a display towards his King but the terror in his eyes must reflect his own. He softens his face and stands, beckoning the man forwards with his hand. He embraces Bosley and they share the warmth of each other and the comfort it provides.

  They have been friends for more than thirty suns and were each other’s honor man when they wed the girls of their dreams. Such a simpler life then. He grips the broad man’s shoulders and pushes him back, fixing their eyes together. “I would never want anything to happen to our children. They are the future for all of us here in this country.” He hardens his features and pushes his will into the man before him. “But those books hold the secrets of the Prophecies and the future of the entire world. You know this and you also know the risk of being their protectors. We cannot let the world down.”

  Bosley's head slowly nods, his face beginning to crumple as tears fill his eyes. It is his wife who begins to shout.

  “Calm yourself, Mariget. I’m going to do everything within my power to stop this vile woman.” He glances up as an aide enters the room. The slight man bows before them all and kisses his palm before placing it to his chest in the traditional Common greeting to members of the Women’s Guild.

  “Borg Hafline, Pre-eminent of the Granit Army is here, as you requested.” He turns and opens the door, allowing the short stocky man to enter. The aide bows as he closes the door on his way out.

  “Am I ever glad to see you, Borg! Please take a seat.” He motions to the table off to the side of the throne. The man bows low and hurries to his seat. Garnock pats Bosley on the shoulder and the man turns back to the others, his shoulders dropped and head down. King Garnock retakes his place and reaches for Vedette's hand. She gives it a reassuring squeeze. His wife is such a tower of strength. He had shown her the letter before anyone else and after her tears had dried she had turned to him and said that they had no choice but protect the Books. She had cried more then, but now she is all firm edges and harsh glares.

  “Now that the Pre-eminent has arrived, I have a proposal to put forward. We have to protect the Books. It is our duty here in Common. But we are all parents here and we have to protect our children and those of the citizens. So this is what I propose.”

  The woman sniffs at the sight of the two guards posted at the main gates to the Palace but approaches openly and smiles warmly. “I see I’m to have my own personal guard on my way to the Throne Room.” The guards glance at her and then at each other. The one on her left moves forwards and raises his sword.

  “I was told to let you pass, witch!” He spits. “But I don’t feel like it. You might think the King a stupid man, though he will never let you take the children of his Kingdom and I will not let you pass these—”

  “Shut up, Greggoer!” The other guard shouts abruptly and then falls silent.

  “I will not. She has to know how I feel, and I am not letting her pass.”

  The woman raises her eyebrows and takes a step closer to the man. To give him credit, he stands his ground. “You think I am a Mage? You think you are safe because there are no flames close for me to control? Wrong!” She hisses and thrusts her fingers into the man’s stomach. The man’s startled yell cuts off and becomes a gurgle as blood gushes like a volcano from his gaping mouth. His lifeless body falls to the ground. She turns to the other guard who stares in open shock at his dead comrade.

  “Now can I pass?”

  The guard turns and flees down the road, followed by her manic laughter.

  The doors to the Throne Room creak open and the abomination strolls in like she is walking in a meadow on a summer’s day. Her white gown slashed with red swishes as she walks to the centre of the room.

  Garnock swallows. If the plan goes right she will be long gone before she realizes she has been tricked and by the time she returns, which she will, the children will be gone. He hefts the huge tome in his hands and stands before her. “This is what you have come to claim.”

  She glares at him and suddenly bursts into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Oh my dear fellow,” she says in a deep manly tone. “You are so much fatter then she said you were.” The laughter stops and she stands bolt upright. The air around her seems to shimmer and the white gown dissolves away and is replaced by red silk breaches and a gold jacket. But it is her face that receives the most shock.

  His wife screams and staggers backwards, tripping on the step before her throne and tumbles to the floor. Lord Bosley jumps in front of his wife who has swooned and now rests in the arms of a guard. Borg Hafline and his men around the outside of the room fall back a pace and some even draw their weapons.

  “What is this?” The King bellows, his rage flaring through him.

>   Standing in the middle of the room is a tall handsome man. He turns his slanted green eyes in the direction of the King and smiles a slow smile of perfect white teeth. He has pale skin but slightly flushed cheeks making him look like he has just completed a light run. His body looks slight yet athletic under his tight garments. “Did you think that Katilena Grei would fall for such a predictable and may I add stupid trick as that fake book?” His tone is light with amusement. He flashes a grin at the King. Then he is moving. A blur of shadow over their vision. The book is snatched from the King’s hands, pulling the elderly man off his feet.

  Pain shoots through his chest and sharpness enters his breathing. He feels his ribs and cries out. Blood soaks through his clothes.

  “You look injured King!” The man shouts from the throne. He lifts the book above his head and flings it upwards. It crashes mere inches from the King’s head. “Ah it missed. Such a shame.” He glances at the ring of guards and for the first time seems to have noticed them. “You think you can put men between me and my goals and slow me down—stop me, even? Men will never understand the burden placed upon my shoulders. More than that of a pathetic weak King.”

  The guards shift, but a shake of the head from Borg stops any more advancement. A look of confusion and unsettledness enters each of their faces , yet not one of them knows what it is that they are feeling deep within.

  The man lifts the King to his knees and steeps back. Garnock looks tired and very old, even though he must only be sixty suns. Dark circles surround his sunken eyes and his hair is unkempt. “You look like you have had enough,” the man says. “Fine then. I think I have done enough.” He stands and strolls back to the doors. “For your information, my name is Sabastian Lovefelt. And your children are already gone. With you all here waiting for her, she went to your villa and has taken them all. And they all think they are following their good old King.”