Risen Queen

by Duncan Lay

  Firstly he saw four men lying on the floor in front of the Archbishop’s giant desk, a bloody, gaping gash under each ribcage and their faces glazed in death. Worse was the young girl tied to the desk, her torso likewise ripped open. Prent stood beside her, laughing. In his hands he cradled bloody hearts, while blood stained his lips and was splashed all over his golden robe. A tall Berellian was behind him, a cruel smile on his lips. Beyond them, Gamelon, Kesbury and a group of other priests and priestesses, including Sister Milly, burst through the other door.

  ‘You are too late, fools! I have power that you can only dream of!’ Prent shrieked.

  Prent, what have you done?’ Declan found his voice. ‘I thought you foolish but never in my wildest dreams did I think you would convert to Zorva! You realise you will have to hang for this?’

  Prent laughed again. ‘Wrong! It is you who will die! Taste the power of my God!’

  ‘Hold!’ Declan bellowed, pointing at the bloodstained man.

  But Prent just laughed. ‘You cannot affect me. I have Zorva’s protection! Now taste His anger!’

  And he hefted the bloody hearts, which burst into a strange flame, too red and bright to be natural. One after another he hurled them at Declan, a stream of fiery missiles.

  Martil, just behind and to the side of the Archbishop, instinctively dived for cover.

  But Declan stood his ground.

  ‘Aroaril protect me!’ the Archbishop thundered, and held up his hands. A shimmer of light, tinged with gold, appeared in front of him, just as the first heart flashed across the room to strike against it in a thunderous explosion. Fire burst out across the front of the shield the Archbishop had created and he took an involuntary step backwards. The second, third and fourth hearts struck, each one driving the Archbishop back and down with the force of their impact, until he was on his knees. The last one seemed to gather pace and struck with redoubled force; while Declan was untouched by the fury of the fire, the force of the impact flung him back and up to smash into the edge of the open door. Martil heard the crack of breaking bones and Archbishop Declan fell to the ground limp as a rag doll.

  Prent laughed in the horrified silence that followed.

  ‘Now, rise! Rise and defend me, warriors of Zorva!’ he commanded.

  Martil was baffled for a moment—then saw the four dead men stand jerkily and pick up their swords. For a moment he thought they must have been feigning death, in order to surprise him, but he saw clearly the bloody wounds on their bodies, and the vacant look in their eyes and realised they had been given some form of twisted half life.

  ‘We shall give you a chance to serve your weakling God in a more personal way,’ Prent taunted, then signalled for the zombie guards to clear the way—through Gamelon, Milly, Kesbury and the others.

  ‘You shall not escape!’ Bishop Gamelon charged forwards. ‘You will pay for your evil, Prent!’

  Martil scrambled to his feet and raced across the huge room to help.

  ‘Begone, fiend of Zorva!’ Gamelon thrust out a hand at the zombie warriors, who shambled to the attack, swords held high for the first blow.

  The first of them, a guard in Gello’s red, stopped cold in his tracks, although his legs still tried to walk forwards and his sword arm beat impotently on an invisible barrier. But the other three strode on unimpeded.

  ‘Stop, I said!’ Gamelon thrust out his other hand at the second, one of Ezok’s former men in Berellian black and gold, and he was blocked. But the other two kept coming, urged on by Prent. Sweating now, Gamelon stopped the third—but in doing so, the first was freed and began his advance again.

  ‘Hold on, Bishop!’ Kesbury roared, running to help, Sister Milly beside him. She had seen the body of poor Lilith stretched out across the desk, bloody and dead. She wanted to help but she also wanted revenge.

  The sensible thing would have been for Gamelon to run backwards, to where other priests and indeed Kesbury’s swordsmen could have helped him. But, like his archbishop, Gamelon was a man who believed utterly in the power of his position. He switched his holding spell back to the first, as Kesbury arrived in time to block a blow from another. But the last zombie hacked down with his sword.

  ‘Protect—’ Gamelon began but could not finish, as the sword opened his throat.

  Kesbury gave a howl of anger and swung his sword in a massive blow that beheaded the second Berellian zombie. But the creature did not fall. It simply stepped forwards and slashed blindly with its sword. Revolted, Kesbury backed away but now all four were turning to him, swords lashing out wildly.

  ‘Hold!’ Milly blocked one, then Martil arrived, confident the Dragon Sword would make short work of these diabolical monstrosities. He slashed down viciously, hacking off the sword arm of the beheaded creature. But still it did not give up. Instead, it kneeled down and fumbled for the fallen sword with its other arm, while the severed arm thrashed around, fingers opening and closing as it tried to grab at Martil’s leg.

  Revolted, he slashed off its other arm, only to see them both inch towards him, while the truncated torso was still walking. Horror, disgust and fear warred within him as he hacked at the closest arm. Fighting a normal man was one thing but fighting these creatures of darkness…

  Prent laughed as Martil and Kesbury defended themselves against the three remaining zombies, while trying to avoid being grabbed by the pieces they chopped off the ghoulish creatures. The thrill that had coursed through him as he had used Zorva’s power—it had been so many years since Aroaril had granted him any power that he had forgotten the feeling. But surely it could not have been any better than this. He wanted more; he would truly do anything for it now. Killing the girl had been difficult, but when he had offered her heart and his soul to Zorva, ecstasy had flooded his body and he had been eager to use the knife on the men, wanting to feel that sensation again. He would have liked the unholy warriors to have grabbed more sacrifices for him but it looked as if the cursed Rallorans would be too strong for them. Still, at least they would let him escape.

  ‘This way!’ Prent and Ezok abandoned their twisted creations and ran instead towards the main entrance, where shocked priests and priestesses stood over the broken body of their archbishop. Martil’s remaining Rallorans rushed forwards but Prent was equal to the task.

  ‘Hold them, Zorva!’ Prent roared, and they froze helplessly.

  For a moment their way looked clear, then two figures stepped around the door, an old man and a small girl.

  ‘Karia!’ Martil bellowed. He slashed one zombie in half and tried to run over to help, only to be tripped by a disembodied arm.

  ‘Out of the way, you old fool! The girl we shall take with us!’ Prent laughed.

  ‘No, you will never do that,’ Nott said firmly. ‘Ready, Karia?’

  ‘When you are, Father,’ she said calmly. She trusted him absolutely, and was also eager to show him some of the things she had learned.

  Nott held out his hands, and a thick wall of thorns appeared in front of Prent and Ezok. Before Prent could summon the power to clear them away, Karia set fire to the thorns, forming an impenetrable barrier of rippling flames.

  ‘You cannot dispel that now, for that is natural magic allied to that of my God, you filthy Fearpriest!’ Nott roared. He bent down and hugged Karia.

  Prent tried, but the flaming thorns stayed where they were, a formidable barrier.

  ‘Back! Back!’ Ezok grabbed at Prent and they raced across the room, to where their zombies were all in pieces but still fighting.

  ‘Milly! The fire of purification! It is the only thing that will stop them!’ Nott bellowed.

  Milly, who had been trying, as Gamelon had, to keep the foul zombies at bay by holding them in a magical grip with little success, understood instantly.

  ‘Purify!’ she prayed aloud, then pointed at the last recognisable creature, which had lost an arm but was still slashing furiously at Kesbury. Instantly the creature burst into flames. Desperately it tried to keep attacking but the
fire consumed it rapidly, forcing it to its knees, then to the floor, where it was reduced to ash.

  Prent and Ezok skidded to a halt, and now backed away towards the massive windows that looked out onto the street below.

  ‘Now we’ll have you, Berellian!’ Martil snarled.

  ‘Not this time!’ Ezok called back. ‘And when we return with the King’s guards, it is you who will be screaming!’

  He hurled one of the gilded chairs at the nearest window, which promptly shattered, then he and Prent raced towards the gap.

  ‘Stop them!’ Martil yelled in frustration, but Nott and Karia’s barrier was effectively preventing anyone from that side of the room from getting in, and the remnants of the zombies were slowing everyone else down.

  Arm in arm, the Berellian and the newly converted Fearpriest leaped out of the window—and floated gently down to the ground.

  Martil kicked an arm away towards where Milly was burning up every part she could see, and sprinted towards the window. He arrived just in time to see the pair of them land fifty yards down the street and immediately race away. Cursing, he struck at one of the shards of window glass, then stalked away. How could that have gone so wrong? And what were they going to do now?

  Once they were safely around a corner, Prent and Ezok slowed to a stop.

  ‘Both the Archbishop and his lackey Gamelon dead—not too bad,’ Prent panted.

  And the religious leader in this land is now a Fearpriest, a very good result, Ezok thought.

  ‘We must hurry. We need to raise the alarm so we can catch them all—especially that Butcher of Bellic!’ he said.

  ‘We can do that easily—there’s a church nearby, we can ring the bells there. That’s our traditional alarm and how I nearly caught the Queen before.’ Prent smiled.

  Ezok coughed. ‘I think we had better find a patrol, instead. I’m afraid neither of us is going to be able to enter a church of Aroaril.’

  Prent stopped, then realised what Ezok meant. For a moment he was shocked, then he shrugged.

  ‘And perhaps it would be best not to mention how we got away to the King just yet,’ Ezok suggested delicately.

  ‘Why not? Won’t he be glad his ally has power now?’ Prent demanded.

  Ezok smiled. ‘He wants powerful allies, to be sure. But he might think that someone as powerful as you is not so much an ally but more of a rival. Sadly, kings are often jealous of others with power. No doubt you have seen his temper. It would be best if we were to keep this between ourselves, for now.’

  Prent reluctantly agreed. ‘Agreed. It will be our little secret for now.’

  ‘They’re both dead,’ Nott confirmed. ‘Looks like the Archbishop broke his neck and back when he took the force of that explosion.’

  ‘So we managed to lose both the men we were sent here to save?’ Martil spat. ‘And, worse than that—we have to try and get out of the city now, before Barrett is even ready?’

  ‘There has still been no word from the Queen,’ Nott confirmed. ‘Quiller has heard nothing.’

  ‘It is not a total loss, we still have nearly one hundred priests and priestesses here,’ Milly argued.

  ‘But we needed the authority of the Archbishop, or at least a bishop,’ Martil groaned. ‘Without them, how are we going to persuade the people to join the Queen’s rebellion?’

  They were all still in the Archbishop’s chambers, with the bodies of Declan, Gamelon and the poor, sacrificed Lilith laid out together, and covered by curtains.

  ‘We can still have an archbishop,’ Milly stated firmly.

  ‘How?’ Martil asked sarcastically. ‘Do we just invent one?’

  ‘No, we vote for one. What we have here, in this room, is the entire remaining church of Aroaril in Norstalos. We shall vote, and then we shall have a new archbishop. And that man will be Father Nott.’

  Everyone turned to look at Father Nott, who merely bowed his head as the assembled priests and priestesses broke into applause.

  ‘We do not have the time for prevarication or modesty. So I will take on this heavy duty. And my first act will be to appoint Sister Milly, Bishop Milly.’

  ‘Father!’ Milly began, then corrected herself. ‘Your grace, I am not worthy. I have not even attained the rank of mother, or held a parish!’

  ‘I shall decide who is and isn’t worthy, and believe me, you are!’ Nott snapped. ‘Now to our escape—we could hold the guards at one of the gates but I fear they would just come after us with cavalry.’

  ‘They will seal the gates before we can even get there,’ Martil predicted. ‘We need to get out by magic. Can you replicate that trick of Barrett’s, where you open up a gateway through the trees?’

  Nott sighed. ‘No, we cannot. But Karia can.’

  All eyes turned to the small girl, who immediately hid behind Martil’s leg.

  ‘No! She is not strong enough to hold open a gateway for so long!’ Martil growled. ‘I will not allow her to be used like that!’

  Nott smiled gently. ‘I know. But she can do it—for a few of us. Most of the priests, priestesses, Rallorans and servants in this room can hide in the city overnight and then slip out of the capital over the next few days.’ Nott turned to the priests and priestesses. ‘By staying at inns, and not wearing robes, you will be able to escape this city. Once out, here is your duty: Head for your parishes and spread the word about the evil that has taken root here. Encourage the people to join the rebellion. Bishop Milly and I will be in the north, at Sendric. Contact us there and we will bring help. There is a Fearpriest loose in this country—and unless he is stopped quickly, a wave of evil such as we have not even dreamed about will engulf our people. Get clothes out of the storerooms, equip yourselves with funds and hide yourselves in the city before the alarm is raised. Martil, myself, Milly, Tiera and Sergeant Kesbury: Karia will be able to get us out of the city and at least partway towards the north. That is my decision; I ask you to hold to it. We cannot afford to wait any longer. Go now, and go with Aroaril.’

  Martil ensured his men all had some gold, thanks to the Archbishop’s funds, and promised to see them back at the passes. The city would be sealed tight for the next day but this was the capital—soon they would have to relax the restrictions and it should be easy enough to get out.

  He doubted they would see many of the servant girls again. They were each given two years’ wages in gold and most of them were almost overcome with shock to see so much money. They all embraced Bishop Milly before leaving, however. Martil did wonder why Tiera was to stay with them but there was no chance to ask Nott why. The new Archbishop was embracing the priests and priestesses as they came to see him dressed in a variety of tunics and dresses, and giving them final instructions.

  The chapter house emptied swiftly, until it was just the six of them.

  ‘To the park, then!’ Nott waved his new flock on.

  And then the alarm horns began to sound, first one, then more, until they were blaring out all over the capital.

  12

  Barrett slowly came to consciousness as a gentle hand helped lift his head up, and someone trickled water into his parched mouth. He wanted to sit up but he felt as weak as a kitten. He could barely summon the strength to swallow the water. It was deliciously cool and soothing and he luxuriated in several mouthfuls before he felt able to speak. Whoever was feeding him was being both patient and caring, and he knew who it was.

  ‘Merren?’ he croaked.

  ‘The Queen is busy. But I will call her over when you have eaten something,’ a strangely familiar voice said, one Barrett could not place immediately. With a sinking feeling, he realised it was the bard, Romon. Still, the Queen wanted to see him once he had eaten. That was a good sign. He was exhausted but the thought of her was a bright flame within him. He opened his eyes to see he was lying in a crude shelter, roofed with sticks and leaves, only just big enough for a man to sit upright inside.

  ‘What have we got to eat?’ he asked. ‘And where are we?’

&n
bsp; ‘We got some supplies from a nearby village. Nobody knows we are here, for the moment, and the Queen wants to keep it that way, at least until you are well enough to take us all back north. So for the sake of all of us, eat up.’

  Barrett was famished but did not have the strength to feed himself. Romon fed him a simple stew, washing it down with plenty of water. Barrett ate and ate, not stopping until his stomach was actually pushing against his belt.

  ‘That was supposed to be my dinner as well, but at least it went in a good cause,’ Romon said wryly.

  Barrett ignored him. ‘Now I’ve eaten, where is Merren?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘She’s just talking to Sendric and Rocus. They were both hurt but seem to be recovering now,’ Romon said flatly.

  ‘Can you go and get her?’

  Romon shrugged. At least he could get away from this ungrateful wizard and perhaps even grab some dinner for himself. ‘I’ll see if she’s free,’ he said.

  Barrett eagerly watched him go and arranged himself carefully, so he would look like a wounded warrior. He could feel the strength slowly returning to his legs but he guessed it would be a day or two before he was ready to make the trip home. Plenty of time for Merren to show how grateful she was. Besides, she had told him she loved him! He had put his life on the line for her, showed her how valuable he was, and now she had realised her true feelings for him! All his favourite daydreams came rushing back and he ran through them. He was so lost in these happy thoughts that he started almost guiltily when Merren ducked into the low shelter.

  Merren had quailed inwardly when Romon told her Barrett was awake, had eaten and was asking for her. She had been occupied with making this little camp as secure as possible. Thanks to Jaret and Wilsen, they had an old horse as well as plenty of supplies. Rocus and Sendric were just about back on their feet and she was confident they would be able to wait here for a day or two longer without fear of being discovered.

  But looming over all these concerns was the issue of what she had said to Barrett, how she had driven him beyond his limits so they could escape. That needed a reckoning. While she had been quick to take charge of these men, she found herself trying to find an excuse not to go and hurt Barrett. For that is what she had to do. He would be impossible otherwise. But how would it affect him? Would he go so far as to leave her service?