The Captive Twin

by R. J. Francis

  They soon arrived at the relocated field hospital. Elaina got to work on the wounded.

  Kotaret leaned over Sylvia’s cot and woke her to say goodbye—for the moment. “Princess Alessa has asked me for a favor,” he told Sylvia. “And, after that, I’m needed at the front.”

  “Noo,” Sylvia said plaintively. Her wounds had been repaired by a mender, but the wound sites still itched horribly.

  She climbed off her cot with his help, and she stood and embraced him tightly. She couldn’t hold back her tears. Sylvia and Kotaret were not officially a couple, but they were the closest thing to it now. He had hardly left her side since their escape from the castle.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Will you stay back from the fighting?” Sylvia asked. “You’re not a soldier.”

  “I can’t promise to stay back.” His gorgeous blue eyes were getting soggy too. “I don’t know exactly what they have planned for me.”

  “I still need you,” she said. “You know that. You don’t have my permission to die.”

  He slipped his fingers beneath her straight black hair and caressed the back of her neck. Her entire body tingled on feeling his touch.

  He knew she was more than ready for their first kiss. He didn’t want to lift her spirits too high, though, because then they would have farther to fall if he did die. He just squeezed her hands, and said: “I’ll see you again soon.”

  As Kotaret turned and left, Sylvia sighed deeply, wondering how she was going to get through the next day, and the rest of her life, should it have to be without him.

  “Your Majesty.”

  “Lazlo, what’s your report?”

  “The enemy has surged southward across the Kaela. I’ve lost half my men. Where’s my support?”

  “What about the islanders?” Radovan asked.

  “Three are dead. The armies are fiercely protecting the others.”

  “I don’t want to hear ‘three.’ You must get them all, at any cost.”

  “It may cost all my men to satisfy your thirst for these savages’ blood.”

  “The men you command are mine, not yours,” said Radovan. “You would do well to remember that.”

  “Who are you sending to reinforce us? The sixth? The third? Where’s the navy?”

  “I can’t give particulars. This channel has been compromised,” said Radovan.

  “So you can’t tell me when or even where our reinforcements will turn up?”

  “You still command hundreds. Surely that’s plenty to dispose of two dozen islanders.”

  “No,” Lazlo said, but he said no more. If the channel was indeed compromised, he didn’t want to confirm how stretched his forces had become. He was so furious at his king, he was shaking.

  “Lazlo?” Radovan shouted. “Dammit, man, of course I’m sending reinforcements. Until they arrive, show me what you can do with what you have.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Leaving Commander Jine in charge, Lazlo made his way to the castle’s Glass Gardens to think. There he sat in darkness at the glass table with his head in his hands. With the environmental systems shut down, the place was silent and chokingly humid, smelling strongly of rich dirt. He felt as if he were buried alive.

  Lazlo considered himself a decent strategist; he also understood the minds of men, having seen inside many first hand. But he could not figure out what the king was up to, nor could he believe that his eccentric brother—the man everyone called “the tutor”—would let the king pay such a heavy price to see the end of the hated Celmareans. There had to be more to the plan than he was being let in on.

  So he turned his thoughts to what he should do next. Should he remain loyal and trust that his brother and Radovan had a higher purpose in mind? Or should he look after himself?

  “Lazlo,” Nastasha said. “General Lazlo. That’s who Radovan’s put in charge of this campaign. Some of the prisoners Elaina cured have given us everything they know. Lazlo has been a general less than a year. Apparently he skipped a number of ranks and was installed at the king’s request. This could work to our advantage—this Lazlo may lack experience.”

  “Do we know where in the castle he’s set up?” Jaimin asked.

  “Our scouts have spotted communications gear on the roof of the west wing. He’s probably in there.”

  “That bastard better not have desecrated my room,” Jaimin said. “I’ll lead the troops. I know the west wing the best.”

  “We’ve worked too hard to keep you safe, Jaimin,” Nastasha told him. “We’ve come this far; let us secure the castle before you go in.”

  “I feel I’ve done nothing in this battle.”

  “You’ve done plenty. Your status as leader of your country is by inheritance. You don’t need to prove yourself by charging into combat. We owe much of our success to your swords, and your bringing Elaina and her talents into our court, and keeping her safe. Don’t be so eager to die.”

  “Please reconsider.”

  “Well, you’re the prince,” she said, “and ultimately it’s up to you. But, as your advisor, I’m advising against it. And, as your best friend, I’m begging you not to risk it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  T oward dusk, an experienced Arran captain approached General Valeriy. After a salute, the captain spoke: “General, a private message from Commander Wells.”

  “Wells? What’s going on up there?” Valeriy pulled the captain close, so they wouldn’t be overheard by the officers darting around the command camp.

  “There’s a rumor among the prisoners that the girl called Elaina is actually Eleonora, the Princess of Destauria. Wells thought you would want to know. And we confiscated this from one of the prisoners.” He handed Valeriy a crumpled portrait of Princess Eleonora.

  “You come to me with a prisoner’s rumor?” Valeriy asked.

  “Actually, sir, there have been whispers among our ranks as well.”

  “Please assure your whispering ranks that Her Majesty and I are confident of the identity of the young lady to whom your prince is engaged. Let the prisoners gossip all they want, but if one of our men even opens his mouth to question whether Princess Elaina is who she says she is, he will be charged with treason.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Valeriy put his arm around the captain and held the portrait out before them. “I do see the resemblance, don’t you?” he said.

  “Not at all, sir,” said the captain.

  “Good man.” Valeriy smacked the captain heartily on the shoulder, balled up the portrait, and tossed it into a nearby campfire. The captain saluted, and then left. Another soldier came over and handed Valeriy a headset. “Admiral Sherman for you,” said the soldier.

  “Sherman!” Over the din of the war, Valeriy had grown accustomed to speaking louder than normal into the communicator. “Sherman, do we have our beaches back?” Garbled, tinny mumbling from the other end… Valeriy laughed. “Ha! That’s what I like to hear. Well, fire at will, my friend, and stay out of the water.”

  Just then: Bafwoom! An explosion far to the south rattled the air and jiggled the ground. Valeriy quickly switched the channel on his communicator. “Anyone know what that was?” he asked. Someone on the other end answered. Those without headsets looked questioningly at the general.

  Just to the northeast, Nastasha was monitoring the same frequency. “Jaimin,” she told the prince beside her, “the Destaurians just collapsed the larger tunnel leading into the castle. We shall have to hope the second one wasn’t damaged.”

  “Our men are that close already?” Jaimin asked.

  “Apparently so,” Nastasha said. “It sounds like some of the Destaurian units are in full retreat.”

  “This General Lazlo—does he really think he can hold out in the castle, or will he flee?” Jaimin asked.

  “Hard to say,” Nastasha said.

  “Any word on the townspeople?” Jaimin asked.

  “Still in hiding, I hop
e.”

  “I hear Talidale wields a wicked broadsword.”

  “Oh yes, they have their strengths,” Nastasha said. “And I’ve seen their spirit. But they should focus on defending their families, and leave the offensive to us. We’ve had reports of enemy troops trying to hide in the barns and homes northwest of the castle. These next few hours will be critical. If we can get…”

  “Damn!” Jaimin yelled.

  “What?”

  “My mother’s been hit!” Elaina! Help her! Jaimin scrambled up to the top of a mound where he could see the field hospital not far away. He saw Elaina take off running toward Alethea’s location on the front lines.

  “Guards, keep up!” Nastasha yelled into her communicator. Jaimin was a good sprinter, and even in his heavy armor he outpaced Nastasha, following a path of beaten-down brush. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Nastasha called out.

  “She thought she was far enough back,” Jaimin yelled.

  “That wasn’t the question. Jaimin—right—go right!” Jaimin hopped over a frozen brook, slipped sideways, and fell on his hip on the rocks and snow. He got back up and found the trail Nastasha had spotted. Jaimin’s path converged with Elaina’s; soon they met up and were running side-by-side.

  An explosive sphere burst on the trail right in front of them, and the royal couple hopped over the smoking crater as if the blast hadn’t happened. Elaina landed wrong and stumbled. “Ow, ow,” she cried, but she picked herself up and kept going, limping, but still in what might pass for a run.

  “What did you do?” Jaimin asked.

  “Just landed wrong. It’s fine.” They slowed when they spotted Queen Alethea under a cluster of men kneeling with their shields up.

  Jaimin, Elaina, be careful! came the thought from Alethea. We’re still under attack!

  A crossbow bolt whizzed between Jaimin and Elaina, and then another. The couple immediately dropped to the ground. Their assigned guards caught up and moved in front of them, raising their shields, and all neared the queen. Nastasha, more guards, and more troops caught up next.

  Nastasha would have scolded Jaimin for running right up to the battle front with Elaina, but when she saw Alethea laying there in the snow, curled in a fetal position, she knew Elaina might be the only hope for the queen. Patches of the queen’s armor had been blown off. Her side was exposed and dripping with blood. Alethea looked up at Jaimin with a smile on her face, but Jaimin could feel that she was in incredible agony, and that her grip on consciousness was tenuous. Elaina went to work immediately.

  “Your mother is so proud of you,” Alethea whispered to Elaina.

  “You will see her again, but not today,” Elaina said. “Today we need you with us.”

  Elaina welcomed the life-giving energy of the divine spirit into the physical world and locked spirits with the queen. Warmth. Light. Elaina sensed that Alethea’s pelvis had been shattered, and that she had lost a lot of blood. In the radiant glow, all of the queen’s pieces were drawn back into place.

  But still more explosives were being lobbed in their direction.

  Suddenly, Elaina looked up, with her own eyes glowing white with glory. An incendiary sphere was trickling down through the branches high above them. Reaching out with her mind, she blindly manipulated the pressures of the liquid fuels within the device, which broke the detonator mechanism. The sphere exploded with a flash in the tree above.

  Thinking quickly, Alethea whipped up a shield of snow from the ground. The blast turned the shield to mist, but nobody was harmed. Then: whoomp! whoomp! whoomp! Three more explosions nearby, none close enough to do damage, but too close nonetheless.

  The enemies seemed to realize how valuable their targets were, and were throwing everything they had at them.

  Elaina stood, still aglow with the presence of the divine, and enraged by the unrelenting rain of fire and metal. Under the same setting sun, her brothers were dying. Audicians, Arrans, Destaurians…they were all her brothers. If only she could reason with them all!

  “It’s such a waste,” Elaina declared. “If I could just touch them, I could show them the wonder of life.”

  “I don’t know why so many have to die,” said the queen. “It can only be the divine will.”

  “How could it be?” Elaina cried. Yet another bomblet whizzed in and bounced down from the burning branches above. Elaina reached up and caught the metal orb in her fingers.

  Everyone froze.

  All eyes were fixed on the shiny ball she held, which they knew could detonate in her face at any moment.

  As they watched, a web of water particles condensed under the explosive and lifted it upward into the air. Elaina propelled the bomblet up through the trees, faster and faster, until it shot high above the forest.

  Boomp! It detonated. Brilliant drops of fuel gel burst out in all directions. With her mind, Elaina wrapped the burning drops with water vapor, twisting them as they fell and snuffing them out. This strangely beautiful display caught the attention of all of the combatants who could see it, and there was a pause in the fighting long enough for Elaina, the queen, and those with them to retreat to safety.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  T he allies were winning every battle now. As night set in, the Destaurians retreated southward at a faster pace.

  There were still a few Destaurian commanders, and even rogue soldiers, who were intent on fighting to the death, but many more surrendered. They threw down their weapons and knelt, faces to the ground, with their trembling hands cupping the backs of their heads and their fingers interlaced.

  General Lazlo ordered the castle’s drawbridge closed. He had decided to make a stand. He knew no other way.

  A few Destaurian fighters in the city saw the bridge going up, and rushed toward the castle and its relative safety, leaping over the gap to catch the bridge as it ascended. They got in, wrestled with those controlling the bridge’s mechanism, and lowered the bridge once more, which allowed a dozen more terrified troops to enter the castle compound. Soon the bridge was being raised again. Three Destaurians jumped and caught the edge, but they couldn’t summon the strength to pull themselves up. They clung desperately to the mass of cold, splintery wood it as it lifted them high above the moat. Those in the gatehouse feared that the hands of their dangling comrades would be crushed.

  “Cowards!” came a cry from the south tower. It was Lazlo himself. “Let go and fight!”

  “Please, sir,” one of the men hanging on begged. “Please! Let us in!”

  Lazlo picked up a longbow, drew back its string, and launched an arrow into the dangling man’s shoulder. He dropped into the moat. The other two let go in fear, tumbling into the icy water.

  Lazlo descended the gatehouse stairs to the castle courtyard, and ordered those who had spontaneously decided to seek sanctuary in the castle to form a line and kneel. Some of them wept, expecting an arrow through the head.

  Onlookers fell silent as the general walked behind the line of kneeling soldiers and addressed them: “Your orders were clear. You were to engage the enemy. Instead I find you here, shivering with fear.” He put his mouth up to the ear of a young soldier, who nearly soiled his pants when Lazlo began speaking again: “Fear does not win battles, young ones. Fear leads to defeat. I will share with you my resolve, and you will defend us with your lives.”

  He circled around to the front of the line and spoke to each man in turn, grabbing each soldier’s chin, peering into his soul, and delivering a simple message: “Defend me with your life.” To them, it appeared the message had been spoken by a radiant red mask that briefly covered Lazlo’s face.

  He raised his hand and they all stood up in perfect unison.

  “Commander,” Lazlo said to one of his officers, “do something useful with these worms.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the commander.

  Lazlo left the courtyard quickly by way of its northern doors. As he was heading back upstairs to the west wing, he heard successive explosions just ou
tside the castle walls.

  A Destaurian sentinel on the northern wall walk had gotten a taste of an Arran arrow as it pierced his soft palate and cut through to his head’s core. His fellow soldiers had responded by launching a full volley of explosives into the northern woods.

  Soon, another arrow struck a Destaurian loading a cannon. The intrepid Arran and Audician archers were climbing trees to get better shots. Lazlo’s troops could no longer operate freely atop the walls.

  The battle to take back the Arran castle had begun.

  A little further north, in the overgrown tangles of the wood, the Arrans had located the entrance to the second secret tunnel that led into the castle.

  Two soldiers reported to Nastasha and Jaimin on the tunnel’s condition: “Your Royal Highness, Your Excellency,” one said, “The roof is partially collapsed in one place. Some dirt has fallen. A blast close by could bring more down, but as of now it’s passable.”

  “Prepare your squads,” Nastasha told them. “We shall head in soon.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  “I’m going to lead them,” Jaimin announced. Nastasha was unwrapping a cloak from around a backpack.

  “Please, Jaimin, you mustn’t,” she begged.

  “I’m to kill Lazlo myself.”

  She cringed. “Is that so? Jaimin, I told you that you don’t have to be a war hero tonight. Just stay alive.” The last few days, with war erupting around her, Nastasha had been rather cold to Jaimin, but now she was using her best friend voice again.

  “It’s not pride, honor, or any of that,” Jaimin explained. “I just foresee that I will be the one to bring him down. I bet it’s Kalmise. I had a vision, and I have such a strong feeling…”

  Nastasha could tell that Jaimin sincerely felt something, but she also knew that Kalmise was deceptive, especially at its earliest stages.

  “I know,” Jaimin said, having read her thoughts, “Kalmise can play tricks, but I can’t ignore it.”

  “He’s a general,” she said. “And you’re…”

  “Don’t tell me I’m just a boy.” Jaimin said.

  “No, you’re not a boy, Jaimin. You’re a clever and capable man. But you’re not ready to face a general.”