Swan Lake

by K. M. Shea

  Yakov and the infantry charged back across the elongated bridge in organized ranks, careful not to teeter too close to the sides.

  “Aim for their throats and bellies!” Yakov shouted when his men finally reached the shore again.

  One of the wyverns shuffled around to face them; the others were too occupied with the archers.

  The first of the infantry reached it—dodging the beast’s tail and wings. They hacked at the wyvern’s belly as the castle doors were flung open so hard, their hinges creaked.

  Rothbart strolled out of his castle, his fists encased with red magic. He marched down the bridge, stopping to linger at the point where it met the beach. He was silent as he scanned the battlefield. He extended a finger and pointed at Yakov—who was spearheading an attack against a wyvern—and moved his lips.

  “He’s going to use his magic!” Odile shouted—her voice barely audible over the din of the battle.

  Red magic struck Yakov like a wave of lava, tossing him from his horse. The animal fled—nearly trampling the prince—and a wyvern crept towards him. Ropy, green drool hung from its open mouth. It leered over him, about to pounce.

  Alexsei leaped free of the forest, a crossbow clutched in his hands. “Yakov!” He lined up a shot and hit the creature in the muzzle—though he missed its gaping jaws.

  The wyvern snapped, but Yakov used the moment to roll to his feet.

  “No wonder she likes you.” Rothbart grew a glob of his bitter-red magic between his hands. Alexsei didn’t know whom Rothbart was talking to—himself or Yakov—but the sorcerer didn’t seem at all bothered by their cooperation, and concentrated instead on nursing his magic.

  An archer tried to shoot Rothbart, but his magic blocked it and consumed the arrow like a fire.

  Rothbart gestured up, shooting the glob of magic into the air. It expanded as it arced through the air, turning into a crackling wall. It crashed into the forest, planted directly behind the archers, and started creeping towards them. Whatever it touched, it charred.

  “Don’t let it touch you,” Rothbart advised with a wry chuckle. “It’s a defense spell I’m particularly proud of. One brush, and you’ll be as crispy as toast.”

  The spell downed several trees and bushes, consuming them with a flash.

  “Archers, out of the forest. Box the wyverns in!” Alexsei shouted. In an instant, a wave of Rothbart’s red magic struck him, throwing him into the forest and pinning him there.

  “Alexsei!” Yakov roared and charged towards Rothbart.

  Rothbart flicked his fingers like Yakov was a pesky fly, and a wave of magic threw him against a wyvern.

  Alexsei choked. Sweat trickled down his back as the magic pushed so heavily against him he couldn’t breathe. “Shoot the sorcerer!”

  Odile scrambled up to him, falling on her knees. She tried pulling on the magic—which was thick and sticky like tree sap—but couldn’t dislodge it.

  Archers rained arrows down on Rothbart, but his magic blocked it all. The wall of consuming fire magic flickered and faded, but the spell holding Alexsei in place remained.

  His ears started ringing, and he heard a strange whistling noise. Next to him, Odile perked, and hope burned in her eyes. “Could it be?” she whispered as the whistle moved up and down the shoreline.

  Alexsei’s chest burned, and he thought his vision was going when he saw blurs of white streak out of the forest. Four of them descended upon Rothbart, rushing the sorcerer before he had a chance to brandish his magic at them. They struck out with weapons—which Rothbart’s magic field deflected with a crackle—but one of them snuck behind the sorcerer and head-butted him.

  Rothbart roared, and the magic holding Alexsei in place shattered.

  Alexsei fell to his knees and coughed. And then, he heard the most beautiful voice in the world shout. “Lake Guard, Far Flung Flock—on the wyverns! Steadfast Guard, be ready to switch!”

  The Black Swan Smugglers glowed in their white apparel as they zipped up and down the lake. Odette was in the center of them, her hair spilling over her shoulders and a wild smile spread across her lips.

  Alexsei coughed—his lungs and throat were too raw to speak—but he wanted to sing for joy. Odette had come.

  Odette snatched up two daggers and threw them at a wyvern—drawing its attention from the injured archer it loomed over. When it leered at her, Kira and Gala raised their crossbows and took aim.

  Iosif and Feofan slipped in front of Odette. “We’ll cover them, Swan Queen!” Feofan shouted.

  Odette gave them a withering glare. “That is not at all reassuring. You’re the two most seriously injured in our party!”

  Iosif puffed out his chest. “It’s just a sprained wrist.”

  Odette growled and considered dragging the teenager back to the forest herself.

  “Go. Steadfast Guard needs your help with Rothbart,” Kira said. She loaded her crossbow with a business-like efficiency that made Odette proud.

  Odette exchanged a nod with her, then she turned away—leaving them to face the wyvern as some of Alexsei’s archers rallied behind them.

  “Swan Queen!”

  When Odette heard Gleb’s voice, she swore colorfully and searched for the older man among the chaos of the battle. He stood at the edge of the forest, standing behind several archers—not that it mattered. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the battle!

  Gleb ignored her glower and threw a wooden object at her. “You’ll need this!”

  Odette caught it, her forehead wrinkling. It was a wooden flute. She stared at it in puzzlement and then did a second survey of the battlefield. This time she caught sight of Odile, crouched near Alexsei.

  Rothbart roared and sent two of the smugglers who were attacking him tumbling head over heels. Odette grimaced, but raced towards Alexsei and Odile.

  “Odile—here!” She handed off the wooden flute, allowing herself to glance at Alexsei for the barest moment to assure herself that he wasn’t grievously injured.

  A nasty cut had opened on his cheek, and his clothes were spattered with black-edged holes—probably from wyvern spit—but his smile was as bright and warm as ever.

  She wanted to say something to him, but Odile’s sputters interrupted her. “Odette—I can’t—those are wyverns! My magic won’t be able to touch them!”

  Odette set her hands on the slender girl’s shoulders. “It can. You’re stronger than you—or Rothbart—will admit.”

  “But, I can’t—”

  “As long as you say you can’t, you won’t.” Odette said. “I need you to do this, Odile. Just woo one of them. Will you do it?”

  Odile gazed at the flute as if it might bite her, furrowing her brow. “I’ll try.” She set her shoulders and scrambled towards the roaring wyverns.

  The lake was bathed in red light as Rothbart threw his magic at one of the smugglers. He had retreated down the bridge, slinking backwards as the smugglers attacked him. Odette slipped several daggers from her bandolier and clenched them between her fingers, preparing to face the evil sorcerer.

  “Odette.” Alexsei’s scratchy voice drew her attention, almost against her will.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for coming back.” He hesitated—unusual for the warm prince. “You should know, I—”

  Rothbart threw all four smugglers away from him with a surge of magic—tossing two of them into Swan Lake.

  Odette cursed and flipped a dagger. “We’ll have to talk after the battle.”

  “But—”

  Rothbart, now unfettered, strode down the bridge, making for his castle with his face twisted in an angry sneer.

  “After—I promise.” She bolted and glanced at the sky—which was starting to turn pink.

  Dawn is coming.

  Her boots thudded on the wooden bridge as she ran to catch up with Rothbart. He spun to face her. She threw three daggers at his knee joints, making him retreat as she swooped in. “Steadfast—switch out!” she shouted. Behind her, the wyvern
s hissed and spat, and the first few trembling notes of a song played on a wooden flute began.

  Rothbart scowled at her. “Did you really think you could change anything by coming? All that will happen now is that you will die as well.”

  Odette lunged forward, trying to stab Rothbart in the side. “The inconsistencies in your words are really starting to bother me.”

  “What?” Rothbart roared.

  “You’ve said you’ll kill me how many times now? Yet here I stand.”

  He threw a bolt of magic at her; she ducked. It went over her head and hit the floor of the bridge, making the structure shake.

  “You don’t seem to understand something, my pet,” Rothbart growled. “As long as I live, everything you love will be destroyed. Your prince, your friends—I will end it all.”

  Odette glared at him and, from her crouch, tried slashing at his knee. She got one dagger past his knee-guard, slicing at his kneecap.

  Rothbart snarled and grabbed her by her hair, channeling magic straight into her. Her vision went white as pain wracked her body. He threw her backwards, and she rolled across the bridge, opening several scrapes.

  Rothbart smiled savagely. “Isn’t that why you came back? To stop me?” He laughed mockingly.

  Odette staggered to her feet and risked a glance over her shoulder.

  Of the four wyverns, it looked like the smugglers and soldiers working together managed to take down one. Two of the remaining three fought—growing more confident in their abilities. They spat at soldiers, slashed at smugglers with their wings, and used their tails like battering rams.

  The last wyvern had, most frightening of all, taken flight again. It dove in a headline spiral towards Odile, who was bravely playing on her flute. At the last moment, it unfurled its wings and landed feet first with an impact so jarring it knocked her to the ground.

  Odile shook, and five smugglers rushed to help her, but before they could reach her, another wyvern whipped its tail at her.

  Shockingly, the newly landed wyvern thrust its arm-like wings in front of itself—shielding Odile. It leaned over her and growled at the other wyvern, its eyes glowing.

  Odette held her breath, daring to hope. Did it work?

  When Kozlovkan archers renewed their attack on the tail-whipping beast, it staggered towards them, hissing in anger.

  The wyvern that had shielded Odile folded its wing membranes and leaned forward on the arm-like ridge of its wing. It growled in its throat and twitched its tail, but as Odile stood shakily —close enough that she could brush the ridges of its nostrils—and started playing on her flute again, it sighed.

  Odette was light-headed in her relief. She did it! Odile tamed a wyvern!

  She saw red out of the corner of her eye and threw herself into a side roll to avoid the bolt of magic Rothbart threw at her.

  He glanced at his daughter and snorted. “Tch. Of course, that useless girl finds the strength she should have always possessed when I no longer have any use for it. No matter.” He raised his hand and pointed at Odile.

  Odette grabbed a dagger and threw it at his face, then she darted in and slammed her fist into the base of his belly—right where his chestplate cut off. “You would hurt your own daughter?”

  “Of course.” He laughed and took a step backwards. “I want to hurt everyone.”

  He’s always been mad, but he’s never been filled with this kind of hate! What happened?

  Rothbart backhanded her with a fist laced in his magic. It sent her flying, but she recovered and landed on her feet. She clenched her jaw to smother a yelp.

  His magic crackled around his fist as he stepped closer. Suddenly, he cursed and raised a barrier of magic—seconds before an arrow nearly struck him.

  “Odette!” Yakov shouted. He, Alexsei, and Nadia stood at the mouth of the bridge. Yakov reloaded his crossbow. “Back away from her, you fiend!”

  Rothbart’s eyes gleamed. “Won’t you try and stop me, little prince?”

  The Imperial Prince snarled, but it was Odette who struck out at Rothbart, flinging a dagger at him.

  Barely a moment passed, and Nadia and Alexsei were at Odette’s side. Nadia brandished her spear, whipping it through the air and stabbing it at Rothbart.

  The sorcerer countered her strikes with his barrier magic. Then, he jabbed at her stomach with an angry red bolt, throwing her with such force, the bridge shook from the impact she made when she hit the ground.

  Yakov shot at Rothbart—but once again, the sorcerer blocked it. While Rothbart raised his defense magic, Alexsei darted in, thrusting his sword at Rothbart’s right shoulder.

  Rothbart sidestepped the attack and chopped down on Alexsei’s back, sending him to his knees.

  Diving into a roll, Odette snatched up two daggers that hadn’t hit their mark and flung them at Rothbart. He took a step backwards—retreating towards his castle again—and threw a bolt of magic at her.

  She lunged forward to avoid it but then realized she had miscalculated and would get hit with the worst of it. She braced for impact, but Nadia darted in front of her.

  The solemn smuggler screamed when the magic hit her. She sagged to her knees. Blood leaked from her nose, and she collapsed, unconscious.

  “Nadia!” Odette shouted.

  “No, Odette—watch out!” Alexsei shouted as Rothbart extended his arm.

  Alexsei struck the sorcerer’s side with his sword. His blade dug into the hole in Rothbart’s armor that Yakov had opened up at the ball in Tsona.

  Rothbart roared and grabbed Alexsei by the throat. Alexsei writhed as the sorcerer poured his dark magic into him. The air reeked of burnt flesh, but Alexsei didn’t scream.

  “Alexsei!” Odette threw her remaining daggers at Rothbart, but his magic deflected them.

  It wasn’t until Yakov shot him with a crossbow bolt—so narrowly missing his head, he grazed his ear—that Rothbart released Alexsei.

  Alexsei fell to the ground and groaned. His fingers twitched, and his eyes struggled to remain open.

  “That’s enough out of you, Imperial Prince,” Rothbart snarled. He threw his magic like a javelin.

  Yakov dodged it as he loaded his crossbow and shot off another bolt. Rothbart burned it up with his magic before it could reach him.

  Then he gestured at Yakov and spoke a black, booming word.

  Red magic gathered around Yakov’s throat. The prince dropped his crossbow and clamped his hands to the collar of magic, gasping and choking.

  Rothbart wiped off his forehead and smiled sickeningly at Odette. “You see? I’m just playing with you. I could kill every person here, and I will, if you don’t stop me, Odette.”

  Her heart pounded in her throat, and her thoughts poured over her in chaotic, rapid-like waves. I’m out of daggers. I can call more smugglers, but it won’t work. If he can dispatch us this easily, he really is playing with us.

  Though the battle was grimmer than ever, Odette clenched her teeth and pushed her shoulders back. But I can’t give up here. I can’t let Alexsei, Yakov, Nadia, and all my companions die. I’ll have to kill him.

  Rothbart motioned for Odette to draw closer to him. “That’s a nice look you have in your eyes. Won’t you try your luck with me again, my pet?”

  Odette took one slow step towards him.

  Rothbart rolled his eyes. “Quickly, or your little prince and friends will suffer.” He kicked Alexsei in the ribs, drawing a grunt from the fallen prince.

  Nadia was still out of it, and Yakov was collapsed on his knees and drawing shallow breaths.

  Odette was on her own.

  Rothbart opened his mouth and gestured at Alexsei—all the encouragement she needed. She zipped forward and tackled Rothbart.

  He shoved her away, but the poorly executed attack at least brought her close enough to snatch up two of the daggers she had previously thrown at him.

  No longer weaponless, Odette adopted a pattern of jabbing and dodging. She wasn’t able to strike where she wanted—hi
s side where first Yakov and then Alexsei had injured him—because he concentrated his magic there.

  If a weapon won’t work, what other way can I end this?

  Rothbart retreated several steps, taking him closer to his castle.

  Unease prickled at the soles of her feet. The sky was almost completely pink now. In just a few minutes the sun would rise. She thrust a dagger at him. He grabbed her wrist and dug his thumb into the tendons until she let it go.

  Odette tried to nail him in the neck with her other dagger, but he kicked her backwards.

  He was just a short distance from his castle, now. He could retreat inside at any moment—leaving Yakov gasping and Alexsei barely conscious—and the smugglers would turn into swans.

  Odette glanced over her shoulder.

  The soldiers had taken down another wyvern, leaving only one of the evil creatures free. The one Odile held under her sway stood off to the side with her.

  They’ll finish it, but not before I turn into a swan. “Kozlovka, to the princes—” she started to shout, but Rothbart nailed her in the windpipe with the edge of his palm.

  “Come now, Odette. Are you giving up? That’s too bad. I’ll have to kill your little prince.”

  Odette—coughing—glanced at Yakov. The Imperial Prince was on his knees and wheezing, but could still breathe—barely.

  “Oh no, not that one. I mean the one you love,” Rothbart chuckled.

  Terror hit her like a wall when she realized, he knows! “No!” Odette screamed as Rothbart threw a bolt of magic at Alexsei—making him shout in pain.

  Odette kicked at Rothbart’s side with tears in her eyes.

  He caught her foot and laughed. “Come now; you’re not even trying anymore.”

  He looked past Odette—at Alexsei—and panic bubbled in Odette’s mind. The lake turned orange—reflecting the light of sky—and an idea clicked into place.

  Odette looked from Rothbart—in his flashy armor—to the lake. The bridge spanned one of the deepest parts of the lake as the bottom dropped off drastically around Rothbart’s castle.

  If I could… Odette heard Alexsei choke behind her, and she almost trembled with the strength of her resolve. I have to.