‘You did,’ said the beast. ‘The power lay with the possessor, not in the jewel.’
‘But the oracle,’ said the princess.
‘Oracles can be wrong—or inaccurate—or influenced,’ said the beast. ‘The Black Mountain’s late king was deceived by a traitorous oracle.’
‘I am sorry for the sorrows that your family and kingdom have endured,’ said the princess.
‘As am I for yours,’ said the beast.
‘Is the Lord High Chancellor dead then?’ asked the princess.
‘Yes,’ said the beast.
‘Did you kill him?’ asked the princess.
‘Lord Godric and his followers were tried and executed for their treason,’ said the beast. ‘They were given swift deaths, another kindness they had denied to their victims.’
‘I wondered what befell you when you sent me away,’ said the princess. ‘I disliked very much what you asked of me.’
‘I know,’ said the beast. ‘Godric boasted of the unfortunate ambush which had met the party of humans sent from Trasimene to find the one-eyed beast of the Black Mountain. I am sorry about the fate of your men.’
‘One of the knights survived. He was saved by a gargoyle,’ said the princess. ‘Ought I to address you now as your Majesty?’
‘You may address me as Melchior,’ replied the beast. ‘I remain a prince. A coronation is less important than unfinished business.’
‘Involving the jewel?’ asked the princess.
‘Yes, the jewel is important,’ said the beast.
‘How?’ asked the princess.
‘The jewel is the birthstone of the royal family, passing from one generation to the next, possessed by the ruler or the heir to the Black Mountain kingdom. This stone was passed to me by my cousin Balthazar as he lay choking on his own blood from the poisoned lamprey at his wedding feast, the last member of the royal family murdered by Caspar and his scheming henchmen,’ said the beast.
‘Was that when you hid the jewel in the tree?’ asked the princess.
‘Yes. The jewel is enchanted. It only answers to those true and loyal to the kingdom of the Black Mountain. Caspar murdered those he thought obstructed his path to the throne. He did not realise that royal bloodlines did not guarantee him a crown,’ said the beast. ‘He should have consulted a better oracle.’
‘His plan does seem rather poorly thought out,’ said the princess.
‘His ambition overcame his reason,’ said the beast. ‘And he had poor counsellors, each serving their own interests. By the time Caspar understood the truth, I was the only relation he had left who could retrieve the jewel.’
‘Is that why you were kept alive?’ asked the princess.
‘Caspar believed that by possessing the jewel, he would finally have command of the kingdom. He wanted my allegiance and the jewel to justify and legitimise his pretension to the throne. And to silence any doubts, opposition or rebellion,’ said the beast. ‘He was displeased when I failed to oblige.’
‘But you gave the jewel to my keeping,’ exclaimed the princess.
‘Yes,’ said the beast.
‘I was not true or loyal to your kingdom,’ cried the princess. ‘A stranger! A foreigner to—’
‘A mere human girl who managed to find a way into the hidden, magically fortified kingdom of the Black Mountain. A tiny foolhardy thing who ran voluntarily into the arena where all the monsters prowled,’ said the beast.
‘I was born reckless,’ said the princess, repeating a childhood catechism. ‘But you—’
‘The jewel was colourless when I placed it in your hand,’ said the beast. ‘Have you ever seen it change colour?’
‘No,’ said the princess.
‘That is because the jewel recognises other qualities besides loyalty to the kingdom of the Black Mountain,’ said the beast. ‘Qualities such as kindness. Valour. Purity of heart. Caspar could not have ruled the kingdom even if he had found the jewel.’
The beast brought the jewel to his chest. It glowed deeply for a moment, like a heart of black fire, then vanished.
The princess stared in astonishment.
‘It is hidden in a safe place,’ said the beast.
‘Are things put to rights now in your kingdom?’ asked the princess.
‘Unfinished business remains,’ the beast reminded her. ‘But there is less of it since the small trickle of resistance grew into an uprising against the lawless reign. Godric could not silence all the whispers spreading throughout the land about the human girl who felled the great tyrant Caspar with her slingshot.’
‘You lied to me,’ said the princess. ‘I would not have left otherwise.’
‘I know,’ said the beast.
‘How did it all come to pass?’ asked the princess.
‘The late King Eldred was a noble and pacific ruler,’ said the beast. ‘Half score years ago, when emissaries from another human kingdom arrived offering peaceful alliance, the king’s counsellors urged him to accept the treaty and the tributes which came with it. The king had misgivings and remained undecided for a long time. Eventually, he went to consult an oracle. The oracle told the king that peace and prosperity would arise from an alliance between the two kingdoms. So the old king quelled his doubts and accepted the treaty. But Caspar and Godric were among the false counsellors in favour of the treaty. It was they who had brought the foreign emissaries to the Black Mountain, they who had bribed the oracle and later slay her when her usefulness passed. The kingdom suffered for Caspar’s ambition. The kingdoms surrounding the Black Mountain also suffered under his reign. King Eldred would not have allowed such injustices to his neighbours.’
‘From which kingdom did the foreign emissaries come?’ asked the princess.
‘The kingdom of Ossaia,’ replied the beast.
‘I see,’ said the princess. ‘Unfinished business.’
‘Yes,’ said the beast. I am sorry to be the bearer of unhappy tidings.’
The princess was silent, thinking of her dead sisters. Her kind, valiant eldest sister, Princess Alexandra, who had died from an adder’s bite while out on a wild boar hunt. Her brave and clever second sister, Princess Cristabel, who had died from a riding accident, thrown from her horse on an expedition against the rampaging beasts of the Black Mountain. Each sister had, in turn, been courted by Prince Xavier and had died after becoming formally betrothed to the prince. And her sister Cristabel’s loyal mare, Midnight, vanished without a trace, maligned in death as a coward...
‘How did you find out the guilt of the conspirators against your kingdom?’ asked the princess.
‘They were careful in the beginning to hide their treason from the king and those loyal to the king,’ said the beast. ‘Afterwards, when they had slain or imprisoned the loyal and just in the realm, they became careless or simply did not care who witnessed their greed and cruelty. Those who could not be bought, intimidated or coerced, those who stood in their way, were crushed.’
‘Before our kingdoms joined together in defence against the beasts of the Black Mountain, Trasimene and Ossaia were enemies,’ said the princess. ‘It was a truce and alliance born of desperate expedience rather than trust. Even during the alliance, my father, the king, and my sisters heard rumours of hostile incursions against our people but it was always blamed on the beasts of the Black Mountain. My sisters were independent, brought up to be queens of Trasimene in their own right. My father’s uneasiness with the alliance with Ossaia caused him to reinforce the tradition, as a safeguard, that a foreign consort marrying into our royal household could never rule Trasimene as king.’
Princess Beatrice sighed.
‘My sisters both died shortly after becoming betrothed to Prince Xavier,’ said the princess. ‘I believe less and less that their deaths, and those of others, were accidents.’
‘Then you probably come near the truth,’ said the beast.
‘And while my father or I live, Prince Xavier could never be king,’ said Princess Beatrice.
‘Xavier wants your crown, princess,’ said the beast.
‘And perhaps your jewel too,’ said the princess.
‘Yes,’ said the beast. ‘I believe he does.’
‘It is said that you killed and destroyed in indiscriminate and unbridled haste on your way here,’ said the princess.
‘Do you believe all the tales told about me—especially the ones spread by Ossaia?’ asked the beast.
‘Many do,’ said the princess.
‘Such things are slow to change,’ said the beast.
‘You should return to your kingdom,’ said the princess. ‘It is not safe.’
‘I have unfinished business here,’ said the beast.
‘This is not your battle,’ said the princess.
‘Neither was Caspar yours,’ replied the beast.
‘This is different,’ said the princess.
‘Is it?’ said the beast.
‘Prince Xavier leads an entire army,’ said the princess.
‘Look up to the belfry and rooftops, Beatrice,’ said the beast. ‘You are not alone.’
The Final Battle
The sun rose and fell over the kingdom of Trasimene as its people made preparations for the impending battle. Soon, dusk rose again over the capital, turning the fortified citadel walls to sable.
An army, terrible with banners, was ranged on the plain before the walls of the capital of Trasimene. Behind the army ranks stood the bulk of giant war engines, and behind these engines, the walls and watch towers of the capital were lined with soldiers and archers and other machinery of war. All was in readiness for battle.
A shadow flitted over the rising moon.
A massive beast glided down from the night sky on his powerful splayed wings and alighted on the plain before the approach to the capital. He had only one eye but his black gaze was deep and glowed in the darkness as he stood before the city gates and waited.
The portcullis to the capital of Trasimene rose.
Prince Xavier rode out before his men, astride a great destrier, his splendid armour and helmet visor and fine cloak gleaming richly in the moonlight. Prince Xavier’s advisers rode out behind the prince, and the highest ranking generals of Trasimene followed. Behind the generals came the knights and the advance guard of Trasimene and Ossaia. Lord Trecombe stood alongside King Theobald at the head of the archers on the battlements of the city walls. Of the Princess Beatrice, there was no sign. It was said that she had been banished by the king from seeing another battle, and had not been seen since she left for a stroll earlier in the day to the linden grove.
Prince Xavier came forward to face the lone beast.
‘You forget your place, Prince Xavier,’ said the one-eyed beast. ‘Trasimene’s king still lives, as does its princess, despite your best efforts to be rid of them.’
‘I will silence that lying tongue, monster, ere the night is over!’ said Prince Xavier.
‘Caspar the Cruel is no more. His lieutenant, Godric the Pitiless, has fallen,’ said the one-eyed beast. ‘Your secret alliance with the tyrants who betrayed the kingdom of the Black Mountain is dead.’
‘Nobody believes your lies, monster,’ said Prince Xavier.
‘Prince Melchior speaks the truth,’ said Princess Beatrice, removing her helmet and riding out from behind Lord Moncrieffe where she had been waiting in the ranks, attired inconspicuously in the same armour as the other knights of Trasimene.
Prince Xavier stared at the princess.
‘Prince Melchior speaks the truth,’ repeated Princess Beatrice. ‘Prince Melchior had entrusted his kingdom’s jewel to us for safekeeping. The kingdom of the Black Mountain is no longer under the murderous reign of Prince Caspar and Lord Godric, and the jewel has been returned to Prince Melchior, its rightful sovereign. He has come to Trasimene to offer his aid and support against those who would seek to harm and enslave us under a false flag of friendship. Your treachery is known, Prince Xavier. You said once, and rightly, that you were not your father. Your father, King Arnulf, was openly ruthless, villainous and cruel, while you hide behind a goodly facade all the evil that is in your heart. Your deeds have shown you to be worse than your father. But you will answer for your crimes—for your conspiracy with Prince Caspar to conquer Trasimene, for all the plotting and destruction and blood split by your hand and at your direction. If you agree to surrender peacefully, you may be assured of a safe passage to your trial. Prince Melchior has agreed that the same courtesy will be extended to your troops. What say you, prince?’
Prince Xavier raised his sword arm, slowly and deliberately. Up on the rampart, his captain, Renaud, disguised as one of the Trasimenean archers, pushed aside the king’s guard and slayed Lord Trecombe who had stepped into his path to try to stop him, and seized King Theobald, aiming the point of his sword at the king’s throat.
‘Now we can discuss terms,’ said Prince Xavier.
Witnessing their king imperilled, a wave of stunned outrage and anger awakened in the troops loyal to Trasimene. A wary defensiveness answered in rippling countercurrents across Prince Xavier’s men. The allied army fractured in half, bristling and rattling, barely curbed from spilling their indignation: the Trasimenean troops did not dare make a precipitous move, fearing for their king’s life; the Ossaian soldiers awaited the command from their prince, daring not to enrage him with a premature charge.
‘Well, my love?’ said Prince Xavier.
Princess Beatrice held up her bow tightly drawn at the prince, with an arrow pointed at his heart.
Prince Xavier waited, showing no fear. His malice and resentment and power breathed like a predator in the darkness. He did not believe he could lose.
‘Beatrice,’ said Prince Melchior.
The princess looked into the dark glowing eye of the beast, then turned away. A moment later, the arrow flew swiftly out from her bow, arcing high into the air, over the heads of both armies, and straight into Renaud’s heart. Renaud dropped his sword, releasing the king, and clutched at his chest, turning ashen as he crumbled to his feet.
‘There is my answer,’ said the princess.
She then raised her bow straight and high into the air in a signal for her knights to charge, and rode forth to lead the way, sword aimed at Prince Xavier, crying out: ‘For King Theobald! For Trasimene!’
Her army obeyed, surging forward and crashing through the dense masses of the Ossaian troops with a terrible roar.
Above the clamour of the first clash of battle, horrified cries pierced and rose to the sky. Up on the rampart, the dying Renaud had crawled forward on his knees and, with his last expiring breath, pushed King Theobald forward towards the battlements. The king’s guard had rushed to help their king but they were too late. The king had tottered, grasping for a hold on the stone battlements, his hands meeting only empty air, and he had fallen from the citadel wall.
As the cries spread to the thick of battle on the plain and multiplied in distress and despair, a shadow crossed the moon.
The king’s plunge to certain death was halted by a swoosh of wings as Prince Melchior flew up and caught the king and carried him to safety. His flight was followed by the sound of many powerful wings beating the air: the stone gargoyles from the castle and the abbey and the forest had awakened and joined the battle.
The unexpected arrival of the gargoyle allies and the rescue of the king emboldened the regiments of Trasimene, renewing the stoutness of their hearts and the vigour of their attack on the enemy Ossaia.
The battle raged fiercely on. The knights and footsoldiers of Trasimene hacked and plowed diligently through the ranks of the enemy hordes who spared no niceties in meeting their rage. The seething mass of two violent armies swayed back and forth in successive offensives and counter-attacks. Between alternating interludes of arrows and burning projectiles raining from the city walls and formations of unmounted detachments, charging and retreating and unfurling like a rosebud and then swinging around to charge again with the full might of the advancing fla
nks of knights led by Princess Beatrice and her generals, the gargoyles of the Black Mountain swarmed above in the night sky, descending in deadly force, exhaling waves of flame and and scorching all between the ground and air with their fiery breaths, slicing through necks with their scimitar-like talons, and lifting hapless victims up into the air to a great height and dropping them or tearing them to shreds with their clawed feet.
The Trasimenean army pressed hard and the Ossaian forces fell back, confused and cut down in panic by the shifting formations and manoeuvres of the Trasimenean troops coming at them from different directions as if its numbers had doubled in size in the night.
And then, through the cacophony of the battle, came the call of a battle horn, followed by a quaking of the earth and a sight which chilled the blood of the Ossaian troops—the vast hidden forces of Trasimene led by the Lords Peregrine and Falconridge appeared on the moonlit horizon, surrounding the plain, and came thundering towards them.
Before the break of dawn, the tide of the battle turned clearly in the favour of Trasimene and the gargoyles from the Black Mountain. What was left of the Ossaian army crumbled, fled or begged for mercy. Carnage matted the plain and blood soaked deep into the earth.
When the din of battle finally ceased, the victors turned to gather the vanquished, tend to the wounded, and to count and bury the dead.
Prince Xavier was brought before King Theobald. He refused to kneel or to surrender or concede defeat.
‘Your defeat was clear from the moment my daughter unseated you from your horse,’ said King Theobald. ‘The day of reckoning is at hand. Ossaia is no more. You and your followers will nevermore menace these lands.’
Incandescent with hate, blazing with wilful fury, Prince Xavier spat out foul curses—cursing men and gargoyles and heaven and hell and most especially Princess Beatrice—until he was taken away.
King Theobald turned to thank the gargoyle who stood beside him.
‘We owe a great debt to you this day, Prince Melchior,’ said the king. ‘You have shown us what true friendship means.’
The Princess & the Gargoyle Page 11
