Teo deflected a pike thrust, then dispatched the attacker with a backhanded slash. Another blow banged off his helmet, but the steel held firm, and Teo whirled in the saddle to club his assailant with the head of his ax. The pikeman fell to his knees, and Teo rode him down.
At last he broke free of the melee. He had been striving to reach the High Priestess, but the battle was raging in the middle of the field, so Teo had to fight his way through. Now, having cleared the last of the enemy’s ranks, he had a straight run to the Citadel’s gate. Perhaps the priestess could be defeated before she could use her war machine.
Teo examined the strange device as he approached. The biggest part of it was a copper cylinder like a vat used in a brewery, with hoses and conduits snaking across its surface. The machine rested near a little guard post at the end of the causeway that spanned the Citadel’s moat. A snoutlike nozzle protruded from the cylinder, pointing toward the battlefield. The whole contraption rested in a transport wagon.
The foehn winds blew down the Maiden’s Valley into Teo’s face as he neared the High Priestess. She did not see him, for she was leading a bay stallion by the reins. Something bright-colored dragged from the captured horse. Teo looked more closely.
A blonde woman . . .
With a white blouse . . . a black bodice . . . a scarlet skirt!
Teo urged his horse into a run once more as he saw his beloved Anastasia in the High Priestess’s grip. “Hang on, Ana! I’m coming!” he yelled, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. Her inert body dangled from the stirrup as she was towed along the ground.
The High Priestess slipped past her war machine and reached the wood-and-earth bridge that led to the Citadel’s barbican. Though the portcullis was up, the double doors were closed, so apparently the priestess did not intend to enter the fortress. Instead she dismounted and released the stallion’s reins. Ana dangled precariously over the moat on the lip of the causeway.
Approaching the machine from behind, the High Priestess grasped a giant lever and heaved it with two hands. A yellow gas began to spew from the nozzle onto the grassy plain in front of the Citadel. Teo swore under his breath. He didn’t know what the substance was, but there was no doubt it was deadly. Perhaps it was poisonous, or suffocating, or maybe a spark would ignite the stuff and consume all the combatants in a scorching conflagration. Whatever the case, one thing was certain: the gas was going to envelop everyone on the battlefield. The High Priestess intended to use the weapon on her own troops as well as her enemies.
Teo galloped toward the end of the causeway at an angle. Though he couldn’t approach head-on because of the lethal fog, he believed his horse could make the jump from the rim of the moat onto the low bridge, putting him behind the machine once he landed. It would be close—but it was his only chance to turn off the gas before it consumed the soldiers.
The High Priestess stood on the causeway, gazing at Teo with her hands on her hips. He gave her a fierce glare and pointed his finger at her as if to say, “Here I come!” She stared back at him, daring him to approach.
Teo’s horse surged toward the edge of the moat. The poisonous gas billowed from the terrible machine. Teo prepared to make the leap, like a steeplechase competition with everything on the line.
The priestess turned away. She unfastened the girth on Ana’s stallion. The saddle slipped off its back. Entangled in horse tack, Ana tumbled into the moat.
No!
Teo jumped.
The heavy weight of the saddle dragged Ana into the murky depths. Leather and pondweed ensnared her. She fought to free herself, but in the dark waters she couldn’t tell which way was up. The feeling of being trapped underwater terrified her, yet thrashing only disoriented her more. The oxygen in her lungs began to run out. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer. Ana stretched out her hands . . . grasping, sinking, dying. Help me! Help me!
A nightmarish creature of the deep grabbed her. Though she fought against the monster, it seized her leg and yanked her ankle, painfully scraping her skin. The creature enfolded Ana in its arms, then pressed her body against itself in a loathsome embrace. Suddenly it shot upward with a powerful burst from its legs. Perhaps it’s making for the surface! Ana kicked her legs too, yearning to break free of the water. Yet the surface refused to come.
Her lungs cried out for relief. Her lips opened involuntarily. Filthy water flooded her mouth, but her throat did not let it pass. Dizziness clouded Ana’s mind as she went limp in the monster’s arms. A bright light sparkled high above. It drew closer . . . closer . . . and then . . .
Air!
Anastasia burst from her watery grave and sucked in the sweet oxygen that banished the suffocating pain. Her chest heaved as she floated like a doll—head thrown back, face to the sky, arms dangling at her sides. She sputtered and coughed, greedily gulping down lungfuls of air. The monster had finally released her.
But where am I?
Her body ached, and her skull throbbed. Ana’s vision gradually came into focus. The wall of the Citadel loomed above her. She spat out a piece of algae and turned her head.
Someone’s there!
The stranger’s gaze was fixed upon her. She yelped and drew back, fearful of his intent—until suddenly, with a soaring spirit, Ana recognized him as the man who had promised he would always come.
“Teo!” she cried, reaching out for him.
He met her as they tread water in the moat, yet his face was grim. “What’s the matter?” she asked. Teo pointed over her shoulder. Swiveling her head, Ana saw the High Priestess had turned on her war machine. The cloud of gas that belched from it had grown thick on the battlefield. Toxic tendrils wafted toward the soldiers, borne along by the winds.
Ana’s jaw dropped. “What is that stuff?”
“I don’t know, but I have to stop it.”
Teo swam to one of the wooden piers of the bridge and hauled himself up. The High Priestess turned and watched him clamber from the moat. She curled her black-nailed finger, beckoning Teo close, and he needed no further encouragement. With his sword in his hand he charged down the causeway toward Astrebril’s favorite queen.
Just before he reached her, the High Priestess rolled a small grenade in his direction. It exploded under Teo’s feet, knocking him off balance at the exact moment the Priestess launched her attack. Ana could see she was skilled with a blade. Though ordinarily she wouldn’t have been a match for Teo, he was stunned by the concussion. The proficient swordswoman pressed him hard.
Yet Teo recovered his composure quickly. His strokes grew strong again as his sword clashed against his adversary’s. He locked blades with her, staring into her eyes, then gave her a hard shove that forced her back. As the priestess staggered away, the tip of Teo’s sword caught her across the chest. She screamed as a red streak appeared on her white gown. Before she could recover, Teo high-kicked her and sent her sprawling. She flew against her heinous machine, knocking its lever into the off position. The hissing of the gas abruptly ceased.
Nevertheless, as the High Priestess regained her footing, triumph gleamed in her eyes. A Vulkainian guard had led the black horse to her. The priestess could mount it and escape the sickly yellow nebula that had already spewed from the machine.
“Look into the face of death, Teofil!” she snarled. “In a moment every soldier in Chiveis will be mortally wounded. They will all die in agony and leave the kingdom to me!”
Ana’s eyes went to the battlefield. What the priestess said was true. The fog was drifting across the plain now. The soldiers had stopped fighting as they saw the poison approach. Though they covered their mouths and backed away, Ana could see they had no chance of escape. While the men fought, the gas had crept close. Now it was almost upon them.
Teo stared at the High Priestess on the bridge. He sought some preventative action he could take, but there was nothing to do. The machine was already turned off, yet the cloud kept advancing, driven along by the wind.
The Vulkainian released an arr
ow in Teo’s direction. “Look out!” Ana cried. Though the arrow missed, the man fumbled to nock another. His mistress was in the saddle now. Teo drew back, helpless to prevent the impending disaster.
Down in the moat, Ana stared at the malignant vapor that rolled toward the soldiers. Good men were out there, men like Marco and Brother Thomas and the Royal Guard. “Mighty Deu!” Ana shouted to the heavens. “Help those men! Save them!”
At that moment the double doors of the Citadel’s gate burst open. Horsemen erupted from inside the fortress. Teo whirled, startled by the commotion behind him. Ana craned her neck, trying to identify the new arrivals.
The man at the front was a distinguished gentleman. Yet he was no Chiveisian, for he wore the garments of an Ulmbartian aristocrat. Ana gasped as she recognized him. Somehow Count Federco Borromo had found his way to Chiveis—and at his side was Shaphan!
The count pulled up short as he saw the fearsome cloud. Teo stood between the Ulmbartians at one end of the causeway and the High Priestess at the other. And then, as Ana watched, a strange thing happened.
Perhaps it was the different air currents created by the opened gate, or perhaps it was the very breath of Deu himself. Whatever the cause, the foehn winds rushing down the valley began to spiral upward at the end of the causeway. The poisonous fumes were sucked into the updraft, swirling toward the sky instead of across the plain. An eddying gust captured an arm of the gas and wafted it backward. The dense mustard-colored smoke enveloped the war machine and began to drift down the bridge.
“Get back, Teo!” Ana shrieked. “Dive! Dive!”
Teo turned and arced into the moat, disappearing into its inky waters.
The whirlwind collapsed, and the cloud receded from the causeway. For a long, agonized moment, nothing moved. Then, slowly, the High Priestess emerged from the yellow fog. A look of sheer horror was on her face. Tears had created black streaks down her white-painted face. Ana instantly perceived what the priestess understood as well. She has received a lethal dose. Nothing is left for her now but torment and certain death.
Stumbling to the edge of the causeway, the High Priestess lifted a dagger above her head and plunged it into her breast. She toppled into the moat just as another gust came hurtling down from the mountains. As the air streamed through the portal of the Citadel’s gate, its passage made a piercing whistle that forced Ana to cover her ears. The great wind blasted across the causeway and formed another updraft on the battlefield. The noxious gas was borne into the sky by the furious gale. A black vapor curled up with it, climbing higher and higher in the whirlwind until it was almost out of sight. Then, like a mist at dawn, the cloud disappeared as if it had never existed.
“My God,” Ana whispered as she stared at the sky, “you did it.”
Teo held his breath as long as he could, swimming underwater with powerful strokes that propelled him away from the bridge. He surfaced to find he had gone past the place where Ana was treading water. She gazed up at the clear blue sky, and so did all the men on the battlefield. The fight was over. The outsiders began dropping their weapons as the Royal Guard surrounded them.
Paddling up behind Ana, Teo touched her shoulder. She jumped and spun around, then smiled when she saw it was him.
“Which way did the High Priestess go?” Teo asked.
“She succumbed to the gas.”
“She’s dead?”
Ana nodded. “Gone forever.”
Teo contemplated the news for a moment. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s get out of this muck.”
They swam to the edge of the moat and crawled onto the bank. Teo thought he had never felt so exhausted. He collapsed next to Ana, who reclined on her back and breathed hard to recover her wind. An overwhelming sense of relief descended on them as they lay side by side under the afternoon sun.
At last Teo glanced over at Ana. She was soaking wet. Her hair was a tangled mess. Muddy water dribbled down her cheeks, and pond scum flecked her face. Her white blouse was torn and dirty. Yet despite these things, Teo couldn’t help but stare at the woman lying in the grass beside him. She was beautiful in every way—the fairest flower in all of Chiveis.
“Well, Ana—we’re home,” he said.
She gave an emphatic nod as a broad smile lit her face.
“And we brought the Sacred Writing to Chiveis,” he added.
Again she nodded blissfully.
“The High Priestess is gone too. I can only think of one thing left to do.”
Teo rolled over and rested on his elbow above Ana. He curled his free arm around her waist, drawing her close. Her lips were slightly parted, and her blue-green eyes were bright. As Teo gazed at the adorable, indomitable, unpredictable farm girl from Edgeton, he knew she was the woman for him. He wanted to cherish her and care for her and tenderly love her . . . always.
Softly he caressed Ana’s cheek. His heartbeat quickened at the gravity of what he was about to say. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I love you, Anastasia,” he said in a solemn voice. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you . . . will you be my wife?”
“Oh, Teo,” she replied earnestly, “I can’t.”
C H A P T E R
16
When King Piair II heard the knock at his door, he didn’t even bother to respond. He knew who it was. The visitors would enter whether he welcomed them or not. Chiveis was under martial law, and the Warlord was in charge for now.
The young king slumped on the plush divan in his chambers, his shoulders sagging, his chin resting on his chest. He fiddled with a tassel on a cushion. How did it come to this? I tried to do everything the gods demanded of me! But now . . .
The knock came again, followed by a loud inquiry: “Are you in there?” Not, “Are you in there, Your Highness?” or “Your Majesty” or even “King Piair.” Just a crude shout, like one commoner speaking to another. Normally such an address would be unthinkable, but today it didn’t matter. In fact, it was as it should be. I don’t deserve the titles of a king.
The door opened, and Piair turned to see the Warlord come in. His stride was purposeful, and his bushy mustache couldn’t conceal his frown. He was accompanied by a colonel whose insignia identified him as the commander of the Fifth Regiment. Both men were armed, though their weapons were sheathed. The third arrival was the chief magistrate of the High Council, whose black robe and white wig signaled his business was official.
“Do you know the reason for our visit?” the Warlord asked.
Instead of answering, Piair rose from the divan and walked out to the balcony. Beyond the Citadel’s wall, the battlefield lay spread before him. Though it was now bathed in the orange light of sunset, Piair could still see how its grass had been churned into mud by thousands of boots and hooves. Many bodies lay strewn on the field, while the injured were being carried away on stretchers. The outsider warriors were returning to their encampment under the close supervision of the Guard—whether as confederates or captives, neither side knew for sure. Meanwhile, the invaders from Marsay and Jineve had pulled back under a fragile truce until the situation played itself out and the next steps could be determined.
The Warlord came and stood by Piair at the railing. He pointed to the copper machine at the end of the causeway. “You knew about that thing?”
“I knew of its existence. I didn’t know how it would be used.”
“Hmph,” the Warlord grumped, folding his arms across his chest. “So in effect you were letting the religious authorities dictate your will as king.”
“No! The High Priestess and I made our strategy together. I was just as much in charge as she.”
“Ah, I see. Then you take responsibility for the unprecedented alliance with the barbarians? The war levy that turned into looting? The policy of aggression that forced a neighboring kingdom to invade us? The near outbreak of civil war in the Royal Guard? The attempted murder of our entire army? All of this you planned with the High Priestess—is that it?”
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“It wasn’t supposed to turn out like that,” Piair said, hanging his head.
The Warlord refused to let the beleaguered king off the hook. “What did you know about that machine?” he pressed.
“N-nothing! I swear it.”
“You said you knew of it.”
“I knew it would spew poison. That’s all.”
“And how did you imagine such a weapon could injure our enemies yet not harm our own troops?”
“That never occurred to me,” Piair insisted, though the creeping weight of guilt began to oppress his soul. He glanced nervously at the Warlord to gauge whether the savvy general could sense the lie. King Piair had heard the High Priestess mention the idea of an attack on the Royal Guard. It had almost seemed like a joke, just a frivolous whisper in the dark of night, a whisper shared in the warm afterglow, a whisper to suggest a horrific idea and test whether it might come true. Piair had told himself he would never agree to such a thing. Yet the idea of absolute rule over an armyless kingdom with the priestess at his side was intoxicating. The young king had lusted for such a reality, though he had feared it too.
Recovering his composure, Piair examined his fingernails and tried to assume a nonchalant air. “So, General, speaking of the High Priestess . . . what does she have to say about all this? I’m sure she and I could provide you a reasonable explanation of recent events.”
“The priestess is dead,” the Warlord said flatly.
No! It can’t be true! She can’t be gone!
“What do you mean, dead?” Piair burst out. “Speak plainly, General!”
“I did speak plainly. She’s dead. She was enveloped by the gas, and its torments drove her to take her own life. Now the carp shall have her flesh, and her name shall be forgotten in the annals of Chiveis.”
Piair gripped the balustrade to control his trembling hands. “I, um . . . I had not heard that.”
“The news seems to trouble you far too much, Piair.” The Warlord glanced over his shoulder at the chief magistrate. “Have you seen enough?”
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