She welcomed Stellan’s rough, bruising kiss with open arms. His hot, thrusting tongue laid waste to her mouth as he cupped her bottom with fingers of iron. Clarysa sensed his adrenaline and power flowing throughout his body.
All too soon he broke the kiss. “I must go.” He strode away, quickly blending into the shadows.
As Clarysa headed to the kitchen, an uneasy fear grew inside her. Battle meant carnage, pain and death. How could hope ever survive against such odds?
Outside, apocalypse waited.
Chapter 38
Overcast skies had spent their abated supply of snow, which allowed Stellan a glimpse of Dungeon Forest on the horizon–a rare event in the Snowflake Kingdom. He surveyed the Aldebaran troops from atop Vandeborg’s eastern tower. Wolfe maintained guard by his side, a place the animal had refused to leave since Stellan’s return.
Stellan turned to Lionel and Hunter, who stood beside him. “How has it come to this? Before me is the brother of my betrothed. Edward and his army are determined to carry the head of this particular ‘warlock’ back to his bigoted people as a prize. The man is hungry for my death, blinded by his hatred.”
A stone missile launched from the trebuchet under Edward’s order. It tore through the wall above the three men.
Edward’s voice followed, amplified by a speaking trumpet. “You cannot hide in there forever, demon! Surrender my sister and I shall grant you a fair trial before your hanging!”
As if Stellan didn’t understand Edward’s meaning, a boulder sailed over their heads and annihilated a nearby parapet.
Lionel sighed. “Stellan, let’s negotiate with him on the fields below.” He gestured to the derelict edifice about him. “I fear if we wait much longer all of this ‘unique’ decor of yours will be destroyed.”
The duke moved to return inside, but Stellan held him back with a firm arm grip. “No,” he said, “for that would be playing straight into our enemy’s hands.”
“Edward is not the enemy! He simply takes his position as heir apparent far too seriously. If you, Clarysa and I march out onto the field in solidarity–”
“I was not referring to your Aldebaran brethren, Lionel, but rather our mutual enemy who lurks below, waiting for your cousin to draw me out before attacking.” Stellan scanned the horizon, then indicated the shadowy edge of Dungeon Forest. “We are not alone here, my friend. See those darkened woods? Keep a close watch on the foliage and tell me what you see.”
Lionel and Hunter exchanged looks and then both squinted at the area in question.
Lionel shrugged as another boulder crashed into the wall beside them. Glancing down in annoyance, he brushed a stray bit of dust from his cape. “I don’t see anything other than the usual trees and bushes.”
“Nor do I, m’lord,” said Hunter.
Stellan pursed his lips. “Your eyes search for the obvious. Use your deductive reasoning.”
Another boulder shook the castle, along with more of Edward’s taunts.
Lionel grunted. “My dear friend, I hardly think this is the appropriate time for riddles.”
Stellan directed their vision back to the forest. “You said you see nothing, correct? But where are the ravens that flock there every morning? Where are the squirrels? Or any other animal? None are there, for that’s where our enemy–no doubt my sister–lies in wait.” Stellan turned back to his friends. “She waits for me to come within range of her magick–and probably a legion of Father’s finest soldiers.”
“So what you’re saying is we now have twice the problem we originally believed?”
Stellan nodded. “It’s a great day for death, hmm?”
Neither of his companions responded. Another stone crashed into the castle wall next to them, shattering the silence.
Lionel leaned over the parapet. “Honestly, Edward, do you mind?” He tossed back his hair and turned to his companions. “Well, should we plan a preemptive attack or wait them out?”
Stellan frowned. “We’re so few in number. I–”
“Stellan, look there!” Hunter pointed to the far edge of the battlefield.
Stellan exhaled sharply. Hundreds of misshapen Pestilence victims poured out onto the snow-covered land. Their number continued to swell. Behind them came the rank and file of his father’s army.
“Surrender now, warlock, lest you suffer the same fate as the dead man you so gauchely dragged into the King’s court!” Edward continued his harangue, unaware of the advancing horde.
“Edward,” yelled Lionel. “Listen to me! Listen to reason! Clarysa is here, safe within the castle. Stellan is innocent of your charges and only wishes to protect us!”
But his voice failed to carry over the sounds of battle. The trebuchet continued to launch projectiles.
Lionel snarled in frustration. “Edward, you blind fool, open your eyes and look behind you!”
But Lionel’s words fell short of their mark. Stellan sucked in a breath. The Aldebaran soldiers were about to be slaughtered by the Pestilence ranks clambering toward them. They were so focused on Vandeborg that the other looming threat escaped their notice.
Stellan spun around. “They’ve grown tired of waiting. Follow me!”
He ran to the castle’s great hall. There, he kicked open a massive chest, one decrepit with rust and age. The chest was filled to the brim with arrows, arrows with an unearthly greenish hue about their tips. He turned to Hunter. “Take these and dispense them among our men,” he commanded. “Do it quickly!”
“But the Aldebaran forces are in the way!”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. The entire field will lay thick with Aldebaran dead in a matter of minutes if we don’t reach them in time!”
* * * *
Stellan led a charge of armed riders from the castle gate as the mob of attackers ran like slavering trolls toward the Aldebaran troops. Some came galloping on all fours and hissed like fiends; others ran with outstretched arms as rotten flesh swayed from their bodies. The advancing ghouls carried no weapons, but their pernicious blood was deadly enough.
“Don’t touch them!” Stellan shouted. “Aim for the head but do not allow direct contact with your person!”
Edward turned, scowling, at the sound of Stellan’s voice. Stellan and his men released a cloud of arrows from taut strings. Edward’s expression lapsed into one of dread. Before Edward could rally his troops, the arrows rained down in sheets upon the Pestilence infected, crippling them into a writhing mass on the ground. Bloodcurdling cries pierced the air as the malformed creatures dropped in heaps, vomiting forth a sickening combination of blood and bile.
Stellan allowed himself a brief feeling of satisfaction at Edward’s look of surprise.
He continued his assault against the Pestilence attackers. The once snow-white field now flowed a deep red, filled with the unholy sights and sounds of battle. The opposing armies met, and many a limb was hewn from its body. More arrows pierced the infected. But while many of the mutants fell, twice that appeared to spill forth from the forests.
“Reload and unleash!” shouted Stellan. Attracted by the sound, an emaciated, skinless Pestilence victim bounded toward him. He leaped into the air, a spindly projectile of bones and sinew. Stellan shot an arrow straight into the creature’s eye socket. The attacker twisted about in midair for a few moments before dropping to the ground.
Again and again the embattled soldiers of Vandeborg fired upon the invaders as their replacements boiled over from the stygian forest. Stellan frowned as he assessed how outmatched they were. We must prevail or the Five Lands will perish!
The sky darkened. Stellan tensed, searching the field of combat for the cause. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as the new threat revealed itself.
Across from him on the field, a woman appeared, a haunting beauty dressed in a flowing gown of black and purple.
Sada!
Stellan narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t surprised to learn she had survived Patrulha’s final attack. There were plenty of
ways for practitioners of the Dark Arts to outmaneuver Fate, depending on the price one was willing to pay.
Sada calmly drew closer amid the chaos. Her eyes were naught but black, her countenance, one of pure corruption. The battling troops parted in fear as she glided across the bloody battlefield.
“Prince Stellan of Vandeborg, hear me.” she announced. “We pleaded with you to join our righteous cause, but you rebuked us. We ordered you to cease your aimless crusade, yet you defied us. I even offered you protection in a bestial form, but you have summarily rejected my strategy. Well, no more. We cannot allow these traitorous actions to continue. For your treachery, King Renaudas, the true sovereign of the Five Lands, has commanded your death. This is a sentence I am only too happy to deliver.”
Led by Lionel, a sea of his men formed a protective ring, but Stellan ordered them back. Over Lionel’s protests, he dismounted and approached his sister. He picked up an ominous change in her, as though a malicious entity shared her soul. “Sada, what have you done?”
Hideous laughter tore through the air, a harpy’s cry mixed with thunder. “She who was once blind has been granted sight, brother, and power to command forces far beyond your comprehension!”
An unearthly glow formed about her. It grew brighter and brighter, a thousand times more intense than the burning sun above. An acrid smell filled the winds whirling about her. Then her impossibly high-pitched scream sent a great rain of fire streaming toward everything in its path.
The attack leveled scores of soldiers and Pestilence alike. Chaos reigned with weapons of smoke and fire.
Stellan glanced up to see a huge bolt descending upon him. A hard force knocked him aside. He fell fast, his cheek slamming into the slush-covered ground. The bolt hit the ground where he’d been standing only moments before. Static discharge crackled about him, but he was safe.
He felt a tug, a pull of magick. Turning his head, he discovered why. Sada stood within a large perimeter of melted snow. Her eyes were closed, her hands outstretched. Stellan sensed the momentum as she harnessed waves of invisible power from dimensions unknown.
How much time did he have for a counterattack? Cursing, he scrambled to his feet. Then he paused, shocked at the sight on the ground before him.
A scorched and dazed Lionel lay sprawled upon the ground. His hair and clothes were badly singed. Burn marks covered his exposed skin. Blood poured from myriad wounds.
“No!” An avalanche of distress hit him upon seeing Lionel’s paralyzed form. With Hunter’s help, Stellan snapped Lionel up on his horse and rode back to the castle. He yelled for the portcullis to be raised.
Lionel lifted his head and groaned, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. “Oh, dear,” he said, glancing down, “how inconvenient. This shirt is barely a fortnight old.”
“Let’s get you inside,” Stellan told the cavalier Duke. As he rushed inside, his temples began to ache. Then he grimaced, for Sada’s malignant laughter echoed mercilessly inside his head.
Chapter 39
The number of wounded soldiers escalated as Vandeborg Castle filled with the dread air of inevitability. The battle was not going well. Clarysa saw it in everyone’s faces. She heard it in the men’s frequent groans of pain.
She rushed to Gretchen’s side with more makeshift bandages. They were strips of cloth soaked in a healing potion of Stellan’s creation. Her glance fell on their patient, one young Aldebaran man, probably no more than seventeen at best. He had come in from the battle unable to feel his extremities. His chest was a sickening ripple of blackened soot, scorched by some unknown devilry.
Clarysa had soothed his wounds using cold water, which her patient then chased with several gulps of wine to numb the pain. She had asked him his name. “James, my lady,” he had replied. He shared that before joining the King’s army, he had worked with his father in the royal orchards, planting peach and apple trees.
Clarysa stared at him. His mouth lay open, his eyes opaque–and now he was dead. Peaches and apples. His father was so proud of the large, bountiful trees, he had said. Those were the last words his youthful frame would ever speak.
“Hurry, Clarysa. We need them now!”
Clarysa broke from her reverie to see Gretchen urgently beckoning her. She navigated the sea of broken bodies and ran forward, arms still filled with the dripping strips of cloth. Gretchen seized the material as well as Clarysa’s right hand.
“Press down right here,” she said.
Clarysa held her hand against a wailing soldier’s side. It sank far deeper into the body than should have been possible.
“Keep the pressure on it. I’ll be right back.”
Blood oozed between Clarysa’s fingers as the gypsy woman scooped a handful of healing flora from an earthenware pot. “Take your hand away, now.” The man screamed in agony as Gretchen applied the herbs and several healing rags to impede the blood loss.
Clarysa stared aghast at the overflowing river of pain coursing through the great hall. What dark sorcery are they defiling us with? How much longer would Stellan and his men be able to hold out against it?
A familiar voice cut through the din of moans and cries of misery.
“Gretchen! Clear a table! We’re going to need bandages and as much Hays Moss as we have,” Stellan shouted.
Clarysa whipped around. Stellan burst through the archway carrying a prostrate form. Her brain registered a flash of blond hair along with a broken body draped in royal Aldebaran attire. She swayed in shock as recognition came.
“Lionel!” she cried.
“Move aside! Make a spot…yes, right there.” Stellan laid Lionel down upon a table. Gretchen arrived bearing an armful of bandages. Stellan ripped apart Lionel’s shredded clothing and worked furiously to staunch the flow of blood, which, sadly, seemed to be everywhere.
Clarysa rushed up and laid a hand on Lionel’s cheek.
“Out of the way!” Stellan said, roughly pushing her aside. “No, wait,” he reconsidered, grabbing her arm. He pointed to a nearby shelf with a blood-soaked hand. “See that large brown bottle? Bring it to me.”
Clarysa nodded, eager to be of any help whatsoever. Clutching the bottle carefully, she brought it over. Gretchen and the prince worked diligently to slow the bleeding. Stellan injected Lionel with some of the liquid from the bottle. Gretchen threaded a wicked looking needle and began to stitch a wide, grisly gash in his side. Lionel’s face paled. He gritted his teeth as the sutures entered and stretched his skin.
“Can’t we give him something for the pain?” Clarysa asked.
“No time,” Gretchen said.
“This might help.” Stellan held a rag soaked with some kind of liquid against Lionel’s nose and mouth. In a few minutes, he drifted into a state of unconsciousness.
Blinking back tears, Clarysa covered Lionel’s burns in specially treated bandages. After the task was complete, she wiped his perspiring forehead with a cloth. She tried to avoid dwelling on the weak rise and fall of her cousin’s chest.
Gretchen finished her stitching. She and Stellan joined Clarysa. All three watched over the Duke. The battle outside was momentarily forgotten.
“What happened?” Clarysa whispered.
Stellan’s brow furrowed. “He saved my life.”
“I’m sure he was glad of the opportunity to help you.” Clarysa stroked Lionel’s cheek. She wanted to be hopeful, but her cousin’s injuries seemed grave. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked pleadingly at Stellan. “Is he going to…”
“I’ve done everything I can,” he said, his expression grim. “Now he needs rest.”
An angry voice cut through the air. “Where is Duke Lionel? I demand to see him!”
Clarysa sucked in a breath. Edward! To her right, Stellan made a discrete fist. She suppressed a groan. Don’t make a scene, Edward, not now!
Her brother spotted her. His expression locked in a dirt-streaked scowl, he advanced.
Stellan bristled at Edward’s approach. She lai
d a cautionary hand upon the Dark Prince’s arm.
Edward pushed his way into their midst. After one glance at Lionel, he locked his angry gaze upon Stellan. Clarysa winced at the tension rising between them.
“Don’t start with me,” Stellan growled.
“I saw you put that cloth to his face. What have you done to him?” Edward pushed Stellan away.
Clarysa gasped. “Edward! You’re being hasty!”
As Edward bent to inspect his unconscious cousin, Stellan grabbed his arms and shoved him against a nearby table. Edward drew back a fist, but Stellan leaped upon him before he could swing. The two men struggled against each other, rattling the table and overturning supplies. A glass bottle shattered against the stone floor.
Stellan pressed his forearm against Edward’s throat. “I’m trying to save his life, as he did mine. Stop interfering or I’ll throw you out of my castle!”
“It’s true, Edward,” Clarysa shouted. “Listen to him, please!”
Panting, Edward cut her a look. Then he took a deep breath. “My apologies. I was concerned for Lionel and spoke prematurely.”
Stellan released him.
Edward neared the table. He looked remorseful as he studied Lionel’s face. “Is he…”
Stellan shook his head. “Thankfully, not yet. But he needs rest. Peaceful rest.”
Edward nodded. “I was…wrong. I shouldn’t have mistrusted you. At any time.” He leveled a gaze at Stellan. “Lionel’s always been an excellent judge of character, but my stubbornness prevented me from recognizing the truth.” His expression became one of determination. “I want to help you win this battle. Tell me what to do.”
Stellan nodded. “Concentrate your men on Pestilence and the remaining enemy soldiers. I’ll deal with the sorceress myself.”
Clarysa bit her lip. Would her brother agree to the plan? He was accustomed to giving orders, not accepting them.
To her relief, Edward saluted him. After a quick nod to Clarysa, he left to carry out the orders.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
Lord of Snow and Ice Page 26
