by J C Maynard
A wave of scarlet robes and their fifty horses passed Eston and rammed into the sixteen Phantoms. Several horses slammed into the ground after being stabbed, and riders were pelted with arrows. One Phantom lay unmoving on the ground with a bloody face, and the rest shot up into the trees after an order from Lekshane. The Ferramish cavalry came to a halt, and a Ferramish general shouted orders. “Reform! Flanks one and two join up in the front.” The general snapped his horse’s reins and came over to Eston. “Damage?”
“Half this battalion.” said Eston. “We took a hit.”
“Where are the Cerebrians. And why the hell are they so fast?”
Eston came up with a quick lie. “I don’t know. As for their location, up in the trees.” A bad feeling came over Eston. “Did General Noppton get my message?”
“About what?”
“The watchtowers. Were the support ropes cut? The Cerebrians are going to try and use them to get on top of the towers and fight from there to gain the advantage.”
The General shook his head. “No, the ropes are still up.”
Eston’s stomach dropped and his heart raced faster. “We need to go there now!”
The General turned to the cavalry and Eston’s troops. “Flanks one through four, stand watch! The rest, to the watchtower!” The cavalry and the ground troops sprinted forward after Eston and the general.
As Eston reached the watchtower, his stomach dropped — the Phantoms were rushing to the ropes to the tops of the towers. The Ferramish archers were shooting at them, but the Phantoms had already shot the archer in the tower, so there was no one to cut the ropes. Eston screamed out to the troops, “Burn the ropes! Burn the ropes!”
Just after the Phantoms began to climb the ropes, the Ferramish troops grabbed torches and lit the ropes on fire. Three of the five Phantoms climbing reached the top of the tower before the ropes disintegrated in the middle and snapped, sending the other two to the forest floor. Before the Ferrs could apprehend them, the Phantoms scurried back into the trees.
At the top of the watchtower, Eston saw little flashes of light where the three Phantoms stood. Shit. Eston turned to his troops. “They have flaming arrows! Archers, take them out! Now!” The Ferramish archers fired up at the watchtower, but none of the arrows were hitting their target. The three phantoms began shooting streaks of fire into the night and onto all the near buildings in the camp. Eston’s heart beat faster and his voice was losing its projection. “Take them out!” The roofs of the buildings began to catch on fire. “I need all troops getting water from the river onto those roofs! They have a limited supply of those arrows!”
Just as Eston finished the order, a fire arrow came directly for him. He ducked, and the arrow sank into his horse’s chest. The horse gave a small cry and kicked, then toppled sideways. Another arrow came for him and he ducked behind the body of the horse. A soldier jumped off his horse and gave it to Eston. “Get out, Your Majesty! They’re targeting you.” Eston thanked him and jumped on the horse as another arrow flew past him. Eston and sprinted away on the horse out of range of the fire arrows. Another distress horn went off in the distance, and Eston drove his horse straight for it.
The screaming and clash of swords made him dizzy as a General ran up to him. “We’re being overrun! All of my men made a run for it. Noppton still has more, but we can’t last. Where is all the smoke coming from?”
Eston stayed up on his horse. “They’re setting the east side on fire.”
The general looked at Eston with hopelessness. “You need to unleash them.”
Eston paused. “I don’t want them revealed.”
The general urged again, “Release the monsters, Your Majesty! Camp Stoneheart is falling.”
Eston nodded and started away, headed for Silverbrook’s beasts.
“Open the door!” Eston said as he sprinted up to the building which houses the monsters. The guards opened the door to the building and Eston rode through on his horse. In the dark room, he raised his hand, and three enormous roars rang out. The three beasts stepped forward, each more terrible than the next. “Come . . . Attack the Phantoms.” The three beasts seemed transfigure themselves before shooting past Eston out into the forest. After a minute or two, he heard their roars in the camp where they began to battle the Phantoms.
Eston snapped the reins on his horse and rode it forward back through the forest to the camp. The fog was dense, and the horse bounded over the logs and streams. More roars echoed in the dark and shook Eston’s helmet. The horse rocketed through the underbrush, pounding its massive legs into the black soil. Without warning, the horse screeched to a halt and whinnied. The air turned cold and Eston heard a branch snap high above him. A black shadow came tumbling down through the trees and landed with a thud on the damp forest floor. The Phantom took off his hood and looked at Eston, who froze — he was staring straight at himself — as Tayben.
Before Eston could say it was him, Tayben lunged forward at Eston, who swiped Tayben’s sword to the side. Tayben’s fighting was no longer as fast or strong as a Phantom’s . . . his power was fading. Eston remembered being in the mind of the body before him and knew to block the next blow. Eston shouted at Tayben, “Stop!” and Tayben jumped back and looked around. He lunged for Eston again, who blocked his blow. “Stop!” Eston shouted again, trying to get away from Tayben. But stepping on a rock, Eston lost his footing and Tayben drove his sword down into his foot.
Eston screamed as the searing pain took over. Tayben knocked the sword out of Eston’s hand and kicked him to the ground, knocking the wind out of Eston, who used every ounce of energy to reach out in his mind to the nearest of Silverbrook’s beasts for help. Eston crawled back against a giant tree root, unable to walk and barely able to breathe. Tayben raised his sword. Eston’s mind flashed to his memories of this very moment and did the only thing he knew could spare his life. As Tayben swung the sword toward Eston’s neck, Eston remembered the one action that saved him before and ripped off his helmet.
The sword stopped a foot from his neck as Eston looked at Tayben with raised hands. Tayben dropped his sword and stood frozen when the roar of Silverbrook’s beast echoed around them. The pain of Eston’s foot took over again, but he could see Tayben’s fear of the monster that was coming. “Wait.” gasped Eston with the little breath that he had.
In the distance, a dark shape grew larger in the fog. The shape let out a rumbling roar as it came closer and appeared out of the thick fog.
The gigantic monster step with pounding thuds against the forest floor, and it’s crystalline scales shimmered in the dim light. Towering over them with asymmetrical glistening wings, he beast inched closer to them, puffing gusts of air with growl. As it lowered its head next to Tayben, a few feet away, Eston attempted to get up, but couldn’t. Remembering what he had seen as Tayben, and knowing it was the only way to get Tayben to leave, Eston turned to the beast. “Show him the flower.”
Tayben flinched when the monster’s sky blue irises began to swirl like an eddy in a stream, but when he looked closely, the eye reflected an image of a glowing flower. Entranced, Tayben moved closer to the monster, peering into its eye.
Eston watched as the trance took over Tayben, remembering what the beast would be saying to him at this moment. He could see slight reactions in Tayben’s face. For a few moments there was silence as the monster communicated with Tayben, telling him to follow the glowing flower. After a minute, Tayben lurched out of the trance and sprinted out into the forest.
◆◆◆
Gallien stopped when he realized Tayben was no longer with him and immediately ran back. Gallien had heard Eston’s scream of pain somewhere in the fog, and he bolted towards it but stopped abruptly when a giant white monster emerged in front of him. The monster looked at him and then vanished into the air. Gallien realized that a young general was lying there wounded next to a tree root, and beside him was Tayben’s sword.
Gallien stopped in his tracks, wondering why Tayben’s sword wa
s there and not Tayben. Gallien held his sword to Ferr’s neck. “Where did he go?”
Eston’s face was green from the pain of his stabbed foot.
“Where did he go!” shouted Gallien.
Eston felt nauseous and weak. Referring to himself in third person, Eston breathed out, “He- he fled . . . doesn’t fight with you any- anymore.”
Gallien’s stomach churned. “Did — did he talk to you? What happened?”
Eston’s eyes slowly closed as he fainted from blood loss.
Gallien lightly kicked at Eston’s side to wake him, but it failed. He yelled out in anger and raised his sword, ready to strike, but momentarily saw a glow of light from a translucent white flower floating in the air over Eston’s body. When Gallien blinked, it was gone.
Gallien’s body turned cold, and he picked up Tayben’s sword and sprinted away through the underbrush shouting for him. Before he had traveled much distance through the forest, dark shadows surrounded him; the rest of the Phantoms heard his cries and came to him.
General Lekshane stepped forward. “Where is Tayben Shae?”
Gallien’s heart pounded with panic, looking around. “I- I don’t know. He left!”
“What do you mean?” shouted Lekshane.
“I should’ve known.” said Gallien.
General Lekshane’s face turned red. “He’s a traitor?”
“No — no, just that his powers were—”
General Lekshane interrupted and turned to the Phantoms. “Find Tayben!”
The Phantoms nodded and turned to leave when Gallien shouted, “Stop!”
“Excuse me?” said General Lekshane.
“Just . . . just let him run.”
“He’s a traitor!” screamed Lekshane.
Gallien threw his sword down. “Why should Tayben have to be loyal to people who do nothing but kill for a Queen they haven’t even met!? Can’t you see?”
The Phantoms were silent. General Lekshane clenched his fist, deeply offended. “I’ll make a deal with you then, Mr. Aris.”
Gallien stood still.
General Lekshane grabbed Tayben’s sword from Gallien. “I’ll let that pathetic traitor go. But if we ever see him again . . . you will kill him.”
Gallien froze. After a long pause, Gallien whispered, “Yes sir."
◆◆◆
Two medical soldiers carried Eston’s bloody body into the officer’s quarters of Camp Stoneheart. The generals who had survived the battle fight stood up. “Great Mother, is Prince Eston alive?”
The medical soldiers set Eston down. “Yes, but he needs to be transported back to Aunestauna at once. We don’t have the medicine or medical instruments here to deal with his wound properly.”
A general stepped forward. “It’s his foot? That happens to men all the time.”
“Yes,” said the medic, “but the country doesn’t care if one soldier dies from infection . . . This is the Prince.”
The generals all nodded. “Get a carriage for him. He’ll be on his way back to Aunestauna tonight.”
The Crandles
Chapter Thirty One
~Midday, January 29th
Wedged between the southern Taurbeir-Krons and Cerebria, a land of lakes, rivers, windmills, and pastures served as a home to the peaceful people of The Crandles. Its towns were built on fertile soil and a foundation of harmony and community, a rarity since the Empire had fractured. Here, in the low lying glens, the birds sang and the creeks gurgled without interruption, save for the clatter of horse hooves or a touch of a canoe’s oar in placid waters. The Crans’ sheep, cows, and horses grazed freely without any fences. Every fishing village had its own history, transcribed in quilts or wooden carvings. The emerald green hills sat quietly beneath the mountains as a refuge and safe haven from the rest of the world.
Calleneck strolled with Borius and Kishk through Findinholm, the capital of The Crandles, headed toward the town hall. Unlike the Seirnkov and Aunestauna, the streets of Findinholm were not dirt or cobblestone, but grass with small ruts in them where the wheels of wagons tore up the earth. Every building sat tall and slanted, made from wood with intricate carvings of birds and moose and fish. The city was not arranged in any pattern; Crans built where they wanted to build, and that was that. From one house, there would be the view of the sunrise over a pasture, while another might lie over a small brook that would run through their bedrooms and living room, joining nature with man’s structures.
Calleneck, Borius, and Kishk walked through a city square, which was much more like a park. And although it was winter, green foliage and grass still covered the city. The winters were never cold enough to freeze over the lakes, nor were the summers ever hot enough to make a person sweat. Rain by morning, a break of sun and gentle breeze at midday, fog in the afternoon, and a clear sky to see the blazing orange sunset; and that’s how it happened every day.
Calleneck turned to Kishk and whispered, “None of them are riding their horses.”
Kishk smiled at Calleneck’s observation. “They see them as equals to humans.” Many such peculiar mannerisms could be found only in The Crandles, where nearly the entire population of a few hundred thousand showed off rich red hair. Borius, being the only dark skinned person for miles, had received many interesting looks from the Crans; none of malevolence or disdain, more of curiosity and wonder.
“Does Lady Parrine know we are coming?” asked Calleneck.
“No,” said Borius. “And she will most likely not agree with our request, but we must try.” Just twenty-five years old, Lady Parrine had already ruled the Crandles for nine years. Committed to the peace-loving lifestyle of the Crans, she had kept her country completely out of the war.
“Will I be able to understand her?” asked Calleneck. “I’ve only caught a bit of what people are saying around us.”
“You will.” said Kishk. “Cran is almost identical to our language, just sometimes hard to understand.”
The three came to a building only a little bit larger than the others, with a black and white banner on its spire. Kishk and Borius walked up its few wooden steps. Calleneck stood behind for a second. This is their Palace? The Crans were humble people, not needing anything grand to show off. Calleneck followed Borius and Kishk up the steps. They reached a small porch, which would have been the immense Palace wall in Aunestauna or Cerebria. A pair of large oak doors hung open with no guards in front. The three passed through and entered a foyer with a statue of a sleeping bear in the center. Two men sat in the corner playing a card game.
“Excuse me,” said Borius, “we were wanting to meet with Lady Parrine. We are from Cerebria.”
One of the men looked over and smiled. “Fendli, we go’ten ourselven some s’visitors, sains deir wherabin Cerebia. Deir accent sains it too. Wa’tn reason do yea go’ten shoewin’ roundabin ‘here?”
Borius motioned to Calleneck and Kishk. “We wish to meet with Lady Parrine.” The two men began to laugh. Borius looked around. “Is now not a good time? We’ve come a long w-”
The other man played a card. “Why, lad, yea don’t go’ten to askains us. Lady Parrine is oiut shoo’in arrow-bow targets in the back’yeard; justa go oiutabin and tal’k to ‘her majesty if yea’d like.” The man put another card down. “Back’yeard’s down de ‘hall, las door to year right.”
Calleneck gave a chuckle in unbelief, would they let anyone just walk up to their Queen without knowing who they are? The three of them continued where the men told them to go. Borius cautiously opened the door to the backyard of the building. Surely enough, some ways off, a young red-haired woman in bare feet drew a bow and arrow and fired it into an upright log with painted stripes. The backyard was open to a small grove of forest trees and a ‘road’ where a group of villagers walked alongside their horses without any reins. Borius continued forward and the other two followed. Calleneck nearly stepped on a passing duck, behind which trailed multiple little ducklings. The ducks dipped themselves into a pond on the other side of La
dy Parrine, who still did not notice the Evertauri there.
Borius coughed and gave a bow. “Your majesty.”
Lady Parrine fired another arrow into the log and looked over. “Wa’tn are yea doin?” The three were bowing, but quickly straightened up. Lady Parrine laughed. “I too find the grass interesting . . . Since I am assuming you are from Cerebria, I should speak your language, should I not? I was only teasing, you need not bow here; that is a strange custom of yours.” Her beautiful Cran accent still bounced off her words.
Kishk stepped forward. “Lady Parrine, we meant no disrespect, quite the opposite. I am Sir Kishk, this is Sir Shipton to my left, and this is Mr. Bernoil, our navigator. I am also impressed with your fluency in our language.”
“I was taught it at a young age; and you needn’t worry about respect. The people of the Crandles and I see everyone and every living thing as equals.”
“You are, however, their ruler.”
Lady Parrine shook her head. “The people of The Crandles do not need me.” The little ducks hopped out of the pond and walked around Lady Parrine’s bare feet. “Unlike some societies that collapse without order, everything here goes on as always without government involved. Conflicts resolve themselves, and people help people.” Lady Parrine loosed another arrow into the log. “Three years ago I spent six months canoeing out west. Nothing changed. I am simply here for the rare decisions that must be made by a government.”
“We may have one of those decisions for you today, my Lady.” said Borius. “You see, I think you are aware that a month ago, the Cerebrian military attacked Aunestauna, Ferramoor.”
