“I want to show you something,” the queen responded. Leonetta followed her through the maze of hallways in the castle until they arrived at the queen’s private chambers. It was not the room that she slept in since those chambers were shared with the king, but instead, it was a room filled with all the things the queen loved. There were dozens of paintings created by Queen Seville’s own hand. There were tapestries and spindles spread out across the room and a desk tucked in the corner. Along the side sat a large, wooden chest with a steel lock on it. Seville closed the door behind them and pulled on a long string that was hidden around her neck. At the end of the string was a key, and the queen used the key to unlock the chest.
“Your father made something the day you were born,” Seville explained as she pulled a long staff from the chest. “In the orb he crested at the top sits a piece of his eternal, magical self.”
Seville handed the staff to Leonetta who breathed deeply as the feeling of its powers in her hands vibrated into her chest. The orb swirled with vibrant colors, and the carved, wooden body twisted and moved into the shape of crashing waves. Leonetta carried the staff over to the small bench in the center of the room and sat down with it.
“It is matched with your magic,” Seville continued. “And that of your mother.”
“Why do you show me this now?” Leonetta asked, running her hands down the smooth wood.
“There is enough magic between this staff and your own fae abilities to stop the evilest of foes,” Seville stated, sitting down next to her. “Even that of the dead.”
Leonetta looked at Seville for a moment before nodding in understanding. Seville stood and walked toward the chamber doors. She stopped and turned back toward Leonetta.
“I think,” Seville stated calmly, “the three of us should go for a morning ride. What do you think?”
The queen smiled and turned back toward the door, disappearing into the hallway. Leonetta stood and walked with the staff toward the window. She gazed out as the clouds in the night sky began to creep over, flashes of lightning brightening the ground below. The women of the fae were not ones to sit by and wait.
Chapter Twelve: No Peace
Tyriad wanted the army to stay hidden as long as possible. However, because they were carrying so many men, they were unable to fly above the clouds. The air that high was thin and frigid, and they couldn’t take any chances of hurting the men, so they decided to fly as low to the ground as they could. At first, especially in the dark, this proved to be difficult, but as the houses became further and further apart, the dragons were able to glide comfortably just feet above the ground. The lightning above them shimmered through the clouds, and thunder crashed in the background.
As the sun began to lighten the sky, the dragons slowed their speed and took notice of any Avalon shifters that may be patrolling. They were very close to the valley and were hoping to get settled in before they were spotted. Once they were sure that Avalon was to be notified of their arrival, Tyriad would set off to the port to approach Osiris concerning peace. The land below them were lush green pastures and the road that led straight into the port. The road was abandoned since all of the surrounding realms had been notified of Avalon’s arrival, but Tyriad still kept his eye out for any straggling fae in the Vale.
As the high Waterman Hills approached, Tyriad slowed down and landed, the rest of the dragons following suit. They stopped for a moment to allow the soldiers to climb off their rides and form together to remove the tents and weapons from other shifters. Once all was unloaded, they moved quickly to set up camp. Tyriad held off on sending any shifters to look out since they wanted to keep their arrival secretive. Tomorrow, the Avalon army would set out on their course toward Anthurium, and they would run right into the waiting fae army, hopefully before they were alerted to their presence.
The men worked quietly and quickly to get their tents erected. They knew they would only get one good night’s rest and wanted to make the most of it. Others brought down the cured meats and fruits brought along for nourishment since they didn’t want to light any fires. By midday, the camp was set, and the soldiers were hunkered down in groups waiting for any sign of the Avalon army. Tyriad ate lunch with the other shifters just below the crest of the hill, keeping watch for the high-flying flags that Osiris would ride into the opposite valley with. Still, the air was quiet, and the only noise that was heard was the buzzing of the bees and chirping of the crickets.
When Tyriad had reached the bottom of the hill on his way to speak to some of the soldiers and raise moral, the air swooshed above him, and he looked up to see an Avalon shifter circling around the camp and then heading back toward the port. The other shifters, still in human form, came running, and Tyriad prepared himself for flight.
“Okay men,” Tyriad stated before shifting, “keep a strong watch, communicate when necessary, but know that when I am in the port, I will be blocking all communication for safety. I will open it back if things go awry. I should be back before nightfall.”
The men scrambled to their positions, and two shifters accompanied Tyriad until he reached the edge of the port. He could see Osiris and Holland, followed by a dozen guards, jogging out to the brink of the town. The Avalon flags had replaced those of the Vale on the high tower of the port. The ocean raged violently from the approaching storm beyond the port, and the salty sea air pierced Tyriad’s nostrils. His scales rung with water as the mist carried off the ocean surface and clung to any surface in its path.
Irritation at the Avalon flags simmered in his belly, but Tyriad pushed the emotion back, landed, and shifted to his human form to show he was not there for a fight. He grasped the butt of his sword as he walked forward where he was greeted with drawn weapons and the angry face of the Avalon commander, Holland. Tyriad loosened his clenched jaw and attempted a hospitable look.
“Your Grace,” Tyriad said, bowing to Osiris. “I come with a message.”
“Speak quickly,” Holland growled. “Your presence here is unwanted.”
“The fae wish to end this before it begins,” Tyriad explained. “We want peace, and in return, we will help bring Avalon and the Cinder Territories back to its once lavish and lush palace.”
“That is why you brought your entire army?” Holland spoke through gritted teeth. “For peace?”
“Did you expect me to let you walk right through the front doors of our kingdom?” Tyriad replied.
“We will have no peace,” Osiris stated, stepping forward. “Your princess, Leonetta, has betrayed our lands and her kin.”
“Leonetta is a fae,” Tyriad replied angrily. “Her kin and her king sit in Athanasia.”
“That may be so,” Osiris chuckled. “But your king is not much use to you now, is he?”
Tyriad gritted his teeth and grasped on to his sword handle. Holland lifted his blade slightly at the sight of Tyriad’s aggression. The fae commander loosened his grip and smiled.
“Then it is settled,” Tyriad stated. “We will meet at dawn in the valley of Waterman Hills.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Osiris stated. “And send word to Leonetta: I like my fae crispy.”
Osiris turned and stomped off back to the port. Tyriad stood for a moment, staring at the face of Holland. He knew he could take the Avalon Commander where he stood, but he knew that would do nothing more than get him killed. He lifted his hands and began to back away slowly.
“Wait,” Holland stated as he nodded to the guards to retreat. Once they were out of sight, Holland sheathed his sword and stepped toward Tyriad.
“She has made it safely?” he whispered.
“She is alive, and lucky to be,” Tyriad barked. “Your king’s men stabbed her in the heart. If it weren’t for King Anthurium, it would be her memorial we left behind.”
Tyriad turned to walk toward the shifters, waiting for his retreat. He smiled to himself before stopping and turning back to Holland. Holland looked up from the ground sensing his turn.
“Let me
ask you something, Holland,” Tyriad replied. “How have you been sleeping?”
Tyriad chuckled at the shocked look on Holland’s face before shifting into his dragon and taking flight. As he flew away from the port, he glanced to the left where he could see the tall towers built, awaiting transport. Soldiers scrambled below, moving from the comfort of the cottages and glaring up at Tyriad and the other dragons as they disappeared into the distance. Though Tyriad knew the likelihood of peace was but a glimmer of hope, he couldn’t help but feel the pain of lost lives before the battle had even begun. By this time tomorrow, the battle would be over, and one victor would stand.
***
“Did he really think we would bend to a request from the fae?” Osiris barked loudly inside the saloon. “They are arrogant. I am the King of Kings.”
“Save your anger for the battlefield, Your Grace,” Holland said, standing in the doorway. “We have to get the troops ready. We will leave here by the moon’s highest point. But first, we need to plan our attack.”
“I say we go with the original plan,” Osiris said, looking over at Holland and taking a shot of whiskey. “Whether we are sneaking up on them or not, it is a solid strategy.”
“I agree, Your Grace,” Holland stated, not wanting to argue. “I will alert the necromancer and ready the army.”
“Holland,” Osiris called out before he could walk away, “these Fae will not best us, do you understand?”
Holland nodded in understanding before turning to the streets of the port. He rounded the corner and headed for the tower where Alfontus had made his home for the last couple of days. He greeted Holland at the door and listened intently as Holland explained the change in plans. Holland felt Alfontus was acting strangely, but he shrugged it off, realizing that the necromancer was strange no matter what situation he was in.
“Will I ride a shifter to the valley?” Alfontus asked, ignoring all the important details Holland had given him.
“Yes,” Holland replied with irritation. “Try to pack light.”
“Of course,” Alfontus stated smiling. “Just one bag.”
“See you in a few hours,” Holland stated as he turned and walked back toward the docks. Before he arrived at the general’s housing, he decided to shoot over to the cottage and say goodbye to Malaya. He knew once he started to prepare the army for departure he may not have time to go back. Holland stood on the steps of the cottage wishing for a moment that was where he would call home. He shook his head, thinking of the lush lands that Avalon once had, an almost disparaging feeling in his chest.
Holland walked through the open door of the cottage and looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone there, and he checked the bedroom in case she was sleeping. Malaya wasn’t there, but her clothes were on the chair. Either she had changed, or she was wandering the beach naked. Holland chuckled at the thought and stepped back out onto the porch.
I heard of the change. I am waiting by the docks. The voice entering his head was that of the general, and Holland sighed as he still saw no sign of his lady.
On my way, General.
Holland skipped down the steps and across the black sand beach toward the docks where his general sat waiting. The two went to work immediately, gathering the troops in the field beyond the port and briefing them on the most recent events. The army first loaded all gear not needed for the battle back into the ships and then began to prepare for their destination. Unlike the fae, the Avalon army would be marching directly into war and therefore needed to be ready before they arrived. Most of the army would march while others would ride atop the shifters that would be pulling the tall towers toward their destination.
Holland watched as his shifters changed into their dragons and giant, thick chains were thrown over their backs and attached to the weapons. The clinking sound of steel and the smell of rust surrounded the men as the wind began to pick up off of the Fortune’s shores. There was a bit of a hike in front of them, and Holland was anxious to get on their way. As the last of the towers were hooked together, the troops lined up, tossing any unneeded items in a pile by the docks. Holland changed into his dragon and started the brigade forward. The mood was dark, but Osiris didn’t seem to be phased by the impending battle, and Holland didn’t know if that was his ever-strengthening spirit or the bottle of rye he left on the saloon floor. Either way, he was happy that the king was quiet and ready to move forward.
Into the night the Avalon army pushed, knowing that the next time they marched, the battle would be over, and their fate would be revealed.
***
No one slept at the camp of the fae, and bonfires raged in the valley. The men were solemn but kept their spirits up by singing old fae songs. Tyriad noticed how different a fae camp was of the human and ogre ones he had encountered. However, with the impending battle, no one sat separated. The ogres had offered their meals to the fae, and they all sat around together in solidarity. The fae were not accustomed to violence and few that sat ready had ever seen battle before. However, their allies, the ogre, had been at war within their own realm for decades, and the fae found comfort in knowing they had someone to talk to about what to expect. Some of the fae were very young, while others served under Anthurium for over a century. To look at them, however, would show a group of men, regardless of age, ready to lay down their lives for the Vale.
Tyriad sat perched on the top of the hill staring out into the clouded sky. The moon was full and shone through the dark, stormy night. The telling moon cast eerie rays of light down onto the valley below where the Avalon army would soon be standing. The strong smell of fire-brewed coffee wafted through the hills, and Tyriad grasped his hot tin mug, wishing the smell would stay in his nostrils. He had been in the presence of death before, and it was something his senses could never shake. He reached down and ran his necklace through his fingers, thinking of his new bride. He had loved and protected Asphodul his entire life, but now that she was his mate, he felt even more inclined to make sure he brought her people home safely.
Tyriad watched as the shifters did circles around the camp, too restless to sleep, and too anxious to join in with the fae. They had spoken of the Wild, wishing they were there to back them up during the battle, but they were still unseen. Tyriad couldn’t help but wonder if they had been caught by Avalon allies. The ogres hadn’t seen any sign of them on their journey to Athanasia, so it was unlikely King Byron snuck a bunch of Wild Dragons and a young girl by the ogres without their noticing. Still, their disappearance was random and peculiar. The Vale wasn’t that large, and in fact, the realm itself was populated enough that someone should have seen them by now.
Stars shot across the sky, catching Tyriad’s attention and shifting his thoughts back to Asphodul and all the nights she sat up sending Leonetta messages in the night sky. He leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the whole of the universe in front of him. The constellations twinkled as the clouds parted, revealing the heavens to Tyriad. He sighed, thinking about the peace he felt and how short that feeling would last. As the breeze blew over him, he closed his eyes and rested for what seemed like only a minute. He was awoken by the sounds of roars from his shifters high in the sky, and fear ran through his chest.
He jumped to his feet and shifted quickly, taking flight over the hills. In the distance, he could see the tall flags of Avalon waving as the army marched forward. He landed quickly, shifted to human form, and sounded the alarm. The troops jumped to their feet and began preparing for the arrival of the army. Tyriad was impressed with their swiftness and joined in to help mount the horses. The fae army didn’t need large towers or special weapons; they held a wealth of power inside of them.
When the troops had aligned and the shifters had landed at the top of the hill, Tyriad knew it was time to make their appearance. He rode his horse back and forth in front of the troops trying to muster a speech but found that there was only one thing that needed to be said. He stopped and turned toward the fae, lifting hi
s sword into the air.
“For the Vale,” he yelled. The troops threw their swords up high and cheered as they marched behind Tyriad up the hill.
As the commander crested the hill atop his noble, white steed, the dragons moved aside and revealed the army before him. Where he expected to see troves of Avalon soldiers sat nothing but flowing grasses. In the center stood a tall, wooden platform with the necromancer perched on top. Alfontus clapped his hands and laughed as the fae army began to appear across the hill. Tyriad looked at him suspiciously, wondering what type of strategy Osiris had come up with. With the last slap of Alfontus’ hands, dark clouds rolled overhead, and thunder crashed in the distance.
The necromancer rubbed his black gloves together quickly, and Tyriad watched as a black liquid flowed from his palms, down his arms, through the slats in the wooden structure and into the earth below. The ground began to shake beneath the fae army’s feet, and Tyriad looked up at Alfontus who’s head was pointed to the sky, and his eyes had gone completely gray. The ground continued to shake, and slowly, the old bones of warriors past began to claw their way through the broken dirt and onto the surface of the valley. They stood very still, holding their rusted, earthen swords in their fleshless, bony fingers.
When the last of the dead had dug their way back to the living, Alfontus turned his attention back to the fae. His eyes turned from gray to black, and a menacing smile flashed across his face. With the clap of his hands, the black liquid disappeared, and in unison the lifeless army snapped to attention, the sound of their clanking bones echoing across the valley.
The dead had come to the Vale.
Chapter Thirteen: The Battle
The fae shifters took to the sky as Alfontus began to command the army of the dead. They attempted to swoop down to take swipes at Alfontus, but the Avalon dragons had created a flying circle of protection around him. They swirled in unison around the necromancer, their wings spread wide and fire shooting outward from their snouts. Tyriad lifted his sword, and the first line of fae stepped forward, crouching and preparing their magic. As the commander lowered his sword, pointing it at the skeletons below, streaming ribbons of magic shot out from the fae soldiers, striking the dead and exploding their lifeless bodies.
War of the Realms Box Set Page 23
