Knights and Dragons of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

“That is precisely what we wish to enquire about, but this buffoon-”

  “Darnly watch your tongue,” Aiden barked, and the lords were silenced. The sense of power made him smile, however faintly, “Sergeant Combs has been indispensable. You may consider words from his mouth as but on step from my own.” Combs straightened, and Aiden chewed his lip, “Combs come with me.” He said, and led him to a more secluded area,

  “Highness?”

  “Who did survive, Combs? Who of note?”

  “As far as I know, Godwillie, Stathern, and Remus all live from the greater nobility.”

  “They’re old men, Combs!” Aiden said, hands tangled in his hair,

  “I am aware, highness,” Combs said, and his eyes followed Aiden as he paced, “may I make a suggestion?” Aiden stopped and rubbed his face,

  “Of course, Combs,” he said,

  “Why not promote a capable military man of lesser standing to the post?” Combs said, “Such a man’s first loyalty would be to you. He’d have no part of the alliances and squabbles of the great nobles, and experience of the lower regimens of the army.”

  Aiden opened his mouth to list the reasons as to why that would be impossible before the benefits dawned on him,

  “Would that be possible?” Aiden asked, mouth agape,

  “You are the King.” Combs said simply. Aiden nodded,

  “Yes, and who would you suggest?” He said, suddenly feeling the dearth of his understanding, “what of the man who won last years tourney?”

  “Spittal is too low born, I fear,” Combs said, “but the man he bested, Darling, has an elder brother who has long served the military. He led a cavalry charge at Bledd.”

  “Yes, father honoured him, I remember…” Aiden nodded, “bring him to me, Combs.”

  Darling did not shuffle his feet, but he might as well have. He was a hulk of a man whose uniform seemed stretched over stone, and yet he seemed to fidget without doing so.

  “Darling, is it?” Aiden asked, and motioned for him to sit with one hand,

  “Yes, highness.” He said and sat awkwardly. His great thighs tensed; he held his own weight as if scared the chair might give under him,

  “You might be aware that the Royal General has passed?” Aiden said, Darling nodded, “Well, I find myself in need of a man who can command the army, and Combs and I are in agreement that you fit the bill nicely.”

  “Me?” Darling rumbled, brows raised almost to his hairline,

  “That’s what I said,” Aiden said,

  “Highness… I….” Darling seemed aware of how precarious it was to question a King; smart as well as capable, “am I not too… well, aren’t I not… enough?”

  “The post is generally held by men of great houses, yes,” Aiden said, “but they so often quarrel. I need a man who understands the soldiers, but more importantly who sees this role as the most important in his life. I will not force you, Darling, but my father thought well enough of you to honour you. The army needs a man who is capable.” Darling worked his irritatingly square jaw and then nodded,

  “I would be honoured,” he said with a crooked grin, “how do you want to engage the enemy tomorrow, highness?” Aiden smiled,

  “Avondale is sending reinforcements, a lone messenger came today. It would be reasonable to assume they will arrive within the next few days. Until they do we will maintain our boundaries… unless pushed into action.” Darling nodded,

  “Then perhaps the guard and reserve guard can make up the bulk of our forces until they do?” Darling said, “the soldiers are weary, if they could be allowed to rest they might be more effective when we push out.”

  Aiden blinked; it was so simple, and yet so unexpected. He nodded,

  “Yes, see it done. I will speak with you again tomorrow, you are dismissed.” Aiden sighed and leaned back after Darling left. The lords filed in one by one, and Aiden was shocked by how few were left. Only four of nine. Darnly, Godwillie, Strathern, and Remus. Aiden drew in a breath,

  “My lords,” he said, “I had Combs call you from your respite, I know, and so I shall not keep you long. I wished only to inform you that a messenger came from Avondale. They are sending reinforcements to aid us.”

  “That is good news,” Remus said, Aiden nodded,

  “Yes, it is. Until they arrive we will endeavour to hold the line and lose no more ground. Colm Darling is now Royal General and will oversee this process, you shall ask him as to the placement of your men from now on.”

  The silence was as huge as it was deafening,

  “Colm Darling,” Godwillie said slowly, “the son of the Western Burgess?”

  “Yes.” Aiden said simply,

  “His brother fought in the Tourny did he not?” Strathern said with forced cheer,

  “Yes, he lost to Spittal.” Godwillie said, mouth working as if something bitter was lodged between his teeth, “He is a commoner, Aiden.”

  “Not any more, Lord Godwillie,” Aiden said, “just as I was once the crown Price, but am now your King, Darling was once a competent officer and is now the Royal General. He knows his place, perhaps you should remember yours.” Godwillie flushed,

  “My King.” He said and bowed stiffly. When Combs slipped out behind them and shut the door firmly Aiden let out a low sigh and stretched his legs out. When the first cries came he jerked upright, standing with his head tilted, praying they were but the arguments of frightened men. Then the screaming started.

  CHAPTER XIV

  The pain in her back had come and go as it pleased for days. It had proven so disruptive that she had made the courier repeat the news from the front twice. It took hours to read and make sense of the letter fragments give to her. It did not occur to her until after her bath that it was not a mistake; he could not decide on what to say, and so he had sent them all.

  In the confusion and hurt that surrounded the death of the King he had reached out to her… she held them tight; it was an opportunity. She read through them once more, in their varying lengths;

  Avondale I am sorry for what I said to you…

  I am sorry what I said hurt you…

  I am sorry that our feelings do not meld on this matter….

  The phrases ranged from hurt, angry snaps to low, plaintive wheedling. They were all well-meant, each letter had a kernel of love and hope in it, but only one stood out. A single page, and on it a single line;

  Avondale, I am sorry for your pain, and sorry that I cannot heal it, but I do not know how I feel or what I think at this moment. I only know that I love you as much as I ever have.

  It was bitter-sweet, it stung like a whiplash and soothed like a balm all at once. It kindled love and rage in equal parts, but it was honest… and that settled something in her.

  “I wish to see Greendales statue.” She said suddenly, “The real one.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Shannon detached from the wall one which he had plastered himself, like a shadow or a statue, “Do you wish for Lady Sonja?”

  “No. She will be hunting with the hounds. I wish to go alone.”

  “I… cannot allow that.” He said, “But I can give you privacy as we arrive.” Avondale sighed; she had thought, as a child, that being Queen would make her the most powerful, the most important, and the most valuable person in the castle. She had been right, of course, but ignorant of how responsibility, duty, and expectation bound the important and powerful so more painfully than the invisible and overlooked.

  “Very well.”

  They rode in silence through the Royal Gardens, out into the demesne, and as the roads began to fade into dirt, and the patrols dwindled Shannon drew near. They were no longer in Royal lands and so he feared ambush, she supposed, but the lands of Greendale had never been alien to her. They were as well-kept, quiet, and lawful as they had been in his life. Though Fiona stayed within the castle her Steward was left to be a miniature lord in her absence. The statue rose in the distance, and Avondale smiled. Too long had she been away from these lands; the
house seemed smaller, now, but the cottars waved as they always had before bowing. She smiled weakly. All things had to change.

  When she dismounted by the foot of the plinth Shannon was nowhere to be seen, but Avondale knew he would be within earshot. He was, after all, very good at his job.

  She held the letters as she mounted the stairs to sit on the plinth of the statue,

  “I am confused, Greendale,” she said, “I…wish you were here to tell me why this is so.” Birds chittered in the background, “Did I not do everything I should have? Did I not… Have I not been a good wife and companion? Do I deserve blame, or is there something I am missing?” She unrolled the most complete letter and blinked at it, reading it aloud in a quiet voice,

  Avondale,

  I write this in haste so forgive my poor form; the messenger you sent will bring this to you with others and with news. My father is dead, and I now find myself king of Archibald as well as your husband and consort. As well as the leader of this battle.

  As well as the person who failed you.

  I know that my hurt is only for the fact that I could not save you from that fate, but I cannot find the end of it. You carry his child, and you will love it, when it comes because you are a woman, a good woman, and you must for it is not in your nature to hate the innocent. And it is not in my nature to hate you, but I cannot find the formulae to love this child as you will. Does that make me terrible? I suppose it does.

  You said time may heal some wounds, but I fear it is tearing them wider. I fear we must hash this out between us and accept the wounds such discussions will inflict. I fear that you will choose the child over our life together, or that I will be unable to choose to let go of the anger. I am sure, however, that your child will be as dear and wise and loving as you are, and that gives me hope that we can be as we once were.

  I fear much, these days. But I do love you, and I wish to be with you again.

  “It ends there, Greendale, as if he cannot bear to say more, or think of more.” She rubbed her stomach as a sharp, tense pain grew, “As if he cannot think more on me… but I know he is right for some parts. We must discuss this. We are married now, and there is no going back. I wish you could tell me why it is he thinks so, for the unfairness of it all wounds me beyond belief. Does he have no right to this pain, as I feel, or am I being too harsh? He said once that this was ‘perhaps’ harder for me, and I wanted to slap him, Prophet forgive me, hard enough to rattle bones. His pride is wounded, yes, but I was… it was I he held down and raped, it was I who begged for mercy and bled through undergarments in the days after. It was I who could not pass urine or shit without screaming for a week. It is I who recoil at the touch of any man. Is my pain lesser than his because someone raped what he thought was touchable only for him?” She looked up at the statue, “Is it fair to feel this way? I cannot find my…” she trailed off, clamping a hand over her mouth as agony ripped through her body and the cramps that had come all day intensified beyond all reason. Wetness spread across her backside and thighs.

  “I… oh God,” Avondale gasped, clutching her stomach, and tried to stand as the first scream tore from her lips.

  ***

  The scream was blood curdling, beyond anything he had heard in his life; the pretty Sister who had bandaged his wounds dangled from the great pincers of a demon nearing seven feet tall. She screamed and kicked as the gargantuan, shining talons crushed her hips between their edges. Her innards spilled over the gleaming contours of the shell-like surface, and when she fell silent that silence, in the chaos of battle, was somehow more terrible. Almost over-night the number of demons seemed to have doubled, and while they had held them off for the first day, dusk was falling. Avondale reinforcements were yet to be seen, and the tide seemed never-ending. Aiden gasped, clutching a bleeding tear in his side,

  “Combs!” He screamed, “Rally on the square.”

  Echoed cries rippled out among the men; the message would find him. Aiden threw himself back into the fray with a hoarse cry, thrusting his sword into the belly of a tentacle monstrosity that was trying to drag a standard bearer from his post.

  Combs vaulted a wall, landing by Aiden,

  “Shield wall,” he roared, and his voice was that of a God. Men fell into place around him, “The civilians evacuate, my King,” Combs said, “Darling and his men are holding the main bottle neck ahead. When they break, and they will, we will be the last defence.”

  “I know.” Aiden said, closing his eyes, he touched, above his breast, the letter that he had finally managed to write to Avondale. The one written on scraps between waves of demons and fits of fevered sleep.

  “Should you wish to pull back-”

  “I will stand with my men.” Aiden said simply. The streets had cleared, and it was quiet, ominously so, but for the distant sounds of Darling’s battle. A young woman hurried from her hiding place, “You.” He called and she froze, “Come here. What’s your name?”

  “Serena, m’lord.” She said, clutching a small, red-headed child to her. Aiden pulled the letter from his pocket,

  “Serena, take this to the castle in Avondale, and give it to the Queen. In person.” He said, and pulled his wedding ring off, “Show this to the guards so that they believe you and tell her I am not returning it. I will wish it back when I return.” Serena took it, eyes widening as she realised who he was,

  “Of course, my king.” She said, “Thank you.” She added and fled.

  Combs shifted,

  “You trust her?”

  “I have to.” Aiden said, “The letter has to reach her. In case I do not.”

  “What does it say?” Combs asked, unabashed by his own impertinence, Aiden blinked as the first demon launched itself over the barricade,

  “It asks her forgiveness,” he said, “and the forgiveness of our son.”

  ***

  Shannon thundered into view,

  “I think he’s coming.” Avondale cried, clutching her stomach, and Shannon blinked stupidly for a few moments before gaping,

  “I will get the medicus-”

  “No don’t leave me!” Avondale screamed; the terror burned tight and hot in her throat. Shannon wavered helplessly,

  “Is… is it coming right now?” Shannon asked, but she could find no words; her body seemed to be ready to tear itself apart from the inside out. Where was her father? Her mother,

  “I want my mother,” she sobbed, “it hurts so much.” Shannon set his jaw and tried to stand, “No!”

  “I must get the medicus.” He said firmly,

  “Please, please don’t leave me,” she sobbed, “something’s wrong this hurts too much, God.”

  “Well what can I do?” He said,

  “I… God I don’t…. I need to lie down,” she said and he shook his head, pulling her to her feet. They made a strange sight, no doubt, thundering into the courtyard on one horse, but the urgency of his shouts sent servants and soldiers alike running. Sonja leapt the wall of the stables and rushed to catch her as she slid from the horse. Between them they carried her to her rooms with maids and guards in tow.

  “Out!” Shannon barked at the hounds, and they leapt from the bed reluctantly. Avondale took three deep breaths and lay back; the pain had abated somewhat. Shannon nervously smoothed the pillows beside her as the maids fussed, and she gripped his free hand as tightly as she dared,

  “I cannot do this,” she gasped, looking for Sonja, for Aiden, for anyone.

  “Prince Aiden should be here,” Shannon said, but she shook her head,

  “He wouldn’t come. Even if he could,” she said, unsure if her face was wet with sweat or tears, “he cannot accept the child.”

  “Because…” Shannon let the end of the question trail respectfully away. Avondale nodded,

  “Yes,” she said with a weak smile. A handsome, broad faced woman came in, tying a band around her hair before she took Avondale’s other hand. On her finger there was a familiar looking band. It matched Shannon’s.


  “Then he’s a fool,” Shannon said, and though his face flushed he didn’t take it back, “if I were… I know many men who would wish to be in his position. Who would happily raise the child, and who would understand the failure was not yours.” Avondale shrugged; she had had the conversation with him in real life and in her head so many times that the arguments had lost all meaning.

  “He hurts.” She said simply,

  “He will understand, eventually,” the woman said, “Shannon and I know that better than anyone.” Avondale grimaced,

  “Carlotte, I presume?” She gasped, the woman nodded and looked to Shannon,

  “Off you go, husband, this is womans work.”

  He looked relieved. Carlotte squeezed her hand,

  “I was like you, when Shannon and I married. Treated badly and abandoned by some chinless cretin,” Carlotte said, “he feels your pain, and Aidens, for it is ours, too.” Carlotte squeezed her hand, “And I feel it as your midwife… and a woman. You are not alone.” She squeeze Avondale’s hand. She had meant to squeeze gently back, but her back seized once more and the pain returned with, if possible, more intensity. Somewhere in the middle of a long, ragged scream a cool hand landed on her head. Avondale opened her eyes to see Eramys standing over her, concerned but steady. Her face was carefully blank.

  “Avondale,” she said, and turned Avondale’s face to her with one cool hand, “the childs back is against your own. This will be a hard birth.” Avondale sobbed and shook her head, Carlotte clucked her tongue and rubbed her stomach,

  “I can’t.”

  “You must,” Eramys said, “there is no choice. Roll with me, come.” Eramys guided her aching body onto its side and then looked over her shoulder, “Mistress Tethetras make a fist and press against her back, here. It will ease some of the pain.” Avondale began to suspect that this advice was intended to give her something to do because while it removed the tingling, fizzing pain from her legs there was little change in the squeezing, vice like pressure which covered her lower body. When the tide receded, and she flopped in a whimpering heap Eramys drew in a deep breath and stroked her hair, “you will endure, Avondale,” she said, “you must.”