Wilt Oan had left Kloe Datris with the promise that he would flee the castle immediately. And he was well prepared to do so. But as he had stolen through the darkened corridors of secret rooms and hidden passages, he had stumbled upon a large storage room. He would not have given it a thought, however, the stench emitting from the room was enough to gag him, so he thought it best to investigate. What he found in the otherwise empty room brought him to his knees.
Bodies. All of them broken and rotting.
The horrid smell of the carcasses made him sick, forcing him to leave the room. He ran out and rested against the cool brick wall, sliding down to sit on his feet, eyes wide with fear, body trembling.
His eyes began searching the darkness of the halls, scared that whatever did this would be back to find him waiting. He rose to his feet quickly. Every instinct he had was yelling at him to run away, but he couldn’t. Slowly he began to walk back into the room, careful to be quiet this time. He stood at the pile of bodies, most of which were several days old, and studied their faces. It wasn’t something he planned on doing, it just happened. He couldn’t tear himself away from the raw fear frozen within them. Their eyes cast such a gruesome display of terror that Oan’s skin rippled.
He began moving the bodies, looking for wounds, searching for a cause of death. There was no blood to be found, no cuts or even bruises. And then he saw something that sent him stumbling backwards. His mouth opened wide in shock, his heart pounded hard and rapid. He sat for a few seconds in total disbelief.
Queen Sienna’s body lay within the pile of the dead. Her face stricken with horror, pale and lifeless.
Wilt Oan swallowed hard. There was no question as to whom it was. There was no mistaking the body for someone else. He had been in the presence of the Queen for countless years. This was her. The old man’s blood ran cold then as he wondered how and when she had died.
Then a door shut.
Wilt Oan jumped to his feet in panic. He could hear the soft scrape of something drawing closer from the passage. Frantically he ran to exit, but he could hear labored breathing moving quickly towards him. He had to hide. His eyes searched the room quickly. There were two wooden tables and one narrow cabinet. Nothing worthy of concealment. The sounds from the corridor were nearing. Oan panicked. He ran the length and width of the room, searching the walls for a hidden exit, something to trigger a secret door for escape. Nothing.
A shadow passed into the doorway and Wilt Oan dropped to the floor. He tried his best to slow his breathing, to appear just as motionless as the bodies next to him. He could hear the groaning movements of something in the room with him now, the heavy breathing, deep and raspy. Oan’s heart pounded against the floor. He thought at any second he would be caught. The panic nearly made him bolt from the floor. But he remained silent, waiting.
He cracked one eyelid open to look at what was going on. In the sliver of sight, a dark figure was noticed. Oan thought it was facing the other direction, so he quickly opened his eyes. What he thought he saw was an elf struggling to remove something, a shirt perhaps, possibly a necklace. But then Oan witnessed something he could not explain. The elf’s body slumped to the floor, yet a shadow remained standing. Oan blinked, hoping to clear his vision, thinking he didn’t see something right. And while he was doing so, the shadowy figure dove into the body pile. Seconds later, something rose from the floor. It was the Queen. Oan shut his eyes tight. There was no mistaking what he saw.
A wave of nausea washed over him then. The reality of what had taken place was making him sick. His head dizzied and never slowed. He had to leave. He had to tell Kloe Datris. The thought of a demon living inside the Queen spun circles in his mind. He had to warn them. He had to tell someone.
But before any of that could be done, Wilt Oan laid his head against the floor as his eyes washed in a spinning blackness.
It was an hour before dawn when Ankar Rie made out the lights from the city of Cillitran. Exhausted and thirsty, the young sorcerer kept pace through the Shyl Plains as the lights at the horizon became less of a blur and more of distinct fires. Still several miles away, he could make out the army’s encampment along the outer wall of the great city. Standing atop a small foothill, Ankar had the sunken feeling that he was too late.
Sunlight lit the sky in a morning glow behind the mountain range by the time Ankar reached the outskirts of the encampment. Foot-soldiers and bowmen crowded around dying fires, crowds of tents held still slumbering men in long rows reaching several hundreds of yards from the city gate. Some men looked up from their hot drinks to greet him or just to study him, others didn’t give him concern at all as he headed for the massive stone wall and the towering iron gates. Guards were posted at either side, but the gate remained opened as he approached. The guards studied him, asked him to remove his hood, then let him pass through.
Once into the city, the palace grounds were visible several hundred yards away, the palace itself was a juggernaut against the small shops and ale houses lining the streets. Ankar Rie quickly took notice of the expressions on the people he saw, none of which looked happy. He overheard a group of men talking about killing a few elves the night before. Ankar didn’t look in their direction, but he could feel them staring him down. The city had an awful feel to it already, he thought. The people seemed bitter and blood-thirsty.
He came along another group of people of all ages gathered around a man in the street. Curiously, he let himself wander close enough to see what was taking place. The man was standing next to a section of the street that was stained red, retelling his encounter with an elf, how he bludgeoned him to death at the very spot, speaking as though he was a hero, boasting as if he was worthy of praise. Many in the streets cheered.
“Death to the Elves!” the man chanted. A roar went up in the crowd and the chant began.
Ankar Rie turned to an older woman next to him. “What crime did the elf do to this man that merited death?”
The woman merely shook her head. “It was the will of the Queen. The new law. Elves are not welcomed. None can enter. None can live to exit. The Queen is giving rewards for their heads, to reimburse the King’s death.”
Ankar Rie drew his hood closer to his face and sadly walked away. The old woman’s words were true. He heard a group of angry men cursing that their night’s work was in vain, as their attempt to catch some elves went awry and they lost one of their own instead. The word was everywhere. Everyone was looking for an elf to bring to the Queen. It seems the war had already started.
Ankar Rie set his eyes to watch his footfalls, deciding that he didn’t want to see or hear any more. He walked to the palace with the thought that changing the Queen’s mind was going to be a fight he had no chance of winning.
Kloe Datris had left Wilt Oan to escape a death sentence then departed outside to the burial ceremony for Turyn Andelline. A select group of people were present to witness the King’s body entombed underground in the royal burial vault. The Head of the Red Knights thought it odd that Queen Sienna was not there mourning. When he quietly asked of her whereabouts, he learned that she declined the event, staying only to her room.
When the business was finished, Kloe Datris went to the Queen’s room in the tower and questioned the two Red Knights stationed there. He was told that she had not left the room all night. He thought that under all the stress, Queen Sienna probably just needed some rest and alone time. He told the Red Knights that he was going to bed and that if something were to happen to let him know right away.
Kloe Datris didn’t sleep much. The bad dreams and the constant thought of someone entering to kill him kept him too alert for sleep to completely drift him away. Tired and weary, he spent much of his night wondering if Oan made it out alive. He also wondered when the sorcerer would arrive to help them. With so much going on in his head, he thought himself foolish for even considering sleep.
Daylight flooded through his window now, bright and full of hope. What little sleep he could’ve had was gone. He decided Oan ha
d enough time to escape, and now he must tell the Queen that the old man had done just that. She wouldn’t take it well, he knew. He would argue to her that the search for him would not stop, though he had no intentions of fulfilling his promise. A small lie, he thought. But nothing compared to the ones that were floating about now.
The Head of the Red Knights left his room of solitude and walked through the castle halls. Talk of war was gossiped and whispered by almost everyone. He knew the captains and commanders had men in waiting outside the city wall, and soon they would be told to march across the Shyl to the Lyyn Forest.
But should they?
The question burned in his mind until he greeted the night watch at the Queen’s door. After a few minutes of questions and answers, two more Red Knights arrived to relieve them and Kloe told them that he was going in to speak with the Queen. He told them that Oan had escaped, and that he had helped him. They could be trusted, he knew. They had to know the truth.
“One other thing,” Kloe Datris was reaching for the door, when he turned back to the four Red Knights, “there’s a sorcerer coming. I want to speak to him before anyone else. Anyone else.” He looked at each of them to make certain they fully understood the seriousness of his request. They each nodded. He opened Queen Sienna’s door and entered.
Kloe Datris stepped into the Queen’s sleeping chamber and nearly choked from the smell. He shut the door behind him and called out for Sienna. With the drapes shutting out the morning light, the room was dark, but not dark enough for him to see that the bed was empty.
“My Queen?”
He shivered with a sense that something was dreadfully wrong. He sped to the curtains, releasing the ties and drawing the long shades open. He heard an angry hiss behind him and turned quickly. Queen Sienna stood next to an opened closet with her hands next to her face blocking the sun’s rays.
“My Queen, I apologize for my rudeness. I thought maybe—”
“What do you want?”
Kloe Datris immediately recognized something wrong with the Queen. Her voice was raspy, rough. Her eyes were cold and empty. She looked terribly ill. He looked to the floor. “My Queen, are you in bad health?”
“Leave me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve only come to tell you that Wilt Oan—”
“Leave me!” The Queen hissed, moving back into the shadows of the closet.
Kloe Datris left the room quickly. From the hall, he reached back to swing her door closed, noticing the Queen slumping to the closet floor. He shut the door softly.
“Captain?” the Red Knights questioned. None of them were used to seeing their captain visibly scared.
Kloe Datris tried to mask his concern, but it was too late. He drew them in close to him and began to whisper. “No one is to enter that room alone. Keep everyone away from her. She is not herself. She could be harmful to herself as well as everyone else.”
His face was a twist on anger and fear. He paused as he considered telling them what he saw, but thought better of it. “Stay alert.”
Kloe Datris left them to watch the door as he made his way into the secret tunnel that the Queen preferred for the past few weeks. His thoughts stayed on how she had looked and spoke, the smell of the room clinging to him even in the passage. It was very unlike the Queen; something was wrong with her.
Resting his head against the cool stone wall, Kloe Datris began to wonder how far Wilt Oan had made it.
“They have magic!” Ern Dwull cursed. He stood at the front of a circular table that seated the highest ranking members of the army and reminded them of how lopsided the war may be.
“Repeating it will not make it any easier. We are fully aware of the Elves creating magic for the war. Though what they have made and what they can do have yet to be seen.” Lon Ruell sat next to Ern Dwull, tired of hearing the same discussions, his own commanders and lieutenants looking over the maps centered on the table. “War is never fair. Men will die. We need to make certain that it is our men that do not.”
Heads nodded in unison around the table. Their meeting had continued for an hour already, with much of that time spent listening to Ern Dwull cast his loathing for the Elves. They had their plans of attack molded in mind already, they just felt the need to re-emphasize certain aspects of it each day. There was a lot of planning involved for going to war, and none of them wanted to be killed due to the lack of it. Mainly though, they held their briefings to see if anyone was coming to their aid. Even in the back of Ern Dwull’s mind, the war was going to be terribly scary for Men. They knew they had nothing to counter the Elves magic.
“Archers are ready. Swordsmen, too. By nightfall, catapults and the war wagons will be in place. We march at dawn.” Ern Dwull stroked his black beard with an angry look in his beady eyes.
“We wait for the Queen’s command,” Lon Ruell stated flatly.
“It will be at dawn,” growled Ern back. “I will see her this afternoon for a short briefing. She will hear what I have to say. There is no point in delaying further.”
Lon Ruell smiled, still sitting. “We’ve gone over this, Dwull. We are waiting for a sorcerer the King had sent for. His aid will be invaluable.”
Heads around the table nodded in agreement. Ern Dwull stopped stroking his black beard and slammed his fist into the table. “It will take us days to reach the outskirts of the Lyyn. If the sorcerer cannot join us in that time, then he probably has found reason to stay home. And don’t forget he is an ally to the Elves and therefore cannot be trusted to aid us as we see fit!”
“Settle down, Ern. Or do you wish to fight us as well?” Lon mused. “If the Queen sees fit to march at dawn, we will be ready. Tonight we sleep with our men at the wall. We’ll have a short briefing at dawn nonetheless.”
He turned to Ern Dwull with a smile. “And unless you wish to continue with something irrelevant, then I think we can dismiss this meeting.”
Ern Dwull shook his head. He was still mad and didn’t care for the other’s jokes. “I am an impatient man when it comes to the justice of my King’s murder. The Queen will be as well.”
And just as the last few meetings have ended, Ern Dwull rolled up his maps and stormed out of the castle’s chamber without further word to anyone. His loyal lieutenants followed hastily, each of them scowling as well.
“Despite what he believes, the sorcerer would be our greatest ally.” Lon spoke to the remaining members, who muttered their agreement. “He may be the only one to withstand their magic.”
“And if Ern is right, and he does not show up?” a commander asked quietly, scared of the answer.
“We fight.” Lon sighed and continued somberly. “With all of their power, what have they to gain in killing the King and his son? It does not make any sense to me. I will not lie to you; I am very hesitant about going to war with the Elves. They have been our allies in the past. All of this has come about with no real reason. Lord Estrial still claims they are innocent.”
“It was the will of the King. We will respect that.” Another said.
Lon nodded. “Still, it does not sit well with me. I think that maybe I’ll be with Ern Dwull when he speaks to the Queen.”
They rose from the table, said brief words in parting, then moved out of the meeting chamber to split their ways. As Lon Ruell walked into the hallway, a messenger sprinting its length barreled into him, sending them both to the floor.
“I’m sorry, so sorry.” The messenger spewed his apologies continuously as Lon helped him to his feet. His face was sweaty, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“What is the hurry?”
“I need to find the Red Knights. There’s someone here to see the Queen.” His words were spoke quickly, and he barely stood around long enough for Lon to respond.
“Whom?”
“A sorcerer. His name is Ankar Rie. I must go now. Sorry again.”
And with that, the messenger sprinted away. Lon Ruell smiled inwardly and felt a great weight shift from him. The sorcerer had arrive
d. The might of the Elves did not seem so inescapable.
Lon turned to his set of commanders. “Hope has arrived.”
Ankar Rie sat in an eating area with a plate of breakfast foods and fresh fruits and thought how nice it was to sit down and eat something good again. Not since Illken Dor had a meal like this been prepared for him, and he was grateful. He sat alone eating, watching the people stare back at him as they walked the halls going to wherever they had to be. In the midst of all the chaos, he found serenity.
It had been almost half an hour before Kloe Datris showed up to greet him. The Head of the Red Knights smiled broadly, introduced himself with a firm handshake, and then sat down across from Ankar Rie.
“I’ve come from Illken Dor to bring you aid. My name is Ankar Rie. I am a friend of Shadox, and so your king, and so you.”
“We must hurry, as you can see. The Queen will send out the army soon, and I wished to speak with you privately before she does so.” He watched the other nod, then lowered his voice and continued. “What do you know of the events as of recent?”
“Cillitran is heading for war with the Forest Elves. I hear the Queen is enforcing a “no elf” rule in the city. This is all stemming from the death of the King, as I understand. Which is the reason for war. Which is the reason for my presence. I shall stall her—”
“Stall?” Kloe Datris was confused. He leaned in closer. “You are not here to aid us in the war? What help do you intend to bring us then?”
“Shadox has instructed me to reason with the Queen until he arrives. The goal is to have no war between the Races.”
Kloe Datris sat back away from the table. “You are too late.”
Ankar sighed. He had figured as much already. “I need to speak with her nonetheless.”
“I must warn you. She is not herself.” Kloe Datris thought for a second, then leaned in close and sternly began to whisper. “Something is happening to her, and I’m not sure what. Her demands and justifications are not of her manner. What if I tell you that she was the last one I saw with the King before he was murdered? And now we are off to war with an Elven nation that would surely decimate us? With no real evidence?”
Ankar nodded, thinking it through. “If what you claim is true, then things are far worse than we’ve anticipated. I expect that she is under a watch at all hours? With no council from any advisors?”
He paused as Kloe nodded, responding that it was the Queen’s wish to not see anyone. Ankar thought for a second, then spoke his request. “I need to speak with the Queen. Right now, Red Knight.”
“I will take you to her, sorcerer. Do what you must.”
Ankar Rie rose from the table after the Head of the Red Knights and began to wonder how it would be so for a man of Kloe Datris’ stature to be so afraid of his Queen.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN