One Crown & Two Thrones : A Tale of Two Queens : Book 3 : Prologue : Draft

Take a sneak peek of the upcoming book in the series ‘One Crown & Two Thrones’ coming September 2018!

A Tale of Two Queens

Prologue

Siege of Ballor

“Oswane! Wake up you bastard!” Gidafrey growled as he ascended the harbour wall. Oswane sat upon a small seat before a fire, asleep with a bottle of laman in his right hand. Gidafrey slapped his old friend on the back roughly. “Oswane wake up!”

“Ger off me!” Oswane growled as he awoke, his bottle of empty laman crashing to the stone ground beneath him. Oswane with disgust turned away from the middle aged guard and cast his eyes out across the dark seas, a great easterly wind sweeping through the harbour of Ballor city, causing the beacons of light to perish, leaving the guards amidst a terrible shadow. Gidafrey wrapped his cloak about his body and leaned his head forward, his eyes fixed upon a silhouette in the distance. “You’re not on duty until tomorrow afternoon, why have you come?”

“Cant you feel it?” Gidafrey answered, turning his green eyes to his friend.

“Feel what?” Oswane groaned as he got to his feet and walked over to Gidafrey, moving his shoulders in such a way that Gidafrey could hear them crack.

“That…” Gidafrey raised his eyes and waved his hands about. Turning to his friend, he looked into the man’s aged face, smelling the stench of laman on his breathe. “Look at the city, what do you see?” Oswane, his thick black brows furrowed, turned about to face the merchant city of Ballor. Oswane took a step towards the city before turning his eyes to Gidafrey.

“There are no lights…”

“But for one, which lies at the palace,” Gidafrey stated quietly, placing a hand upon the hilt of his sword. “And look carefully, see how it seems to be flickering as though by purpose?”

“Yes…” Oswane said with unease. “Yes I see!” he cried as the light flickered twice. Gidafrey scanned the lower wall of the harbour.

“Were are the other guard’s?” he asked aloud as the pair of guard’s made their way up the harbour wall, searching for other guard’s.

“They have gone….” Oswane said under his breath. “But where to?”

“Something is wrong,” Gidafrey said with distress as he lifted his beacon of fire high before him, searching for any signs of life. All that he could see within the harbour were the great trading and military ships, bobbing upon the rough waters, their sails swishing from side to side against the wind. Oswane now fully alert, tapped Gidafrey on the shoulder. Gidafrey turned to his old friend.

“The sky,” Oswane said, his index finger pointing to the dark sky ahead of them, now filled with small points of fire, heading in their direction.

“Arrows!” Gidafrey cried out as a crisp and unnerving cry filled the air, the arrows of fire passing over their heads and falling down through the darkness, hitting the great fleet of ships behind them. Gidafrey caught a hold of Oswane’s collar and forced him to the ground beside him.

“What in the name of the Gods is happening?” Oswane cried out as he and Gidafrey carefully scaled their way up the wall, the darkness now drowned in a storm of fire.

“The war we have all been waiting for, has finally arrived,” Gidafrey declared as he planted his elbows upon the wall. His eyes now focused, he felt his mouth open as his gaze fell upon a great fleet of ships headed there way. “Fuck!”

“Oh shit!” Oswane cried out as he drew forth his sword. “Gidafrey we are under attack!”

“We must find Lord Allan immediately!” Gidafrey returned as the men brought themselves to their feet. Another surge of whistling arrows flew through the air, this time not directed at the ships, but the city behind the harbour. As the two soldiers ran in the direction of the city, great drum rolls erupted into the air alongside the sound of horns. Gidafrey and Oswane hurried down a flight of stone steps, running along the edge of the harbour, the heat of the great fires which now engorged the ships, melting their skin. As they ran, the sound of cries began to ring out as the citizens of the city awoke, their houses now set ablaze with orange fire. Out of breathe, Oswane stopped and fell against the wall of the customs house.

“Gidafrey the wall!” he cried out as soldiers of Ballor now appeared behind them, running in the direction of the harbour. Gidafrey wiped his brow and looked out at the harbour. The ships had now entered the great gap and upon the walls of the harbour, soldiers now scaled and appeared.

“Come we must hurry friend!” Gidafrey hollered as the green cloaked soldiers of Ballor rushed past them, terror in their eyes as more arrows pierced the sky, striking down dozens of soldiers, some falling into the freezing waters and other simply falling upon the moist ground in heaps. Making their way westwards, Oswane and Gidafrey ran up the main street of the city, Bane Road, rushing through the now maddening crowds of citizens, who dashed about the road like headless chickens, their cries so piercing, that Gidafrey and Oswane could feel them penetrate their very souls. The thatched roofs of the houses and shops were now so enflamed that a thick cloud of black smoke hung over the city like a deadly vapour. Women were upon the ground, dead children within their arms and men rallied together with buckets of water from the nearby well, trying desperately to save their homes and businesses to no avail. Gidafrey and Oswane rushed through the groups of soldiers, heading from the inner city wall, which lay high upon the hill top of the city, where the palace of Ballor stood tall and defiant against the storm of disarray.

“Thomin!” Gidafrey cried out to a fellow soldier, young and newly caped. The young man with straw blonde hair stopped running and turned to Gidafrey.

“Gidafrey!” he cried out, the flames of fire reflecting in his young blue eyes.

“My Lord Allan, where is he?” Gidafrey asked the young green guard.

“The wall has been barricaded by the black cloaks sir!” Thomin replied as he gasped Gidafrey’s arm tightly, coughing deeply as the black smoke in fumigated the street.

“Is the master within the palace?” Oswane asked the young man as he drew up a black cloth, covering his mouth and nose.

“Yes Sir, but no one can get in or out,” Thomin said desperately as the cries of women caused the hairs upon his skin to stand up abruptly. “Our general was executed at the western gate and we fled!”

“I should have known!” Gidafrey cried out in anger. “I should have known that Leer was behind this!”

“Sir what are the men to do? The generals have been executed this night and we are without orders!” Thomin asked his old mentor.

“Thomin, you must take charge of your group and order them to the harbour, our enemies have scaled the walls and entered the harbour with their ships, for they will soon take siege of the city. Muster as many men as you can and defend the city!” Gidafrey ordered sternly, seeing the vulnerability in his young protégé’s eyes. “Thomin you are ready for this, do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” Thomin said as he stood up straight, his lips trembling.

“Focus Thomin, you must focus,” Gidafrey replied as he took the young soldier by his arms, and looked into his face with strength and defiance. “This is not our end, this is not our downfall. The city shall stand united and strong, do you hear me!”

“Yes Sir!” Thomin cried out, as a handful of other young male soldiers now stood before Gidafrey.

“I need one of you to get a message to Oswane’s wife, can you do that?” Gidafrey asked the men.

“What is the message sir?” Kay answered, as he stepped forward blinking profusely as he ran his fingers through is dark hair, his brown eyes alight and focused.

“Tell Mildreth to send for Oslang, he will know what to do and will take charge of the green guards!” Gidafrey said as his eyes scanned the distressed street. “When she has sent for Oslang, she must meet us at the western gate of the city and stay there until we come, do you understand?”

“Yes Sir!” Kay answered loudly before turning on his heels disappearing into the chaos. Gidafrey turned to Thomin once more.

“Thomin it is your duty to get the people of this city away from harm, you and your friends must direct them out of the city and make for Dulthe! They cannot stay here, it is too unstable and they will find no refuge, only the sword!”

“The city gates are shut Sir!” a young soldier called out from behind. Gidafrey turned to Oswane.

“The western gate,” Oswane said quickly. “The tunnels will be sealed off, Leer is to cleaver, and he will have had this designed months in advance. If we can get to the western gate in time and force it open, then the people of Ballor may have a chance at escaping!” Gidafrey nodded, turning to Thomin.

“Thomin, you must direct everyone to the western gate and have as many soldiers as possible sent in the same direction, do you understand?”

“Yes Sir!”

Thomin bowed before he and his fellow soldiers turned away from Gidafrey and Oswane, running back into the crowd, now heralding those around them to make for the western gate.

“What now Gidafrey? We cannot possibly get past the inner wall, it is futile to try!” Oswane said hotly as they forced their way through the thick mass of crying peasants.

“We head the western gate and take it from our enemies! We must make for Dulthe! We must send for aid before the city falls to Leer!” Gidafrey answered as he stopped momentarily to observe the scene about him. Black guards had now infiltrated the streets killing all in their way, as the once beautiful houses of Ballour burned into ashes. Blood began to flow downwards upon the moist ground in the direction of the harbour, which was now ablaze, the light so bright that the sky above had turned to red and the heat of the flames so consuming that the faces of those running about the streets screaming were covered in a thick film of sweat, the air about him wavy as the heat from the flames mixed with the wintur air.

*

Leer stood upon the steps of the palace, the bloodied key of the city hanging loosely around his neck. Below him the city burned as the Ruarrian ships entered the harbour with great force. A small smile lay upon his lips as he watched the city fall. Soon the Ruarrian guards would sweep through the streets, riding them of loyal Meerins. Long had been the secret planning of this day and now that it had finally come Leer felt alive and impenetrable. He was now master of the city and all those who sided against him would be the scum of his boots, washed away by the blood of his sword and wrath. He knew that he had to keep his side of the deal, which was to make the city ready to the invading ruarrians and to house them. Their leader, a feared general sent by Islaer would hold equal power to Leer when the city had been taken. Together Lord Leer and the general would ready the Ruarrian soldiers and black guards for a full scale invasion of the city of Dulthe, taking the seat of the King and the Kingdom from under his feet. Leer laughed as he imagined the look on the Kings face when he realised that his Kingdom had been taken so easily from him. Galean and most of the soldiers of Dulthe where in the West fighting against the mad King Beon, leaving the land of Dulthe prey to Leer’s and Islaer, his knew partner.

“My Lord?” a black guard’s voice broke Leer’s momentary moment of thinking.

“Speak!” Leer replied darkly, keeping his eyes on the harbour below, the ships now crumbling into the sea.

“The harbour has been taken and is now secured.”

“And the general?”

“He is on his way my Lord.”

“Tell me when he is here,” Leer said with a wave of his hand. “Leave me.”

“As you wish my lord,” the black guard replied as he turned and left the new master by himself once more. Screams rang out in the city as the Ruarrian guards now made their way up from the harbour. Leer was not stupid, no he was far from stupid. He knew the general would be told to kill Leer and rid the city of the black guards. Leer in turn knew how to keep himself alive, he prided himself on his inarticulate ways of staying alive. He had all the masters and generals of the city executed this very night and thus had taken their keys. Without Leer’s knowledge of the city and the keys, the general would fall and his men would return to Ruarr. Leer needed no maps or documentation, he had one ability that made him the envy of many a powerful man. His mind could remember every single detail it consumed and this made him very useful, it also made him more powerful than any other man, for he had never met another with his gift. Leer excelled at everything and as a young boy he was a good three to four years ahead of the rest of his fellow pupils. It was for this reason that he had been saved from execution. The masters and lords needed a man like him, despite his corrupt mind and nefarious intentions. Leer knew all the inner workings of his fellow masters and their somewhat shady personal life’s, enough for them to keep him from the noose. Unfortunately for them, they had underestimated him greatly and where now dead. Turning from the explosive scenes below, Leer walked back into the palace with a smile upon his lips. Upon entering the room of mirrors, he stood before a large mirror and looked at himself. Staring, he took in his tall form. His velvet black robe cascading down his tall and lean body, falling heavily at his feet. Looking up he stared into his dark eyes which where shielded by his heavy lashes and thick brows. His illuminous white skin was bathed in a fine golden hue as the beacons filled the room with a beautiful light. Leer knew that he was deemed handsome and his good looks had been as powerful weapon as his mind. The best way in which to compile a mental file on your enemies was by manipulating and in many cases sleeping with their wives or mistresses. His good looks coupled with his sharp mind made him one of the most dangerous men in the North and he exploited his gifts. For all his looks, Leer lacked one thing; warmth. As he stared into his eyes he observed their coldness. Off course he could warm a bed, but never a heart. Leer was branded a psychopath by those within the royal court and he didn’t much care. He marvelled at his lack of emotion and worshipped his lack of warmth for he knew he had all the characteristics and gifts of a man who could knock a King to his knees and bring a Kingdom to the brink of destruction. Leer turned from the harbour and entered the hall, coming to stand before a great mirror. For a moment he merely stood, glaring at his reflection.

Closing his eyes he brought his memory back to the deaths of his parents and felt a rumble of mirth seize at his heart. The gift of possessing no feelings was that killing brought with it no regrets or empathy. It was so easy, murdering his doting parents, so very easy. After years of manipulating them into pouring all their money into his schooling and tutoring, Leer’s parents, blinded by their own sons’ plotting and disguise never expected their only son to poison them on their anniversary. Stupidly, his father had refused to give him the funds to send him to Dulthe, to be trained as a soldier. Leer never wanted to be a soldier but that was beside the point. To enter into the political arena one had to be schooled in all arts, including that of military combat. To his great frustration, his doting parents did not wish for their son to enter the political life of the court, instead they wanted him to take over their lands. Leers blood curled at the thought of slaving away on the land, so he procured his funds the only way he knew how to, by becoming the heir of his father’s land. To do this, his father had to die and so Leer waited patiently until at last he found a golden opportunity - his parent’s twentieth anniversary. A great feast had been ordained for the special anniversary and many noblemen and women came from across Dulthe to take part in the week long festivities. Finally he could implement a plan in which he would kill his parents without providing evidence to his conduct. It was simple Leer thought, he would simply exploit one of the courtiers and frame him for the poisoning of his parents. Among the many that had come to Ballor to celebrate was Lord Handid, a known opponent of Leer’s father. Leer secretly admired Lord Handid for his extreme political views on the governing King and government. It was in Leers mind an unfortunate event that Lord Handid had indeed accepted the invitation, for if he had merely stayed away then he would not have become the pawn in Leer’s sadistic plan. On the eve of his parents feast, Leer had given Lord Handid a special bottle of fine white wine from the south.

“Where did you purchase such a gift?” Lord Handid had asked with great enthusiasm as Leer handed him over the sixty moon old bottle of whiteburn, a special and rare wine.

“I procured it upon my travels,” Leer replied with ease and confidence as he dined with the infamous Lord.  “I thought maybe you should give it to my parents as a gift.”

“But why ever my boy, it is surely yours to give,” Lord Handid asked, his face etched with confusion at such an honour.

“You said you wanted to earn my father’s friendship,” Leer said slyly, his body relaxed and sedate.

“Well yes that is why I brought with me ginaseed from my land, it is as rare as this wine,” Lord Handid replied as his filled his goblet again.

“And I am sure my father will accept your gift with much pleasure; but why not give him the wine as well, surely that will cement your newly healed friendship.”

“And if he asks me where I purchased such a gift?”

“Tell him you brought it home with you on your travels,” Leer said, leaning forward and smiling deeply, luring the middle aged man into his manipulative plan with ease. Lord Handid looked at the young man with interest, slightly drunk and mentally incoherent. After a moment of assessing Leer’s offer, Handid slammed his hand down upon the table.

“I accept!” he said with great gaiety, for as much as he and Leer’s father opposed one another, they had been great friends once and he wished to reignite that friendship especially after the Dulthe-Fiar agreement. Leer leaned back against his chair and smiled inwardly as Lord Handid took the bottle from him and set it beside his goblet.

During the great feast there came a time for gifts to be given to Leers parents. Standing at the far end of the great hall, Leer leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest, waiting patiently. Finally Lord Handid approached his old friend and bestowed upon them a bag of ginaseed and finally the bottle of whiteburn. Leer slowly walked up towards his parents, keeping himself to the wall and out of sight. Lord and Lady Calahan gladly received the gifts with great warmth. Leer watched on as his father enveloped Lord Handid in a hug. Turning ever so slightly, Lord Handid found Leer and gave him a small smile of thanks. Leer simply nodded in return, keeping his arms folded across his chest.

“What say you to a glass?” Lord Calahan asked his old friend.

“I am never one to shy away from a goblet of wine old friend,” Lord Handid replied.

“Please take a seat next to me,” Lord Calahan ordered, motioning to a servant to make a place at the long table so that his friend could sit with him and enjoy some of the rare wine.

“My love do you care for a goblet of wine?” Lord Calahan asked his merry wife. Lady Calahan glared at the bottle for a moment as though she had seen something. “Are you alright?”

“Yes of course, forgive me,” Lady Calahan apologised, her glazed eyes moving from the bottle of wine to her husband. Lord Calahan laid a warm hand upon his wife’s before asking a servant to open the bottle, pouring himself his wife and Lord Handid a small goblet. The rest of the hall was aloud with merriment and laughter. When the goblets had been filled and handed to their bearers a servant clapped his hand, signalling to the rowdy guests to be quiet. When the hall fell silent, Lord Calahan stood up with his goblet.

“My friends, a toast to peace, civility and friendship!” Lord Calahan raised his goblet and watched on as his guests also raised their own goblets. With one swift motion he took a sip from the goblet and was thus followed by the rest of his guests who drank together, toasting Lord Calahan and his wife. Leer tried to force down the excitement that tortured him inwardly, his dark eyes glued to his parents. Once again the hall filled with music and dancing and after several minutes, Leer wondered if the poison had failed. Then suddenly his father began to cough heavily, followed by Lord Handid and Lady Calahan. Women stopped dancing as the violent coughing filled the air. Men rushed to the sides of those that where now bent over themselves trying to breathe as foam gushed from their mouths. Leer stood silently and watched his pathetic parents collapse over the table dead. Lord Handid took one last look at Leer before dying alongside Lord and Lady Calahan. The music stopped and cries filled the hall as the guests watched on in horror.

“My Lord?” a voice called, bringing Leer back into the present. Looking at his reflection once again, Leer could see one of his black guards entering the room.

“Speak.”

“The general and his men have arrived.”

“Let them wait in the great hall, I will be with them directly.”

“My lord,” the black guard bowed and left the room of mirrors.

Leer could hear the rising voices as he entered the great hall of the palace and came to stand face to face with a group of men, who stood in a circle talking avidly amongst themselves. Standing for a moment, Leer observed the five men, all of them in the same attire which consisted of mainly leather and cotton. They all wore cloaks that were black on the outside and dark blue on the inside. As he stood motionless, he allowed his gaze to roam over the tell men once again, noting there tall frames, long blonde hair that was neatly plaited down their long backs. Only one man stood out from the group being taller, leaner and darker than those who stood beside him. He stood quietly with his hand upon the hilt of his sword and his green eyes upon the floor as though he were deep in thought. Leer wondered if the man was indeed the revered naval commander known as the defiler. Leer understood from his correspondence with the Kings naval advisor that the commander’s real name was Victor, an odd name Leer agreed and yet as he observed the man further he found that name oddly matched his physical appearance and aura. With a sharp cough, Leer stood quietly with his hands folded before him. The company of naval soldiers stopped talking and turned to the new master of the city, standing coldly in front of them, his black robes sweeping the floor beneath him.

“I am Lord Leer, new master of the city,” he announced coldly, his dark eyes on the men before him.

“And I am Commander Victor,” exclaimed the tall naval commander who took a step forward and bowed slightly before Leer. Leer closed his eyes in turn, opening them quickly.

“Tell me commander, where in our correspondence did I agree to you setting the city alight?”

“Nowhere and yet you gladly agreed to us taking the city in any way possible,” the commander replied darkly, clasping the hilt of his sword tightly. The new master of the city and the commander held one another’s gaze for a long moment.

“I trust you will now try to preserve as much of the city as possible, for how can we rule over a city that has been demolished?”

“I am no ruler my Lord. I am simply here to establish a port for my fleet.”

“You are right commander. I am the new master of the city now and you now serve me,” Leer said smoothly as he looked into the hard gazes of the men that stood before him.

“There you are mistaken,” the commander said with authority. “You answer to my master now.”

“That was not a part of the deal,” Leer whispered tightly, his eyes growing venomous.

“How unfortunate for you. I rather thought you an intelligent man or was I mistaken in my judgement of you?”

“If you have been mistaken in your judgement of me it has nothing to do with being unintelligent Commander it is in fact the opposite,” Leer smiled as he began to circle the commander. “I rather thought this would occur and so being as intelligent as I am I put together a few, oh what would you call them?” Leer smiled as the commander looked at him with angry eyes. “Plans?”

“My lord I want you not to displease my King, or me,” the commander hissed through his perfectly white and straight teeth.

“I do not think that I am making myself clear, let me reiterate for you Commander,” Leer said dangerously, coming to stand before the naval commander once again, a head shorter. “I am the master of this city. Without my help and men you and your men will be chased from these shores with your tails between your legs. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Leer stood defiant before the commander, his thin nose high and his dark eyes large. “Now if you wish to attack the city of Dulthe and claim the North you will need all the help you can muster. That help is me.”

“My master will not bow down to you,” the commander spat. Behind him the four other men took out their swords and came to their master’s side. But as the men drew near, Leer simply coughed signalling his own men to enter the hall.

“My men out number your own, greatly,” Leer sniggered as he began to walk about the group of men, a sly smile upon his lips. “We are both intelligent people, I am sure we can work alongside one another. We both wish to see the North fall, but I am not as stupid as you think. Do you think I would freely hand over the keys of the city and my position? Do you think myself so naïve and weak? I am the equal of your master and if he wishes to claim the north, he will do so through me.”

“And what use will you be when my master sits upon the throne of Meer?” the commander replied haughtily as he motioned for his men to lower their blades.

“You see commander we both have the same goal. You want the North and I want this city. Now you and your master may take the North, I don’t care. But I,” Leer smiled darkly. “I know everything about this land, these people and more importantly I have in my possession all the keys, knowledge and plans of this city and where all of our gold, silver and copper are kept. Without my keys and my incredibly deep and detailed knowledge, you and your men will not survive the wintur.”

“That was not a part of the deal,” the commander cried out in anger. “You were to hand the keys over to me.”

“And more the fool I would be if I had for surely I would now be dead,” Leer smiled, standing away from the commander. “No commander. I have burned all the physical maps and plans that detail where the wealth of the north is kept. Only I know where it is kept. If you kill me… well need I go on?”

The commander forcibly stepped forward and wrapped his hand about Leer’s throat in anger. Leer did not react, he simply went limp and looked into the commanders eyes with a warning. Grunting the commander threw Leer to the ground and turned on his heel.

“My master will not be pleased at your betrayal.”

Leer clasped his throat and stood upon his feet once more.

“If your master is as clever as he deems himself to be he will not be surprised.”

The commander stopped walking and stood still, keeping his body turned from Leer.

“You clearly do not know my master.”

“I have heard the rumours about him,” Leer replied coldly, his words echoing the great hall. “But even if he is not of this world and is indeed in possession of black magic, he cannot hope to claim this land without my knowledge. Of this he can be certain.”

“He will have the power to force that knowledge from you.”

“Tell me commander have you ever heard of a rare tribe called the puritans?”

“No.”

“They are indeed very rare in the North, and I just happen to be one of them. Tell me do you know why we are known as the puritans?”

“No.”

“Our minds are impenetrable to any kind of magic, be it white or black. And so you see, no matter how powerful your King professes to me, his magic will not be able to penetrate my mind. Let that prey on your mind as you scheme of ways in which to get rid of me.”

With no reply the commander walked away, leaving the great hall empty except for the victorious Leer.

*

It did not take Gidafrey and Oswane long before they found themselves in the western part of the city, before the great gates which were no closed, a dozen of so black guard’s both standing at the ready before the gate and along the wall above. With Gidafrey’s message now spreading throughout the city, a great mass of people were beginning to form before the gates, many crying out in desperation and many in rage as the black guard’s refused to open the gates. Pushing their way through the crowd, Gidafrey and Oswane looked up at the gate tower.

“We need to get into that tower, light the beacon and open the gates!” Oswane called out to his friend, who stood close behind him.

“How?” Gidafrey returned as he scanned the amassing crowd furiously for any sign of Mildreth.

“We climb!” Oswane said as he weaved his way through the desperate citizens, stopping at the foot of the tower. “Shit, the tower is filled with black guards, their arrows bent in our direction!”

“Stop fretting and climb Oswane, there isn’t much time!” Gidafrey said quickly. About him the crowds began to turn violent towards the black guard’s. “Now give me a foot up.” Oswane bent down and cupped his large hands. Biting down on his lip he held still as Gidafrey placed his left foot into his hands and heaved himself up. When Gidafrey had taken to the wall he held out a hand. Oswane took his friends rough skinned hand and heaved himself up. In no time they were scaling the grey wall of the tower with pace and precision. Below them they could see that the black guards were being defeated by the raging crowd, desperate to escape from the oncoming wave of Ruarrian soldiers that where making their way up from the harbour to the centre of the city.

“How will we light the beacon?” Oswane yelled up at Gidafrey.

“A lantern is always ready by the beacon,” Gidafrey replied, looking down at his friend quickly and finding that he was at least nine feet above the ground. Holding onto the wall, he felt his hands and fingers grow weary. For a moment he paused and held his body close to the wall. Scanning the environment he could see the great fires that encapsulated the eastern side of the city. The great ships of Ballor where all up in a blaze of red fire and black smoke. Taking in a deep breathe, Gidafrey began to climb once more this time with more determination and need.

“Look they have opened the gates!” Oswane cried out in joy as the crowd below forced the gates open and ran out into the wilderness like demented animals. Gidafrey looked down and sighed with relief as the heavy mass of people escaped from the clutches of the Ruarrian soldiers. Not all of those within the running masses made it out alive for the black guards that lined the walls, now shot piercing arrows into the hearts of the victims, felling them to the ground. In the distance, Gidafrey and Oswane could hear the sounds of horns, filling the city. They were not Dulthian horns, like the horn that clung to Gidafrey’s chest. The horns of the enemy where sharp and sounded like pierced cries. The invaders must have been close for the cries of peasants now came clearer.

“We need to hurry, the city is being overthrown!” Oswane said anxiously.

“Only another five feet to go!”

It took the friends ten minutes to scale the wall of the tower before they finally made it to the top. Together they kept their heads down, observing the scene before them.

“Two guards to your right and two to my left,” Gidafrey whispered as he took out his sword from its sheath.

“If we enter into a fight with them surely the other guards will come to their aid?”

“That is why we will not enter into a fight with them, the lantern is but a few feet away. If I can clench it with my sword then we can light the beacon and climb back down before they notice.”

“Ah yes, right. Sorry.”

Oswane watched on in trepidation as Gidafrey stretched out his arm that bore the long sword.

“Can you hold me whilst I lean over?” Gidafrey whispered urgently, his body feeling vulnerable whilst at such a height. Oswane obediently wrapped his arms around Gidafrey’s waist and held onto him tightly whilst trying to keep himself in balance. After what seemed to be forever, Gidafrey finally caught the lantern with the tip of his sword and with great concentration and caution brought it over to him. With a sigh of relief he grabbed the lantern and turned to Oswane, his eyes wide with joy.

“Now what?”

“You must throw it at the wood,” Gidafrey whispered loudly, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes in relief. Oswane took the lantern from his friend and carefully edged his way closer to the large pile of wood that was stacked up at around ten feet. Making sure the coast was clear he threw the lantern at the wood and quickly bent down. With speed he made his way back to Gidafrey as the noise of burning wood began to fill the air around them.

“Quick we need to get down,” Gidafrey said with great haste. The momentary bubble of justice soon swept over Oswane as the cries of soldiers could be heard. Beneath them, the wave of peasants still flowed through the western gates as the friends climbed down the wall with great haste and need. Above them the beacon was engulfed in fire and smoke. The peasants cried out in victory as they watched the two green guards climb down from the tower. When finally they placed their feet upon the ground, Oswane called out to his wife.

“Mildreth!”

From behind the barrels a woman, five or six moons younger than her husband jumped out with a sword. Gidafrey looked on in awe as the usually very feminine Mildreth came and stood before her husband and friend in leather pants, light chain mail and a jerkin. She was tall and slim, with long brown hair, brown eyes and a fair complexion. Her heart shaped face was covered in the falling ash, only highlighting her intense gaze. Seeing the confused look on his friends face, Oswane simply laid a hand upon Gidafrey’s shoulder in understanding.

“Mildreth is if anything a constant surprise!” Oswane laughed as his wife kissed him fully on the lips.

“You can say that again,” Gidafrey murmured as his friend’s wife kissed him on the cheek.

“Quick follow me, I have found two horses in a nearby stable,” Mildreth mentioned energetically as she swept her plaited hair behind her back.

“You found horses?” Oswane retorted with awe in his voice.

“You didn’t think I would simply sit behind a load of barrels and do nothing to aid my husband and friend?”

“Well yes I did think that you would simply sit behind a load of barrels in order to keep yourself alive and thus keep your husbands spirit at ease,” Oswane said with fright.

“Oh Oswane you never learn do you?” Mildreth laughed back as she guided her husband and friend to the stables.

“I wouldn’t answer that if I were you,” Gidafrey whispered with a wicked smile upon his face.

“Bastard,” Oswane said with mirth.

“Over there do you see?” Mildreth pointed one of her long fingers towards a small stable that housed two black mares.

“Are they saddled?” Oswane asked as they quickly ran over to the stables.

“No but why should that matter?” Mildreth replied as she opened the stable doors and stepped inside. The two black stallions where in a state of fright as the air was filled with cries, heat and smoke.

“No reason,” Oswane mumbled not wanting to regale to his precious wife the pain of riding a bare horse. Gidafrey groaned at the thought too of riding without a saddle. Mildreth on the other hand took the stallions into her control, easing them with loving strokes of her hands. In a moment the horses began to calm and Mildreth motioned to her husband and friend to mount them carefully. Feeling slightly de manned by his wife’s incredible transformation from a doting housewife to a fearless warrior, Oswane obeyed Mildreth and jumped up onto the back of one of the stallions, biting down on his lip at the pain that soared through his nether regions. Looking to his left he watched as Gidafrey jumped up onto his own black horse, grunting heavily.

“Give me your hand dear,” Mildreth ordered, holding out a leather bound hand elegantly. With a thud of love for his young wife, Oswane helped her up onto his steed. With ease, Mildreth wrapped her arms about her husband’s waist. “Well what are you waiting for let’s go!”

With a kick, Gidafrey forced his stallion into a gallop and quickly led the mare through the crowds of peasants, towards the large gates that still where open. Oswane dually followed making sure to keep away from the fleeing women, children and men. Soon the trio galloped through the gates and onto the great western road.

“Where are we going?” Oswane cried out as the wind rattled through his ears.

“We ride for Dulthe to alert the master!” Gidafrey replied loudly as he guided his horse away from the fleeing peasants.

“But Dulthe is two days away!” Oswane retorted, feeling his wife’s head against his back.

“We can make it their in a day if we do not rest,” Gidafrey exclaimed as his friend suddenly was at his side.

“Did you hear that wife? No resting for a whole day!”

“I’m not complaining!” Mildreth said with firmness.

“You’re not complaining yet!”

“For pities sake Oswane our city has been taken from us in a matter of hours, forget about your wilting backside and focus!”

Oswane still in utter shock at his wife’s transformation kept his mouth shut as Gidafrey laughed out loud. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted his wife to stay thus and inwardly yearned for his previously meek and gentle Mildreth. As he rode on in silence he felt his wife’s lips upon his cheek and smiled.

“Excuse my mischievous mouth my love, I am afraid I am rather high on adrenaline,” Mildreth said as her husband and Gidafrey now entered the forest of Leman. Oswane smiled warmly at his wife’s admission.

“Trust you to get excited in a time of peril,” Oswane responded as he guided his horse through the trees.

“I know, it’s very perverse” Mildreth smiled with genuine love as she lay her right hand over her husband’s heart.

“And yet I am all the more perverse for loving you!”

“For the love of all that lives can you both give over?” Gidafrey yelled, completely embarrassed by his friends moment of endearment. Oswane suppressed a laugh.

“Sorry!”

“Sorry Gidafrey!” Mildreth laughed.

Gidafrey simply closed his eyes momentarily before opening them again.

“You have to be the oddest couple I have ever met!” he laughed, unable to keep himself serious. Together the trio whilst carefully weaving their horses through the trees, laughed merrily. After an hour, they exited the forest and when back on the open road, turned north - west towards the enchanted forest of Dunnama.

“Should we not by pass the forest if we are to get to the city faster?” Oswane asked his friend as they slowed their heavy breathing horses down to discuss their evolving plans.

“We will get to the city faster if we take the road through the forest,” Gidafrey replied as the great forest came into sight, just as the sun began to rise in the east.

“Oswane behind us!” Mildreth cried out as she spotted a group of riders behind them. Oswane and Gidafrey turned and spotted the group of black guards who looked to be at least a league or so behind them.

“The forest it is!” Oswane cried out as the trio now turned north - west towards the dark forest of Dunnama. With dramatic speed, Gidafrey and Oswane guided their stallions into the dark forest. The trees stood close to one another, drooping low over the unused road as the riders weaved their way into the heart of the enchanted forest. Mildreth kept her head close to her husband as thin branches whipped at their bodies. Behind them they could now hear the hoofs of their followers and the cries of the riders as they heralded out orders of attack.

“We need to split up!” Gidafrey exclaimed, a branch slicing at his face.

“We’ll take a right and you left, head North West towards Dulthe!” Oswane ordered. Gidafrey nodded in acceptance before whipping his horse to the left and disappearing through the thick mass of trees. Oswane roughly turned his own horse right and fled through the forest. Streams of sunlight filtered through the dense ceiling of the forest as Gidafrey sped in and out of the trees, some larger and thicker than others. Wild creatures fled from his sight as he heard the hoofs of the riders behind him. Above him a large bird flew, following him through the thickets of the trees. Gidafrey looked up at the mammoth bird and tried to get rid of it by swooping his right hand in the air. The bird cried out, refusing to leave Gidafrey. Cursing, Gidafrey lowered his eyes just in time to see the outline of a thick river flowing directly in front of him.

“Shit!” he cried out, unable to slow his horse down. The black horse, filled with fear of the oncoming group and of the massive bird above it could not slow down, despite seeing the raging river in front. “Slow down!” Gidafrey cried out, his voice etched with desperation. Behind him he could hear the laughs of the riders who knew that if Gidafrey did not slow his horse down he would be thrown and would die upon impact. With a harsh pull, Gidafrey pulled on the stallion’s mane in a helpless attempt to stop. The act only fuelled the horse to gallop at a faster pace. Above him he noticed that the bird cried out and turned, flying towards the oncoming group of three riders. Looking behind him he watched as the bird swooped down and attacked one of the riders, throwing him from his saddle. With a cry of victory Gidafrey, without realising it, was also thrown from his mare into the raging river before him and knocked unconscious.

*

Oswane slowed his horse down until it came to a stop. Quickly he helped his wife down before tying the horse up, hidden from view of the oncoming riders. Together Oswane and Mildreth ran towards the thin bridge up ahead.

“Oswane what is your plan?” Mildreth cried out as they ran through the thick grass.

“The river is shallow here, we can hide under the bridge until the riders pass,” Oswane replied as they finally reached the shore of the wide river.

“But what if they turn and come back?” Mildreth asked as she placed a knife in between her teeth, taking her husband’s hand.

“Do you have a better plan?”

Mildreth stood for a moment and assessed the bridge keenly with her green eyes.

“Do you have anything akin to rope?”

Oswane looked about himself and shook his head. Mildreth sighed heavily knowing that time was not on their side. Looking around her she tried to find anything that could be used as rope. Finally her eyes rested on the horse they had tied up. Smiling she turned and ran back to the horse.

“Mildreth what are you doing?” Oswane cried out following his wife back up the Stoney shore. With speed and haste, Mildreth cut the leather reigns from the horse letting it go. “Mildreth we need that horse!”

“Just help me Oswane!” Mildreth returned as she swept past the stricken Oswane who watched his really very meek wife pass him by with her nose in the air. “Can you find two smallish but heavy rocks please?”

“Mildreth the riders will be here in mere minutes!” Oswane cried out as he followed his wife to the bridge, picking up two heavy rocks on the way. Roughly Mildreth took the rocks and placed one on each side of the bridge, near the middle section. Oswane finally understood her plan and smiled to himself, she was one intelligent lass and he was lucky enough to be married to her.

“You keep watch,” Mildreth ordered as she tied one end of the leather reign to a stone and the other end to the other stone. Wiping her forehead she stood up and observed her project with confidence. “Right that will have to do. Come we need to get under the bridge!”

Oswane waited until Mildreth came to his side before taking her hand and leading her down the side of the bridge and into the shallow waters.

“God the water is freezing!” Mildreth cried out as she waded her way into the river, the icy waters coming to her waist. When they had waded their way under the bridge, Oswane took his wife by the waist and placed her in between the wall of the bridge and his body.

“The current is strong so hold onto my waist tightly,” Oswane ordered gently. “If your plan works and I hope it does, the men will fall into the river and maybe some of the horses too.”

“If they are alive, do we kill them?”

“If possible yes,” Oswane said with uncertainty. “I think however we should try to steal their horses from them.”

“That was my plan,” Mildreth smiled as she wrapped her arms about her husband, placing her knife in between her teeth once more. Oswane tenderly kissed his wife’s forehead, his hands upon the wall for support. In the near distance they could hear the hoofs of the horses as they galloped heavily towards the river. With their eyes on one another, Mildreth and Oswane waited patiently. Finally in the blink of an eye, the calm and steady environment erupted into a mass of chaos. To their left and right, soldiers were flung into the river with great force. Above them the horses cried out in horror as they tripped over the leather reign. To Mildreth’s surprise, none of the horses had fallen over the narrow bridge. Looking about them they saw the unconscious figures of the soldiers, their faces in the icy waters and their black cloaks swimming around them.

“Now!” Oswane cried out suddenly. Together, Mildreth and her husband quickly waded their way out of the waters and onto the shore once more. Taking her knife out of her mouth, Mildreth ran to the nearest horse and jumped up onto its back. Oswane found another horse, walking about aimlessly and followed suite.

“Which way?” Mildreth cried out as she tried to bring the confused horse under her control.

“Straight ahead!” Oswane cried out as he kicked his chestnut stallion into action. With a nod and a kick, Mildreth followed her husband across the bridge and once more into the thickets of the forest. The sun was high in the sky as the couple galloped through the dense forest, finally escaping from it as the sun began to dip in the distance. Leagues of snow covered plains lay before them as they came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the forest. Oswane turned his horse about and scanned the edge of the forest on the lookout for Gidafrey who was nowhere to be seen.

“Wait there,” Oswane said to his wife as he galloped south, searching for his old friend. Mildreth obeyed her husband and sat patiently upon her black horse, shivering compulsively as snow began to fall upon her wet body.

*

Gidafrey opened his swollen eyes painfully and coughed violently, draining his body of the icy waters that filled his lungs. Turning on his side he cried out as an intense wave of pain surged through him, burning his ribs and chest along the way. As he became more aware of his surroundings he could hear a familiar squawking and turned his gaze to his body and found to his astonishment the mammoth bird that had blinded one of the riders. The bird hopped towards him and squawked loudly as though heralding him from his state of unconsciousness. Gidafrey looked into the large brown eyes and wondered at the bird. He had never before seen its likeness. It was twice the size of a man’s head. It was brown and speckled and had a long yellow beak that curved inwards at the end. Gidafrey hissed at the pain that echoed around his head and lifted his left hand, laying it upon his brow and wincing his eyes in agony. Again the bird squawked, gently biting at Gidafrey’s hand.

“Away with you!” Gidafrey exclaimed through gritted teeth, confused and frustrated. The bird refused to budge and hopped up further until it stood in front of Gidafrey’s face. It had seemed that all the adrenaline and energy that had kept Gidafrey afloat in the last twenty four hours had all but dissipated away into thin air. Right now as he tried to sit up, he did not care if he died. He was badly injured and spent. When he finally sat up he looked around him. Across the river lay the dead bodies of the riders. He had no memory of killing the riders and thus felt even more confused. Down the river he could see the rider less horses, grazing on the short strands of grass that dotted the shore. With them was his own black mare, her mouth touched the icy water gently. There was no way that Gidafrey could cross the river to regain his horse. With an elongated sigh he bent his head into his hands and found himself crying. Gidafrey could not remember the last time in which he had cried. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was crying at this very moment, maybe it was the loss of his home, the expected attack on Dulthe or the fact that he was here, injured and alone without his friends, who would surely think him dead and ride on without him. After a moment of trying to regain his composure, Gidafrey let loose his river of tears, not caring anymore and completely oblivious to the bird that sat by his side in silence, watching on. After what seemed to be forever, Gidafrey’s tears began to subside and he fell quiet.

“Bloody bad luck,” he said out loud, seeing the large bird settled at his side. “And God knows how I can make sense of a huge bird sitting beside me.” The bird squawked in reply. “I suppose I should thank you for taking out that rider.” Again the bird squawked, hopping before Gidafrey and looking up at him. “You will however forgive me for being slightly confounded by the mere fact that a bird somehow seems to be trying to communicate with me.” The bird lowered its head quickly then lifted it again merrily. “I’m trying to see the funny side of this situation and somehow I am failing.” Gidafrey looked around him and then down at his body as though he were analysing his options. “You see I have to get to Dulthe to warn the master of the Ruarrian army that has invaded Ballor.” The bird tilted his head to the side in concentration. Gidafrey looked into the birds large, brown eyes. “If I don’t warn Lord Adgar then the North is doomed.” The bird squawked gently in reply. “I’m not sure if you know that our Kings are currently waging battle against one another in West?” The bird bent his head and Gidafrey rolled his eyes, unable to keep the smile from his face. “The fate of the North depends on whether or not I can get to Dulthe in time, do you understand that?” The bird flapped its wings and cried out before soaring into the air. Gidafrey watched as the massive bird flew south towards the group of grazing horses.

With great pain, Gidafrey stood up and swayed a little before finding his balance. With agonising slowness he limped down the shore, nearing the horse and bird. With increasing awe, he watched as the bird commanded the horse into the water.

“You’re going to drown the horse!” he yelled out as he came face to face with the mare on the other side of the river. The bird turned to Gidafrey and squawked out in frustration as though he were telling Gidafrey to shut up. Shrugging his shoulders, Gidafrey indeed shut his mouth and watched on in a state of fear and awe as the bird guided the mare through the rushing waters. With a swirl, the bird flew over to Gidafrey and swooped down upon a long, thick branch, squawking at Gidafrey. “You want me to pick it up?” The bird bent its head before soaring up into the sky again and flying back over to the mare. With his left hand, Gidafrey held onto his ribs as he bent down and picked up the long branch. Picking up the branch he walked back over to the river. The mare had waded herself into the middle of the river and began to struggle. The bird again squawked at Gidafrey. Somehow Gidafrey understood the bird’s orders and quickly waded his way into the freezing waters, holding out the branch for the mare to grab onto.

“Shit!” Gidafrey cried out as his aching body seized against the freezing waters that lapped about his waist. With renewed determination and a need to help the anxious mare, Gidafrey forced his way towards the centre of the flowing river, the water coming up to his shoulder before the end of his branch reached the mare. The bird flew to the backend of the horse and gently nipped its thigh, forcing her onwards. After a few moments of uncertainty and anxiety the mare grabbed onto the branch and let Gidafrey help her across the river with the bird perched upon her back.

“That’s it,” Gidafrey soothed, stroking the anxious mare gently, keeping his eyes on her. When the trio reached the shore, Gidafrey wrapped his arms about the horse’s neck and leaned his head against her in relief. The horse neighed loudly in happiness at the reunion. When Gidafrey lifted his head away he heard the bird call out to him. With a smile the mare bent her front legs allowing Gidafrey easy access to her back. Biting down on his lips, Gidafrey gently slipped onto her back and grabbed her long mane tightly. “I don’t know the way out,” he said out loud scanning the forest before him with strained eyes. Behind him the bird soared into the air and beckoned to him to follow. Deciding he had no other option, Gidafrey gently kicked his horse into a gentle gallop, following his new friend through the forest. The journey through the dense forest killed Gidafrey, his legs and lungs burning with agony as he followed his new guide. The sun was beginning to set as the bird finally guided him onto the main road of the forest. Gidafrey thought that the bird might leave him now he was on the right road heading towards Dulthe, but the bird did not turn, he simply followed Gidafrey until they reached the edge of the forest just as the sun fell behind the distant hills.

Gidafrey held still as he looked about him for traces of his friends. He could see nothing now that the daylight was beginning to run out. Tenderly he rubbed his mare’s neck with warmth and gentleness. His new friend circled above him as though also looking for Oswane and Mildreth. Gidafrey began to consider resting for the night before he heard the sound of hoofs to his right. Turning he strained his eyes but could see the faint outline of a horse and rider. Without thinking he found his the hilt of his sword and readied himself for combat.

“Gidafrey is that you?” a familiar voice

rang out. In that moment, Gidafrey cried out in relief, seeing his oldest friend coming to his aid.

“Oswane you didn’t leave!” Gidafrey replied as his friend came to a stop before him, breathing roughly.

“Leave you? What would give you that idea?” Oswane laughed, eyeing the bird with unease.

“I thought you would have been long gone by now,” Gidafrey cried out as he wrapped his arms about Oswane.

“We only reached the edge of the forest thirty minutes ago,” Oswane said with certainty, unwrapping his arms from Gidafrey and sitting back in his saddle.

“What happened to Mildreth?” Gidafrey asked with worried eyes.

“Oh she is waiting our return,” Oswane said, turning his horse about.

“How did you manage to get a hold of a new horse?”

“Let’s just say that my wife is full of surprises,” Oswane laughed out loud. “We stole them from the black guards.” Gidafrey frowned. “It was all her doing.”

“Who would have thought Mildreth the one with the brains,” Gidafrey smiled as they began to make their journey back to Mildreth.

“What happened to you? And may I ask how it is that you have a new companion that just happens to be a bird?”

“As much as I would love to explain my adventure to you, it can wait until we reach Dulthe,” Gidafrey said as his new friend perched itself upon his mares neck.

“How many leagues before we reach the city?”

“Six at least, we should make it before midnight,” Gidafrey replied with confidence as they finally came to Mildreth who was standing down from her horse.

“Finally, I was getting worried,” Mildreth exclaimed as her husband and friend stopped before her.

“Well we are all here now,” Oswane announced with a warm lightness.

“Shall we be on our way?” Mildreth enquired as she spotted Gidafrey’s new companion with intrigue. Gidafrey caught her intrigued gaze and smiled.

“I will explain all when we arrive in Dulthe.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mildreth smiled as she jumped back up onto her stallion.

“Right,” Oswane announced leading his stallion onwards. “To Dulthe we ride!”

With a kick of his new found mare, Gidafrey followed his two friends as they galloped away from the forest, heading north – west in the direction of the great and ancient city of Dulthe.




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