The Secluded Queen, page 35
It was at that moment that she realized that Philip hadn’t been courting a woman from the village. He had been conspiring with High Councilman Lucilla the entire time.
It all made sense. He had been the first to come into her bedchamber and ask her to speak with Lucilla about Prince Alabaster. He had been standing guard during their planning of the failed ambush. At breakfast, he hadn’t been wearing casual clothes; he had been wearing work clothes because he had been readying the cavalry to ride. How could she have such a weak hold on the kingdom? Philip must have heard of Patara’s fall, and when he mentioned it to Councilman Lucilla, she had the cavalry, apparently still beholden to the High Council, ride out to help free her city. Foolish old woman! Patara will surely fall if Myra falls.
It was a foolish errand, and the Queen knew it, but the only way she could catch up to the cavalry would be by Amaryllis, and she was already dangerously weak from the botched ambush attempt. She clasped her hands together and fell to her knees. If we were outnumbered before, it was suicidal to oppose Sargon’s army now. How could I have been so blind? How could I have been so trusting?
I am so tired of this nonsense. If people believed in me, this never would have happened. Edward never had to deal with this.
Edward. Phillip had been on guard in the dining room that night.
The night that her King had been poisoned.
The clash of swords on shields echoed off the stone walls that surrounded her, emanating from the direction the cavalry had just ridden. A red flash of light and power shook fields outside the castle, briefly illuminating where the cavalry had ridden. Then silence followed. Veronica peered out her bedchamber window again, and her heart soared. The men were returning from the forest, one by one. The cavalry lined up on the outskirts of the castle, the flag of Anatolia flying high. Once they had gathered, they approached the portcullis, lined up four at a time, the perfect width of the castle gate and drawbridge. There was something odd about the men as they approached, the way that they didn’t peer about, they didn’t talk to each other, and the way that they were fixated on the back of the man in front of them, their horses mechanically moving. As Veronica watched, a ripple of red coursed across the back of one of the Clydesdale war horses. Sargon has possessed all of the cavalry. She didn’t know how Sargon had mind-controlled so many so quickly, but she needed to get to the gatehouse before they opened it up and ultimately sealed Anatolia’s doom.
Her spear was in her hand in a flash. Her shoes were mindlessly kicked off as she sprinted down the stairs. Past the barracks, she ran, nearly tripping over her own feet as she took the stairs two or three at a time. Barbarossa had resumed his usual post at the front of the keep but swung the door wide just in time for her to break through at full stride. She could hear armor clanking behind her and assumed it was Barbarossa following her. She didn’t turn to look. The cobblestone wore through the soles of her feet, and the little pebbles that rested on the rough stone cut her.
She heard the portcullis rising. She couldn’t move any faster. She finally made it to the gatehouse and hollered up to the guards, gasping for air to fill her burning lungs, “Do not open the gates!”
They did not hear her. The sound of the portcullis drowned out her voice before it reached their ears. The gatehouse had a ground-level door, and she rushed in. Inside were the pulleys and gears that hoisted the incredibly heavy portcullis up, and she shoved her spear directly into the midst of them, jamming a few of the cogs and threading it into one of the mechanism’s chain links. The mechanism snapped angrily against her spear, but ground to a halt as the unicorn glass held strong. She looked outside the door and saw that the portcullis had been raised just enough for someone to slide underneath while laying on their stomach, and a few of the cavalry were dismounting and attempting to do just that. A foot soldier was reaching down to help pull the man up. Veronica rushed out of the gatehouse and drove her shoulder into the foot soldier, offering help, knocking him off balance, and then tried to stop the cavalry soldier from finishing his slide under.
“Close the gates! These men are impostors!”
The gatehouse men, called to the high window of the tower above to investigate the malfunction, heard her clearly. One of the men had been the same who had greeted her when she first returned to Castle Myra, and immediately pulled the emergency release lever, located high up inside of the guard tower. The chain was freed from the portcullis, sending the bars crashing down onto the cavalry soldier underneath, killing him instantly.
Suddenly, a sword was jabbed towards the Queen through the portcullis. Veronica caught the gleam of the blade before it reached its intended mark and threw herself back before it could harm her. She stumbled in her dodge and landed awkwardly on her back. More deadly steel came her way from the possessed soldiers, and, having no armor or weapon to protect herself, she scrambled to get herself far from the gate. The cavalrymen pounded on the portcullis. The drawbridge was then raised by the gatehouse soldiers, the bridge rising up from behind the cavalry. The remaining space was too small, and several of the cavalry retreated to avoid being dumped off into the moat. Fifteen remained on the landing adjacent to the portcullis, but their advance had been stopped. The portcullis had been successfully closed, and it alone separated the cavalry from breaching the Castle Myra.
Jade-colored gauntlets gripped the portcullis, and a sword was jabbed through again, though this was made from Damascus Steel. Phillip stood there, black eyes full of fury, smirking at the Queen, still on her back. “This is all your fault, you know. None of this siege would be taking place if you would have sided with your own kind over that overgrown horse.”
Veronica was helped back onto her feet by Sir Barbarossa. She nodded a thank you to him, then turned to face the young man. “You have it wrong, Philip. I chose to side with Anatolia. Amaryllis is here because she has chosen Anatolia as well. You are the one who chose to betray me and side with Lucilla. You chose to leave your post vacant. You are the one who betrayed your friends. You dare to lecture me? You are nothing more than a foolish boy. I never should have appointed you to the Royal Guard.”
Phillip smacked the portcullis with an enclosed fist. “Friends?” He nodded towards Sir Barbarossa, who was looking murderous. “These two oafs thought they were better than me. They mocked me often. Lucilla was the only one who treated me as an ally rather than a greenhorn. You are unfit to be Queen. Edward would never have abandoned his post to go frolic in the forest. He would have known about an invading army, he never would have locked up the High Council, he never would have killed Frederick, and if he was in this position? He wouldn’t hide behind the castle walls like a coward. He would have ridden out and faced the enemy head-on.”
“That seems to have worked out well for you. Not only did you get possessed by Sargon, but you led the entire cavalry regiment into slavery alongside you. I still have free will, do you?”
Philip pounded on the portcullis, furious. “I am no slave. Sargon did not possess me. I am acting of my own free will.”
Tears erupted in the Queen’s eyes. “Free will? Were you acting of your own free will when you poisoned King Edward?”
Phillip went still. “How did you find out?”
“I finally woke up and realized that you have been working with Lucilla from the beginning, and with Sargon!”
Phillip swallowed hard, his face strained. “I didn’t mean to kill him. It was an accident.”
Several guards had gathered to support their Queen. Sir Barbarossa looked as if he could have murdered the young knight with nothing more than a spoon. All quieted to hear how their King had died. Veronica felt sick. “How could you poison your King on accident?”
Phillip gnashed his teeth and screamed, “The poison was meant for you!”
Veronica felt weak in the knees, and her head spun with anxiety. I had convinced Edward to appoint him to fill the vacancy in the Royal Guard. I did this. I am responsible for killing my beloved Edward.
If her heart had cracked in the Forever Green Forest, it now ruptured. All warmth left her soul, leaving nothing but cold stone and a merciless countenance. She pointed at the man who ruined her life. “Tell your master that I am coming to gut him.”
She stumbled into the gatehouse, chased by taunts and sneers from Phillip and the cavalry, taunts and sneers that dissuaded her not. Her heart of stone deflected all of the hate and all of the words. Blood-lust rushed to her ears and pounded like war drums there. She yanked her spear from the destroyed gears, her face contorting with rage. She walked out of the gatehouse and threw her spear with all her might through the gaps in the portcullis. Her aim was true, and it cut directly into the heart of Phillip.
As Nurtia took him, the darkness left his eyes, and he looked terrified. His eyes rolled, and he couldn’t form his last words before he died. Veronica felt nothing. Barbarossa nodded approvingly. Veronica yanked her spear free and stabbed another man. And another. And another. Her spear was long enough to kill without danger from the short swords the cavalry wielded. The possessed cavalrymen stabbed back, their sword arms straining through the portcullis, but did not have the reach necessary to cut her. None attempted to flee; they ineffectively tried to kill the Queen, eventually meeting their fate as they struggled like rabid animals against the metal that separated them from Veronica. When the work was done, and the gasps of the dying filled the air, and the castle guard around her looked upon her with horror, she stood tall and left to find an officer to ready the defenses. Blood dripped from her spear as she moved through the stunned military men.
Sir Barbarossa knelt before her, laying his sword on the ground between them, and remained there for a time. Veronica knew this to be a sign of great respect from a warrior such as him. She stood stalwart while he knelt before her, she patiently accepting his offering. Then he stood, sheathing his sword, then pounded his chest, giving his queen a knowing look.
The respect from her adviser did nothing to comfort her as she digested her greatest failure yet.
I am empty. I am void. I killed my Edward.
Veronica gestured towards the gate, where the many men still choked on their own blood, then answered his unasked question, “Sir Barbarossa, those men are no longer your own. None of the cavalry remain loyal to Anatolia. Our enemy has turned them using magic, just as they have possessed Sir Richard. There is nothing we can do for them now.
Barbarossa swallowed hard, then, with much effort, croaked, “I follow my queen.”
Veronica clapped her spear pole on the cobblestones, blood flicking onto her face. “Then kill them all. Issue a command to the men in the barracks to defend the castle gates against friends and foes, which are, at the moment, both.”
He grimaced, had the good sense not to balk at her decision, begged his leave, gave some silent and swift orders, and then the barracks emptied faster than Amaryllis pulsing in to save the day. The men who occupied them swarmed from the keep entrance, four hundred strong. Those who wielded spears were moved to the front and used these to strike at any remaining mind-controlled cavalry soldiers on the other side. Bolts began raining down on the cavalrymen who escaped the raising drawbridge, fired from the crossbowman in the guard towers, forcing the rest of the possessed men to flee on foot and horseback. It wasn’t long before all the attackers had been repelled.
The reprieve was short-lived. An ominous sound, the sound of the grinding of wood on wood, growled like a monster from the surrounding forest. A few brief seconds later, one of the shops in the local town was crushed by a large stone. Wood splintered, and people scattered. More barrages followed from siege weapons that had been brought out of hiding in the forest. A few of the shots hit the keep, but the stones broke apart with negligible effect.
Veronica grabbed whoever she came across and directed them to take them and their families into the keep for safety. By the time she got to the keep, a growing number of people were starting to push through the armored doors.
The servants helped the people who had made it to the safety of the keep into the barracks to take shelter and to maintain order. More and more boulders struck the keep, each with a deafening thud, followed by the sound of the fragments falling to the ground outside. In a moment, Amaryllis was there, coming down from the bedchamber. There was a determination about her, one that Veronica had not seen before, communicated to her with each slow step as the unicorn descended the stairs.
She will not abandon me again. Amaryllis will fight with me. I would not want to be against this creature.
Veronica greeted Amaryllis with a hand on her neck, and a gentle scratch behind her ear. She responded with ripples of happiness across her coat, a gentle blow from her nose. “It’s good to see you, my friend. We need to find a way to keep Sargon outside of the castle. If he can find his way in, he can mind control the rest of the Castle Guard, and we will lose this war. Do you know of anything we can do to prevent him from him smoking in?”
Amaryllis grinned, turned, and headed back up the stairs, toward the bedchamber. She motioned for Veronica to follow, who was intrigued by what mischief her friend had in store for Sargon. Once they reached the familiar room, Amaryllis roared, and ignited her eyes in the familiar yet intimidating flame. She turned and bucked, sending a purple wave out behind her. Veronica raced to the solitary window, gasping in awe. The purple wave penetrated through the armored doors and solid stone of the castle walls and hung in the air at the front gate, reaching thirty feet above the highest guard tower and all of the way down to the ground. Amaryllis repeated the action again, throwing up a magical barrier around the entire castle with five protective spells. The purple created a surreal world, where the greens of the Forever Green Forest and the grasses that extended out from the castle were filtered to the color of dark purple.
“Impressive! Will this magic keep Sargon and his demonic smoke out of the Castle?”
Amaryllis nodded weakly, then collapsed on the entryway floor. Her breathing was labored, and her eyes were half open, unfocused. She can’t last long in this horrid state. If we don’t break this siege, she might soon fulfill her promise to die alongside us.
The siege of Castle Myra had begun.
Chapter 24
Into the night she went, Veronica’s armor glinting in the waning moon.
She knew what she had to do, but getting to Patara and rescuing Urartum would not be easy.
The Queen had stolen away that very night. Her grief had nearly driven her mad. She had to find a way to repent of her mistakes. She had to find a way to reconcile the killings. She had to right her many failures. She had to justify to her people that she was the Queen they needed. She had focused all of her hopes of redemption upon a single act: find Urartum, free him from the prison, and return him to the Steel-Blade tribe.
She had left direction with Sir Barbarossa to take command of the castle defenses in the form of a letter. She didn’t bother to seal it. Those things don’t do any good. She then grabbed Edward’s old map and used some old rope to scale the back wall of the castle. Her sense of direction was still horrid, but she was confident she would find her way—or die trying.
A horse from one of the cavalry, its rider killed in the fighting, was in the field in front of her. The horse had been spooked but now seemed to be calming itself down and eating the waist-high grass of the open land around Castle Myra. It seemed to know her and approached her without fear. She climbed into the saddle and rode off into the night.
She left without incident. The dark armor helped her blend in with the night; her only worry the horse stumbling beneath her. Once clear of the enemy, she set herself on a path that threaded away from the castle, heading south, and the horse trotted at a leisurely pace. What lay before her was nothing more than rolling hills, with the Forever Green Forest lining her vision on the west side. The area had been named the Storm Hills and stretched many miles south of the Castle Myra.
The Storm Hills had once been a favorite of the various nomad tribes that once lived in the area, as they had loved the great open sky and favored gazelle meat, which still roamed in herds in this open hill-filled grassland. Large storms frequented the area, funneled into the open grassland by hills and mountains hidden by the Forever Green Forest. Veronica had heard of many stories of entire caravans of travelers getting marooned on one of the more prominent hills during a surprise flood, and a few other stories that ended with everyone drowning in the rapidly rising water. Veronica believed that Tarhunna, bull god of storms and natural disasters, was the true reason behind the powerful weather patterns here. The rainfall fed the farmlands surrounding the Great City Patara, which produced much of the food for Patara, as well as the other great coastal city Ankara and the Castle Myra.
Mosquitoes and flies were thick here, and it smelled of compost and marshland. It was also humid, but since it was late in the season, the heat was manageable. The smoke from the burning forest did not block the sky from her view. The brilliant stars and glowing moon in the sky lit her path as she rode through the hills, threading her way along the low land between the mounds of earth and grass, only riding up a hill to regain her bearings. She didn’t want to wear out her horse—a beautiful beast that she had named Midnight, due to its dark coat and the circumstances of their meeting. Behind her, she could make out war cries and thunderous catapult attacks as the sorcerer laid siege to Castle Myra.
Mother Goddess, help us.
It all did not matter to her if she couldn’t save her friend from a wrongful execution. If she couldn’t use the crown and her strength and her will to stop something so minuscule in the grand scheme of things, she might as well step down and allow someone else to rule. She had to save Urartum. Sir Barbarossa knew war and would be able to provide for the defense of Castle Myra better than she ever could herself. Without Urartum’s help, I would have been at least married off to Alabaster and silenced, or worse, poisoned by Phillip. I had no reason to doubt Phillip, and he indeed would have taken advantage of my trust to complete his task of killing me.
