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BARIN’S FEET CRUNCHED the icy ground but making noise was the least of the king’s worries. He led them into the thicket and through a wash to the forest edge. No one had pursued them, and so he halted the party and took a breath, regarding those who had followed him. Lorica, wet and shivering, had regained her color. They were all soaked, and though the sun shone, the air chilled them. He took off his saturated shirt and hung it on a tree limb. Jareth did the same. Better to be cold than wet and cold. He had dry clothing in his saddlebags and handed Lorica and Anna each a bundle.
“Change,” he instructed Anna, and the two women disappeared into the brush.
Tossing a crossbow and a quiver to Jareth, he nodded. “A gift from the emperor. I was hoping I’d find you to deliver it.”
“A Casdamian crossbow?” Jareth’s face lit up.
“They invented the weapon,” Barin admitted.
“What’s that noise?” Lorica asked as she and Anna appeared each wearing a dry tunic and man’s coat over their sodden skirts.
A stampede approached from the woods and Barin drew his sword. If this were an ambush, they’d have little chance against horse soldiers. His heart beat hard as he glimpsed the others, all ready with their weapons.
“Vasil!” Neal was the first one to come into view.
“Good bright light of day!” Barin sheathed his sword, Neal slid off his horse and the two embraced.
“Our troops are ready,” Neal assured him. “What’s the command?”
Barin caught his breath and took Neal away from the others. As always, he wanted Neal’s input, so he told him about the floating islands, and the children being swept away through a portal to an underground river, the thousand-man army they saw headed for Benata in the Neverworld, the enemy’s plan to take the city from the tunnels with reserve archers on the outside, and the activation of Moshere’s army that Barte had given him charge of.
“They would be entering Benata soon,” Barin said. “My fear is that there will be more bloodshed than we want. We could wipe out those children in a matter of minutes, but is that really our objective?”
“Is there a way to demand they surrender? When they see what they’re facing, they may relent.” Neal asked.
“It’s not likely. They wouldn’t have the authority nor the mindset. Not being under such dominance.”
“Who would?”
Barin suspected the only one who could allow the children to surrender would be Lord Sylvester. He doubted that would happen. “Sylvester has put us in a lose-lose situation. If we win, we lose our offspring and what good would that be? If we lose, we die, and Sylvester gets his way, uses our children as his puppets, and then what?”
“And if Sylvester dies?”
“We might stand a chance.”
Neal nodded, scratching his chin, and met Barin’s gaze.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll have to draw him out into the open. If he suspects his soldiers don’t have a chance, he might show his face.”
“Or like you say, it’s part of his plan.”
“It’s a risk we might have to take.”
A risk that the children would suffer, but he knew little else to do.
Barin had instructed Moshere’s army to signal him from Benata should the children attack from the tunnels, and so when the shrill sound of a whistle blew from the walls of the city, Barin waved for Neal and his men to mount. Archers would come out from the gateway and station themselves outside the city’s walls. That line of assault would be Barin’s focus. He worried he would be outnumbered, for Neal had only a small portion of the Potamian army with him.
When he returned to Jareth and Lorica, they were ready to ride.
Anna was gone.
#
When the enemy militia emerged from the Neverworld, a marching regiment of archers, all armored, all in formation, all adolescents, Barin breathed deeply. He had never been so sick to his stomach before a battle. It wasn’t fear for himself or his soldiers, it was fear for those children who got themselves in a situation they weren’t ready for. Any fool could weigh the odds and see that soon they would all die. All of them, no matter how hard Barin would try to limit the amount of bloodshed, if they lifted one weapon against their foe, they would be slaughtered. And there was no one to warn them nor open their eyes.
Reinforcements had come from Prasa Potama. A hundred men times ten emerged from the forest behind Barin carrying his red and gold banner, the Destiers waving proudly on the flag bearers’ staffs. A force like the wind of a storm, bringing confidence in the destruction it could cause should it let loose.
“Jynifyr sent word,” Neal whispered, and Barin nodded. He hadn’t worried. He had the sword of magic with The Keeper’s blessing, and he could protect his men and women under its shield, providing the dragon concurred with his decision. But would he? Would The Keeper agree to a slaughter?
In the hills beyond Benata rode Moshere’s army clad in black armor, carrying the green and black standards. The son of Moshere was not among them, they were under Barin’s command, and he had already given them orders. They would do the most damage, be the most brutal. He couldn’t help that, it’s who they were.
Three whistles sounded shrill into the wind. The strike had begun. Barin held his sword up, Neal his hand.
“Show mercy when you can,” the king cried out. “These are someone’s children. Put fear into their hearts, but spare them when possible. Aim at their leaders. Take prisoners.”
He waited until the young archers rode from the gateway and surrounded the city. Along the shore and onto the docks. They came by boat from the lake-portal, and on foot. Swarming the curtain wall until they were a thick layer of yellow shields, like bees in a honeycomb. Barin marveled at their numbers as there were twice the number he had seen in the Neverworld.
“Neal, take half the men and ride to the east side of the lake. I’ll take the other half to the west. Drive the enemy close to the wall, but release only when they attack.” Barin held his sword high and prayed for protection for his soldiers. A thin film spread over them like a glass bauble, invisible, yet prisms of light reflected above the men as they moved. Neal led his men and Jynifyr’s soldiers through the trees eastward. A volley of bolts flew at them, but Neal kept his distance and none of the arrows reached his troops.
Barin waved for his troops to follow him. Jareth and Lorica rode by his side.
“Are you sure you want to be part of this, Milady?” Barin asked.
“I already am,” Lorica answered.
The battle cries and screams of the wounded came from within the walls of Benata. Barin could only imagine the massacre transpiring in the streets of the village, thankful he had warned the innkeeper and wishing he had been able to warn others. He was no stranger to war. Barin had won many battles and lost few, but the horrors of combat left deep scars, most never healed, and this one would be hardest to recover from. If he could, he would call it off. He watched before he commanded a strike, looking for a way to quash fighting. The yellow-shielded adolescents released their bolts at Moshere’s men secured behind the battlements. They struck few, and the soldiers in the city fired back. The adolescents climbed the walls like yellow-striped beetles, angry, arrogant, and foolish. They hollered battle cries, mimicking the adults they had seen—their parents possibly. They lusted after blood as no young person should. It made Barin sick to see them, for everything they did, they had learned from either their parents or their trainers in the Neverworld.
“Take down the adults,” Barin whispered to Jareth and the soldiers by his side, his anger rising like a sweltering sun over desert sands. “Kill the adults who are leading them into this madness!”
With that, he led the charge, thrusting his sword forward, the magic shield expanded over his troops like a glass bauble blown from a heated tube. They galloped toward the curtain wall, bolts flying. It did not take long for the enemy to turn and return the volley.
For some strange reason, his shield faltered, blinked, and died. Barin reined in his horse, his heart racing. Wide-eyed, he looked around himself. Some of his men were falling from their horses, dead. More and more of his soldiers were hit, and some of the horses were struck. Many of his soldiers, now on foot, still battled, but the damage surprised Barin, and he panicked. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Regroup!” he ordered “Fall back to the lake.”
He rode through the troops with his command, sending the message of retreat. Neal’s troops had met the same outcome. As they rode to the other side of the lake, the enemy turned back to Benata and continued their assault on the city.
“What happened?” Jareth asked, pulling his horse next to Barin’s. Lorica rode with him.
“I’m not sure.” Barin inspected the sword, guilt rushing through his bones, remorse as the wounded and dead were carried to safety in the woods. “This was blessed by The Keeper. I had no evil thoughts, no anger...”
“Perhaps that shield only works against enemies,” Lorica suggested. “Maybe these boys are not our enemies.” She had tears in her eyes.
“You should go back with the wounded,” Jareth said softly. “Help them. You don’t need to be in the midst of this fighting.”
She nodded but frowned at Barin before she left.
“I’m sorry, Vasil.” Jareth apologized. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Lorica was never a lover of war. She shouldn’t be part of this.”
“No one is a lover of war,” Barin sheathed his sword. “She may be right. It could be The Keeper doesn’t see these boys as the enemy. So, we must proceed without the magic.”
Jareth shrieked suddenly, and Barin swung his head around gaping at the mercenary’s bleeding arm and the broken arrow that hung from his shirt.
“Browncoats!” Jareth’s lips trembled. “My son!”
They had attacked from the lake, standing in their boats that had jutted out from the portal. They grinned as they sent one bolt after another. Jareth slid off his horse and Barin after him.
“Kill him, Crispin! Shoot again!” a sandy-haired fellow in the boat ordered, waving his arms. He tossed his hat and laughed.
“Lay low,” Barin told Jareth, pulling him into the brush. He took Jareth’s bow, returning fire but aiming at the boat. His soldiers followed his lead, drilling holes in the vessel until it took on water. The boys stopped firing and rowed to the other side of the lake, where they jumped into the water as their boat sank.
Sadly though, Barin realized they were surrounded. Neal had already retreated to the woods with his troops, perhaps to plan another advance or to distract the Browncoats. Barin and his men were trapped. Volleys came from both Benata and the lake. He had no place to go.
Barin didn’t often believe in miracles, not during battle. Men won wars because their soldiers endured, and their leaders had strategic battle plans. Barin failed in his leadership. He assumed this battle would be easy. His arrogance left no respect for his enemy. Still, he should have known better. Lord Sylvester had always been cunning. The baron had almost succeeded in overthrowing his father’s kingdom. Why had Barin not taken that into account?
But today, providence was on his side. Surprisingly, unidentified troops in the woods succeeded in driving the Browncoats to the gateway in the lake, where they vanished, boats and all. It wasn’t until a large red-haired man and his band of rebels showed themselves that Barin sighed in relief. Perhaps the forgiveness he’d shown Kayden had paid off, for this little militia allowed his wounded to be moved deeper into the woods out of harm’s way, long enough that Barin could regroup with Neal and come up with another strategy. Later that afternoon a scout came from the gates of Benata that Moshere’s army had contained the influx into the city and destroyed the gateway. If the enemy were going to regroup and attack, they could no longer use the portal within the city’s walls.
#
Anna marveled at how easy it was to slip away from Barin and the others, and just in the nick of time. She mounted her horse and galloped through the forest, by-passing the lake, the city, and the rolling hills surrounding Benata. She slowed her horse when she heard the whistles from the fortress. The battle had begun. Cheering came from within Benata—a battle cry from children that soon soured into cries of pain and dying. The sounds of swords clanging against one another, and bolts hitting wood, metal, and flesh, all coming from within the walls of the city.
The sun flashed on the armor of Moshere’s army, their dark figures marching as a unit were almost as intimidating as the creatures from the Neverworld. They stood on the battlement of the fortress and casually released their bolts. She couldn’t see behind the walls, but she could imagine the bloodshed. They would slaughter the children. For as many crossbows as her father issued out to his troops, none would even nick those armored suits.
The boys would be massacred inside those walls.
Repulsed, Anna hauled her horse’s head around and prodded him into a gallop. They flew across the farmland beyond Benata, racing the sun, and racing time.
Tucked away nearly invisible from Benata, nested the humble village of Grenwild. Only peasants lived here—poor farmers who seldom ventured from their wooden shanties, sheep, and gardens. They were people who believed in staying out of other folks’ business. They would know nothing about the battle going on, nor would they care. They didn’t gossip nor would there be a rumormonger in the whole town. Few travelers ever visited, for Grenwild had nothing to attract a voyager, not even an inn or a pub.
For these reasons, Anna pulled her horse to a halt when she arrived, and slid out of her saddle, tying her sweating horse to a hitch at the end of town.
Of course, her presence created a commotion. But she wasn’t a stranger. The villagers knew her well. She’d been there many times before, for Grenwild was a village her family enjoyed visiting when they wanted to get away—or rather hide away. She dusted her skirt—still damp from the episode in the lake—and trucked along the stone cottages.
“Where’s my father?” Anna asked an old man. He wore a ragged coat, his face wrinkled from the weather. He tipped his straw hat, and pointed to a cottage at the end of town.
Anna breathed in deeply, for she shook from the swim in the lake, from saving a life, and from the wild ride cross country all within the last couple of hours.
Mud clung to the hem of her dress as she charged down the pathway, but her appearance no longer concerned her. She may have been a noblewoman before, her father’s pride to show off to his colleagues. No more. What she looked like didn’t matter since the status as the daughter of a baron meant nothing to her, anymore.
Nor did it matter that she rudely interrupted her parents during their afternoon supper. She had waited long enough. She swung the door open and stormed into the house. Her mother sat at a table sipping tea. Her father stood at the fireplace warming his hands. Neither seemed surprised to see her.
“Did you get it?” Lord Sylvester asked.
“Do you know what’s going on out there?” Anna asked, heated and out of breath.
He laughed. “Is it bloody?”
“Bloody? Whose blood do you think is spilling?”
Her father shook his head and turned away from her.
“Anna, you seem to be troubled. You’re not upset about the king, are you? I told you not to get emotionally involved with him. His fate is already decided. He’s going to die. If you continue this affair....”
“He’s not going to die, mother,” Anna spat. “And I already know what you’re going to say. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Do you have the sword, Anna?” her father asked again.
“Turn around and look at me,” Anna ordered. Her mother stood.
“Anna, that’s your father you’re talking to.”
“Turn around!” Anna repeated as she pulled on his shirt sleeve.
He brushed her away. “Control yourself child, or I’ll have to discipline you.” When he scowled she took his arm and made him face her.
“I did not get the king’s sword. Nor did I try to get it.” She glared at him and for the first time she saw who he was. Not a man, not a father, but a devil. A monster no different than the Influencers he controlled.
“Then think long and hard about what you’re saying. Who has dominion over you, Anna?” her father interrupted. “Whose side are you on, then??”
“You’re not getting the sword. You’re not going to claim victory either. Your cowardly plan is not only a crime, but it will ruin you.”
“Oh, come now, Anna.” Her father shook his head and turned to the fire, again. “Sentiments never succeeded in gaining control of anything. I taught you better than that.”
“You taught me to be the devil.”
His chuckle boiled her blood. He had made a mockery of her love for Barin. He always had. Belittling her and disregarding her feelings. She hadn’t stolen Barin’s sword. No. She could have—it was right there at her fingertips—but instead, she did better than that. Her hand clenched the dagger she had found in Jareth’s belt, and as she regarded her father’s gleaming eyes, her grasp around its handle tightened.
“You’re not the devil.” He turned to look at her. “You were only taught to obey him.”
Maybe that was true when she was a child, just like the children in the Neverworld. What he learned training her, he used on them. She was his experiment. First dominating the Influencers, he learned how to control the magic, the half-dead and then he worked on her. His ambitions grew wild when he saw how vulnerable she was, how easily manipulated children were, and so this was his end. To raise an army that he didn’t care about so their deaths wouldn’t matter.
“It doesn’t matter whether they live or die, does it?” Her teeth clenched. The anger boiling her guts, her blood, her bones. She neared him. His breath smelled like the sweetcakes he had eaten, the honey in his mint tea. He didn’t try to move away and neither did his smile fade.
“I’ll get you some tea, Anna, and then we can discuss this sensibly.” Her mother left the room.
“It doesn’t matter to you who suffers as long as you have your power,” she said.
“I’m surprised you figured that out.”
“Are you? Then figure this out!” She shoved the dagger into his chest. “You wanted the children to kill their parents. Didn’t you?”
“Anna,” he gurgled, and blood spewed from his mouth. She pushed harder.
“Think about why I’m doing this,” she said through gritted teeth. It felt good to kill him.
Not until he collapsed in a pool of blood did Anna step away. Her mother came back, dropping the tea kettle and cup, her face a ghastly white.
“You’ll thank me some day, Mother!”
She marched out of the house and strolled to where she had left her horse. Before she mounted she looked back. Her mother staggered outside and fainted. A few villagers ran to the cottage to help her. Anna wiped the blood from the dagger with her dress, mounted, and rode away. Not until she was clear of the village on the trail back to Benata did she bring her horse to a canter, a pleasing satisfaction calming her nerves.
It was finished.
Never had she felt so liberated than when the wind blew against her cheeks, and her hair flew loosely in the air.
#
Deep in the cover of the cottonwoods, Jareth held his wound as Lorica wrapped a cloth around his arm. Sweat dripped down the side of his temple. The bolt had torn a good amount of flesh and so Lorica had to tie it together to keep him from bleeding out. As the sun set, the world fell silent. The battle sounds ceased, and Jareth wondered if it meant victory. Not seeing Barin nor hearing Neal’s commands, Jareth feared they might have lost. What would the children do with prisoners? He regarded the few wounded soldiers lying in the dirt by him, moaning in pain. He took Lorica’s hand.
“You should leave,” he said. “Go into Rigelstaff and ask for help. Don’t let them take you prisoner. Who knows what they’ll do? That was Crispin who shot me.”
“You think I’m going to leave you?” she asked. “Win or lose, you’re my husband and I’m standing by your side, now and forever.”
#
The yellow-shielded army no longer climbed the walls. They, in fact, descended them. Some of the children jumped, landed on their feet, and turned toward the lake, toward Barin’s armies. There were no more battle cries coming from within Benata’s walls.
Word came to Barin that the children inside had been slaughtered. Someone on the battlement tore their shirt and waved a white flag.
The Browncoats rowed through the gateway and docked their boats very near where Barin stood. They could have easily killed a few of Barin’s men, but they didn’t raise their weapons. Most of the youngsters jumped ashore, surveying the silence of the battlefield, unsure of what to do.
“Shoot, fools!” a man yelled from near the fortress. Barin squinted, attempting to see who it was, but before he could identify the man, Kayden released a bolt, and the man fell dead.
“What are you doing? Why did you stop?” Hadley leapt from the boat and ran up the beach to the others. His voice rang out clear across the countryside. “Volley! Kill!” He pointed at Barin and turned to Crispin. “You’re the assassin. Kill the king and we win! Do it now!”
Crispin lifted his bow.
Barin looked the enraged youth in the eye. Hadley scrambled to find a weapon and snatched one out of the hands of a boy standing near him. He aimed. Barin didn’t budge. Why, he wasn’t sure. Shock, perhaps, or disbelief that the boy would fire.
The king stood solid as a rock and saw his fate unravel as Hadley aimed.
But it was Crispin’s arrow that flew.
Hadley fell backwards, his eyes wide as Crispin’s bolt struck him in the heart.
Jareth’s son lowered his bow, and stood over Hadley’s body for a moment. He had no tears, but looked the king’s way before he stormed down the dock, and got into a rowboat. Alone, the boy propelled the vessel toward the gateway to the Neverworld, and disappeared.
The defeat had been devastating, and Barin could have easily fallen on the ground next to the children and shared their tears. Some of them stood with their eyes glazed over as if they had no idea why they had been fighting, or what they’d been doing. Others put their hands up in the air, expecting to be taken prisoner.
Barin’s soldiers waited for orders, but Barin wasn’t going to arrest them. If anything, he would try and find them all a way home.
“What happened?” Barin whispered as Neal came up to him, leading his horse.
“Almost as if a curse had been broken,” the commander said, and he put a hand on Barin’s shoulder. “I’m glad it’s ended.”
“I wonder the damage.”
When the king’s soldiers realized the fighting was over, they too put up their weapons.
“My son is there,” a soldier came up to Barin.
“Get him, but approach carefully.” Barin said softly, and he waved at the others. “If your children are here, go to them. But be careful. They were hammered with lies and might still have misgivings.” Barin shook his head as he surveyed the battleground. Never had he seen combat with such a remorseful end.
Anna rode up to Barin and dismounted. The woman hadn’t been part of the battle, but she looked as if she had been. Her hair fell loose, beaten by the wind. Her face chapped. Her clothes soiled. Was that blood on her skirt? She was not the noblewoman he once knew. Barin had few words for her.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Grenwild,” she answered.
He grunted. “An odd time to retreat. We could have used your help with the wounded. No one with any honor runs off during the heat of battle.”
“I saved Lorica from drowning, if you remember.”
He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right. My apologies. But why Grenwild?”
She held a bloody dagger up, and, puzzled, he shook his head.
“You wonder what happened, and I’m letting you know. Not because I gloat in the man’s death. He was my father, but he was also my ruin. The curse was lifted at his last breath.” She bit her lip, holding back tears. “I love you, Barin, son of Tobias. You fight for the good of your people—something I never had the courage to do.”
She trembled, and so he took hold of the hand with the dagger to steady her. “You killed your father?” he asked softly. The dagger fell to the ground, and she collapsed against his chest. He held her in his arms having no words to soothe her.