Chapter Six
"Sonaro itself was separate from the island of Arsinuae,
forming a large,
coastal town before becoming uninhabitable desert further inland.
Unlike Januli,
another detached piece of land,
it was populated with humans, not wemics,
and they were corrupt to say the least …"
--The Pasegean Scrolls
When the trio arrived back at the Tusheban camp, after doubling back at the waterfall so to stop the guards from picking up their trail, it was almost 3am. But the camp, hearing much of the noise from the castle, was awake.
As the horses neared the make-shift fort, both Conner and Catrin were standing to greet them. With glares, that is. Syrah was nowhere to be seen, but Lokath had no time to look for her. He braked his horse at Conner’s feet, and turned to see Jareth do the same.
Jareth, unfazed by the scowls, jumped down then helped Alena do the same. Catrin narrowed her eyes at the slim, pretty girl, who just smiled weakly back. One of the generals ushered her off to a tent so that she might rest, and Conner’s eyes flashed over the two men like a spotlight picking escapees from the darkness.
"What the hell do you think you were doing?!" Catrin spoke first, her voice shaking with anger. "You do realise the consequences if they follow you, which of course they will do—"
"We led them away from the camp before returning, Catrin. We’re not stupid." Jareth was indignant that she could act so cold and analytical towards him now—after all he’d been through.
"You shouldn’t have done it in the first place!" Conner burst in furiously. "I forbade you—"
"Ha! You did nothing of the sort. It was three-against-two in there, and majority wins." Conner gave Lokath such a vengeful look he nearly fell off his horse.
"Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? I am a Baronet, and you’re just a lowly thief, too cowardly even to face death for his own wrongdoing! Instead, you come here and nearly destroy other lives as well! How dare you call yourself a man!"
From absolutely nowhere Syrah ran into the verbal battle, speaking with venom in her normally controlled voice. "No—how dare you?!" She slapped Conner across the face, her tirade continuing as she acted. "These two are both thrice the man you are!"
Conner stumbled backwards, reeling from the blow to his face. He yelled to his guards: "Get this bitch away from me!" and Syrah was dragged off from the spoken brawl.
Even Catrin was shocked by this, and backed away. "I think that’s enough, Conner. It’s alright." Her soothing words calmed him, and soon his body had lost its initial adrenaline.
"I’m alright now. Sorry, Jareth …" he paused for a moment, then continued. "You too, Lokath," and walked away into the forgiving darkness of the silent trees. Catrin looked at the men apologetically, then turned her gaze to the ground as she saw Jareth’s strong face. "No more, Catrin. You must help Conner now." She followed in her beloveds footsteps through the undergrowth, and the camp was silent, save for the occasional snoring emanating from each tent.
"Now, we need to find a way to infiltrate the fortress …" Jareth was fresh out of ideas, and Catrin barely heard his voice. "Catrin … anybody home?" He tapped her on the shoulder, and she jumped, brought from her musing too fast.
"Sorry," she mumbled, and tried to concentrate on the conversation. Alena gave her a friendly smile, which Catrin weakly returned. Syrah whispered in Lokath’s ear about Conner, and he nodded. A scowl overcame her usually attractive features, and Catrin turned away. She had not been able to find him anywhere, and he hadn’t come back on his own. She feared the worst, but couldn’t bring herself to think it truly.
Alena’s face brightened as a thought came to mind. "Of course!" she cried out to the others. "The fortress!" All eyes left Catrin and focussed on Alena’s face.
"What is it?" asked Lokath impatiently. Alena waved him away.
"The fortress! They’re using the same place as they did in peacetime, right?" Nods all round. "Well, I know that place like the back of my hand. And I remember a certain place where it’s quite difficult for a guard to shield. So …"
"So …" everyone but Catrin spoke excitedly, "we have a way in? Yes!" Jareth pulled Alena up and danced her around, as he always did when he was happy; Lokath started chanting "we’re in, we’re in," over and over; whilst Syrah cast a ‘lightshow’ spell, causing small amounts of firecracker’s to explode around the meeting circle. Catrin sat there, despondently aware of the fact that Conner would not be included in this attack … whether he liked it or not.
When she found him, she’d have to tell him. "He won’t be pleased …"
"Right," Lokath spoke quietly, so not to make any noise whatsoever that would alert the fortress. "Syrah, you’ll have to take your troops to the left encampment and wait for the signal. Use your broadswords, as it’ll be a side attack." Syrah nodded and the fourth regiment began to creep through the undergrowth for about three-hundred spans.
"What about mine?" Catrin asked impatiently. She didn’t know what Conner’s plans were, but her eyes kept drifting upward to the cliff face he had spoken of.
"Okay, Catrin. You’ll be with me—in the frontal assault. That is," he said, "if you want to. We can always change and Alena can go with me."
She shook her head. "No! I want to go inside." Lokath stared strangely at her, as she wasn’t usually so boisterous about such things. She looked away, again at the sheer Mt. Saolnmer, searching for any sign of movement. There was none as yet.
Lokath shook his head and spoke with Alena. "Too bad Jareth won’t be able to participate," she said sadly, "but he’s too sick right now. He’ll get over it, I’m sure."
"What, the illness or the disappointment?" They both laughed, and Catrin’s stomach churned. "How could they be so cheerful at such a critical moment? Conner wouldn’t act like that!"
Alena was sent off to the right-hand side, as the stronghold was built up against the cliff wall. Catrin gulped as Lokath whispered to her: "Time to go."
They skulked towards the castle, Catrin constantly checking her men were still behind her and the cliffside for Conner’s presence. A shadow there informed her that he was beginning his attack. A smile crept across her face, and Lokath saw it, wondering what on earth could make her cheerful now, after all those weeks of depression!
"23rd of Arpinus, and it’ll be remembered forever—victory or defeat," Lokath murmured. "I just pray it’s the former."
A barn-owl’s cry pierced the silence of the night. Syrah was in position, and ready to advance on the camp. Nightjar’s also sliced through the moonless sky, showing Alena’s enthusiasm.
Lokath grinned in the dark, then looked heavenwards, bringing himself to make the raven screech, unusual in the dark of the land. It would make the world around him whirl with activity, and the death’s would occur.
The loudness of the call echoed throughout Syriana, Lokath’s deep, husky voice forming the sound perfectly. Syrah and Alena reacted simultaneously.
"CHARGE!"
The normally bored sentries were caught off-guard, and retaliated slowly, unused to much physical exertion. "Invaders!" they screamed to the sleeping battalions. "Usurpers come to steal the crown! Get up, you lazy fools!"
This roused the men from their warm beds, and they equipped themselves and quickly as they could. They had already been defeated.
Catrin was confused. Weren’t they supposed to be attacking now? She turned to Lokath, who was counting slowly. "What are you doing?" she said urgently. "We need to get going!"
"Ten seconds more," said he, and the countdown began.
"Nine."
"Eight."
"Seven."
"Six." A frightened gulp, then returning to the situation at hand.
"Five."
"Four."
"Three."
"Two." Slight hesitation before continuing.
"One."
The soldiers leapt to life instantly, their tedious, drawn-out wait finally over. The outside soldiers had been distracted, and it was time to make a move.
Running forward. Catrin’s heart was in mouth one second, next in her shoes. "What if we lose?" thought she, scared for her life. "Will I lose my life? Will I, Catrin of Menilan, die tonight?"
Thinking was no longer an aspect of her life at that moment. If she didn’t concentrate, the thoughts running through her head would become a reality.
The battering-ram had once been a tall fir tree, an older tree, more suited to this cold clime than the oaks and cypress’ in the woods, it had grown there since it had been but a sapling, over one hundred years before. It had seen much in its time, and then had been plucked from its only home so to be used against another wood of its kind. "Poor fir tree," Catrin thought pitifully, "you have seen so much, and now you are dead, and your murderer’s impressions have been carved inside your body—with an axe."
It swung back. They counted: one, two, three—then hit the door with all their might. Again and again they pounded into the unforgiving wood until there was surrender on its part. A splintering crack filled the sky, like so many others it had heard that night—yet unlike it too.
"They’ve come, they’ve come," were the wails from the citadel’s interior.
And so they had. Battering-ram discarded, the troops raced forward, battle-axes at hand. Nobles inside used rapiers, so they would have no chance.
Catrin removed the dagger from its small sheath on her belt, defending herself against a rather ambitious page. She dodged his punches, and drove the metal inside his stomach. Gasping for breath, he staggered away into the night. She looted one of the dead nobles on the ground and grasped his long, thin fencer. "Now this is more like it!" she thought happily. "Now I’ll show Lokath that I deserve to use a sword!"
She ran up behind him and showed him the sword. He grimaced. "You shouldn’t have that. Where’s your dagger?" Catrin shrugged non-commitingly, and he shook his head. "Well, I guess it’ll have to do—"
"Look out!" she cried as a guard lunged at Lokath’s unshielded stomach area. Lokath didn’t hear her and kept talking. "Oh no!" she thought, screaming at him on the inside to look up at the approaching man.
Then, from nowhere lurched another figure. "NO!" it screamed as the silhouette jumped in front of Lokath’s body. He threw his dagger at the soldier then felt a searing pain inside his stomach as he landed. The soldier was dead. He was dying.
Catrin then realised who the man was. "Conner!" she gasped under her breath. Lokath noticed as well, and said a quick prayer as he continued to fight the men further into the stronghold.
Her knees collapsed beside him, and she clasped his hand in her own and only then spoke. "Conner … why?"
He was weak from the pain, but nothing could keep him from answering the sweetest voice in his world. "Catrin—I’m dying, aren’t I?"
She nodded, then kissed his hand. "But we’ll save you—don’t worry. Lokath’ll soon be back and then—" Conner shook his head. "What?"
He stared deep inside her violet eyes; he saw her soul through them. He loved her with all his heart and could not stop. He looked away at the wall, not daring to show his face again to her. "I can handle death, Catrin. The only thing that I can’t handle is knowing that you don’t love me."
Wide-eyed, she gazed back at his sapphire ones, then looked away again, speaking softly. "Nothing could be further from the truth." She knew that the consequences of her impending lie could be more damaging than the truth, but Catrin could not let him die believing otherwise.
Hope filled Conner’s well-built frame, and he dared glance at her face once more. "Really? Play no games, Catrin. I am powerless in this state of near-death and another disappointment would kill me now."
"I love you with all my heart, soul and mind, Baronet Conner of Tusheba."
He smiled up at her. "Then I will die a happy man."
"No! You’ll be alright—we’ll be together."
"I await you, my Catrin. One day we shall be together again."
"You’ll be alright, Conner. I’ll save you!" He smiled wistfully up at her, and as his eyes rolled back into his head a hacking sob racked Catrin’s body. She clutched Conner’s limp body to her own, and wept uncontrollably, whimpering "you’ll be alright" as the night turned to morning and Syrah found her there, and comforted her, for only she could understand the same type of loss.
"Your highness, there is someone at the door."
Chunia gave the butler a look of great disdain. "Well then, show him in, you imbecile!"
He shook his head. "That would not be wise, my lady. He is rather—how shall I say this—incapacitated. Or maybe decapitated is the right word. Anyway, your high—"
Chunia pushed past the man, muttering "idiot" under her breath. When she pushed open the castle’s heavy oak double doors, she nearly collapsed from the sight of him.
The page’s uniform was drenched in blood, his own and others. He pulled the dagger from his stomach and handed it to the queen before falling to the ground, speaking only one word. "Defeated."
Chunia gagged at the stench, then noticed the carving’s on the ivory handle of the blade. "Tusheban made?" she said, the words feeling strange as she uttered them. Then her confusion turned to goading hatred. "Tusheban made!" she cried into the dawn sky, tears streaming down her face. She flicked them away, and called again to her butler. "Fetch my carriage. I shall be leaving—with the crown still intact."
"That would not be wise, my lady. There isn’t time to prepare the carriage and fetch the crown. They approach the palace as we speak."
"Then bring me a horse and the crown. Otherwise, we shall truly be defeated. I shall head for Capurna, disguised and shall—" she paused then said, "maybe it is better for you to know few things. That way, if you are tortured …"
The butler nodded and spoke once more. "Just let me know your destination, so that I might inform Quadra, if she is still alive."
"Sonaro. I will journey there, and query my aunt, Goonads, dictator of that land to help me in my quest." The horse arrived at the door, and a servant handed her the crown. She mounted the horse and saluted her subjects. "Long live Chail!"
And so she departed, leaving the miasma of Syriana behind her—but not the crown.
Copyright 2000 M. Lees
