Chapter Six
Axes for Promises
With a crash, the robber leapt forward, murder in his eyes.
I saw the knife before he touched me, but too late to stop the attack. I could only scream as the magic in my body dramatically stopped, undone by iron. Gasping for air, stunned by the searing pain, my thoughts tumbled about.
My will fell to tatters with the blade in my side.
Another robber knocked me from the horse’s back.
Falling off the saddle, the ground was unforgiving—just like the men who swarmed the troops of the Stormrage See.
All around me crimson blood ran from severed necks. A royal purple cloak lay on the ground, blood seeping through the thick fabric. The prince’s hand twitched and then went still.
My escort had fallen to ambush.
“T-the prince is dead,” I heard someone announce, as a bandit leaned over my fallen body, sneering down at me as my eyes pleaded for mercy. Without a second of hesitation, he plunged his iron knife blade into my chest.
Awareness spiralled down into the finite point of that sharpened bite—of death.
***
Sitting straight up in the soft lounge chair, fright jolted me awake.
Sweat and tears mixed on my cheeks as I tried to shake off the horror dream.
The Prince, Marcus, and… all those men, they had it all planned out. They just wanted the Axe of Stormjen. Reclaiming the Gilded Seat, their only goal. That’s it.
So why did I imagine this horrible scene? That was vicious slaughter. Only one other word described what magic had just shown me: Murder. My heart still pounded loud in my ears as I tried to recover from dying in my dreams.
Stormsmen stood at the door of the waiting room.
“Are you alright, milady?”one of the younger ones asked. Not so hardened as the rest, not so cruel. Was it pride or mistrust that layered the way everyone here treated me?
Hard to say.
One of the stormguards walked closer to where had sat and rested my head. Holding out his own kerchief, he offered it to me, “You’re frightened,” he spoke low and blocked the other storms guards’ view of my face with his own body.
“Can you move? Do you need help?” The man asked. I could read the sincerity on his face. But lately, I seemed to have misjudged quite a few people. I thought I knew Marcus and could read his face. And he sent me to the Stormrage See like a rabbit to the hounds.
Look at how well that turned out.
Something about this stormsman feels odd. I could almost put my finger on exactly what about him didn’t settle. But when I tried to concentrate on that feeling, magic interfered.
I was so shaken by the terror in my dream, I shooed away that feeling of being watched.
“There will be a betrayal.” As soon as I whispered the words, I knew they were true. Even before the magic confirmed it. Blood will be spilt. And I-I will die.
Two stormlords strode forward through the gilded doors. “We are almost ready to send out the search teams. How far away was your carriage?”
I described the place where the bastards had abandoned me. Even as I spoke of the hills, the bushes, the forest, I kept seeing the purple cloak smeared in blood. And the rivers of dead, lying arms broken, empty eyed. I kept feeling the iron knife plunge into my fallen body.
“I need a few more things before we go,” I mentioned my list to the men casually. As if I, Briarrose of the Thorns Berwyn had some right to even speak to men of such high birth.
“A suit of armor, a chest plate of silver and leather. And a bag of the finest blue mountain flowers, ground to a dust... I made a list of everything.”
I don’t know why I asked for that last bit. Something in a dream? Something in one of Momma’s fairytales., more likely.
The stormlords looked at each other nodded, and left in search of the five items I requested. A woman in armor? Who had ever heard of anything more ridiculous? The only thing even more outlandish was a scullery girl in silks and silver, leading lords off to rescue a man she didn’t even know.
Frankly, it was amazing how quickly the stormlords returned, their arms full of the items I requested: a black crow feather, the finely-ground flower petals, two gold gemstones, one lock of hair from a newborn child, and the most beautiful breast plate I had ever seen.
I didn’t feel safe. I’m not sure I ever would again.
Still, the dream’s power did not recede into the distance until I had lifted my arms and allowed the men to strap the plates of metal to by body, encasing my ribcage, protecting my heart from the daggers of men and the lies of the once-trusted Prince.
Each of the other ingredients I asked for were spell items from the story of Georgina and the Watermelon Rind, one of the odder fairytales Momma used to tell us. But all of a sudden, it occurred to me that those were very exact ingredients.
Very specific.
And if in fact, there was a code, or some kind of magic-harnessing ability in my mind, I preferred to have the odd list of ingredients ready. Georgina had used such ingredients to cloak herself in the guise of night and secure her family’s freedom from pirates under its thick fog.
Next to the door, the two stormguards watched me, standing at attention, ready to protect the Stormrage See. From … me? I ignored them and their casually-placed hands that just touched the hilts of their very fine silver swords.
As I gathered the supplies and was pompously escorted out of the waiting room by storm lords and soldiers, I swear one of the stormguards winked at me. I stared at him for a second as we passed.
Then he fell into step behind the rescue party.
***
Once again, I stood before the Stormrage See, and the council of the stormwardens, rulers of Stormhaven and Farthingdale. The First Stormwarden, the leader of the vast country walked down each finely carved step, until he finally reached my side.
Standing one step above, the Stormwarden held out the exquisite weapon that he had held in his hands.
“In many ways, this is my own scepter. My right to rule. You need it, milady, this one weapon to restore honor and life to the Gilded Seat, our ancient brethren. For this purpose, I am entrusting this artifact into your care. I pray you use it well.”
The other stormlords stood in parade dress, formal and unmoving.Their leader swore me to the task I had come seeking. The lie.
I wanted to say, This is all a mistake, I’m sorry. The prince is fine. The whole thing is a trap. But the only think the magic let me say was the last, “This is a trap.”
That’s what I announced when the cold, calculating man put the terrible weapon of Stormrage into my much smaller hands. The old Stormwarden nodded solemnly.
“It is a trap, milady,” he paused for a moment, again looking at the thousands of invisible things he could discern floating in the air around me.
“I see the trap. And I see you. And the safest path for the Stormrage See is by your side.”
“We stand by our word,” the leader of Stormrage See vowed. “We will help restore the Gilded Seat. We will help you rescue the lost Prince Benjamin. And then, milady, we will talk about the matter of your name.”
He paused as if there was so much more to say.
But he left those particular words unspoken. He bit his tongue like anything else said between us would blot out the sun. It felt so abrupt. And his willingness to help me felt too easy. Why? Why does he listen to the words of a serving girl and allow his men to be taken as fools? But I could not say any of those words. I could not say he was a fool. Because it just wasn’t true.
“One last thing,” he said as he set the heavy weight of the axe into my hands, “...if you lie, the axe will know. If you lie, at all—the axe will return to me and to its rightful home. You are bound by its magic as much as you are held to the standard of truth in this very room. The heart of the storm is the eye. Only there will you find peace. Remember that.”
***
“We ride for the future of the Gilded Seat,” I spoke the vow calmly, as if I had some right to ask any of this of brave and honorable men. The rescue was a lie. And where exactly could I lead them?
Emerging from the Stormrage See with a full escort of stormlords and guards, we sped faster than arrows in flight, back to the place I emerged as a lady, returning to the grounds of my deceit.
As we rode on the backs of war horses, clad for war and rescue, I felt the power of the Axe of Stormjen grow. With each step we took , the eerie yellow light that emanated from the blade gained power. The weapon itself lay in a cross covering my back, sheathed and cloaked in a thick velvet. Only its handle fell below the saddle. It was enormous.
The weight of the weapon had to be centered between my shoulders for me to keep my balance. But it wasn’t the physical weapon I worried about. Away from the room of truth and the columns’ bespelled protections, the Axe of Stormjen crackled with weather energy. Storm clouds began to form in the far skies, slowly drifting toward my back. From across the wide horizon, bits of clouds appeared and generated by magic, rushing to the call of the weapon.
None of the storm lords noticed for a few miles. But soon the change in weather was obvious to all of us. Winds pushed at our backs. The horses sped on with the tailwind lifting every stride, hurrying us on our way. To the trap the cunning prince had started.
As soon as we crested the last hill, I stopped my horse. Pulling up on the reins, the war horse responded immediately to my request. In perfect flanking formation, the Storm Lords halted and circled back.
As the wind picked up, it became harder to speak on horseback without shouting.
“Here,” I said, instantly recognizing the very real location where I had been left this morning. And the place my dream showed me… where Death took my hand and everything ended. I straightened my shoulders, determined to speak only the truth, focused on winning past the moment of my death. “Yes, the attack happens here.” I spoke in the wrong tense. None of the storm lords noticed.
Holding on to the axe, being this close to its presence…
I knew better than to lie.
***
Instead of charging at a full canter into the meadow, I said, “Let ‘s search the nearby woods. For traces of the prince and for any traps the robbers left. Far more experienced than a noble lady, the storm lords looked slightly taken aback at not riding full force into the the remains of the encampment. A broken tent and a carriage wheel lay out in the open, clearly evidence of the attack which stole the Viscount. My husband, the Viscount.
As I watched from my horse, the stormguards spread out in a series of lines on both sides of me, they entered the forest, sweeping anything hiding ahead of them, flushing out pheasants and peasants alike.
I held my position, watching the fraught landscape, nervous at the thought of these honorable men dying for me, for a lie.
Two stormguards stayed at my side, slightly behind me. “Why do you not search with the others?” I demanded, somewhat imperiously. I was more nervous and worried than haughty but my words sounded cold and vain.
Neither man moved from my side.
The winds began to howl around me as storm clouds gathered from across the sky and the meadow’s air turned gray. The meadow filled with heavy tendrils of fog as the rescue party searched for any clue of the Viscount’s kidnappers and any marks that pointed to their whereabouts.
“A hideout must be near,” one of the guards shouted.
I could barely hear him above the whipping of the wind. Rain began to fall. First lightly and then rougher, harder, the sky wept.
That’s when I saw the first stormguard fall off his horse. Blood seeping down his neck and along the sweat shined coat of his wild-eyed steed. He fell like an autumn leaf, past its prime. And the man who had killed him grinned up at me and saluted.
One of the prince’s men.
At my side, the stormguards stiffened. “What’s happening there?” They asked.
“We are attacked!” the other cried out.
The wind whipped away their words. I couldn’t speak anyway.
I was a child caught in a savage war. These men, my kidnappers, they had told me they were a noble prince and his personal army. They had spun a tale… told me they needed an axe, the very one on my back. And if that was in fact what they wanted, why kill the stormguards who accompanied me?
Why kill anyone? We had, in fact, already won. I had the axe. Their mission was complete.
My escort of storm guards moved closer to me. As loud as braying dogs, the winds howled all around us.
Another stormguard fell a few yards ahead of us.
Arrows flew all over the meadow. Everything was chaos. Arrows hit the ground in front of my horse, closer and closer with each flight. Gusts of wind saved me when nothing else would have stopped the arrows.
Hidden in the forest, the archers were adjusting their aim.
I charged forward , spun my horse and circled back, topping farther away. A moving unpredictable target was my best chance.
Death.
Death was coming for me, the stupid kitchen wench who thought herself special. The lie wrapped up in a rich woman’s cloak, holding on to the ultimate truth spelled into a weapon. Defenseless.
Ashamed. Men were dying because I lied. More would fall.
And then, I would die. The dream had told me the truth. Tied to my back, the weapon’s magic set my fate. I couldn’t wield the monster axe. It was for the Prince. For the viscount, for Marcus. But not for me. I could no sooner swing that axe than hold a jousting pole on a charging war destrier.
Arrows landed close to where my horse pawed the ground—eyes wide, hooves dancing nervously. Still I kept my seat. Doggedly, the two stormguards near me did not run. A little farther this time, we moved away again. One arm of the sweeping stormguards pushed through the forest over, driving the hidden robbers in front of them.
There were men in the forest I had never seen. Dangerous brigands, robbers of the lowest sort, cutthroats and traitors… fitting company for the kingsmen who tossed my life aside. Betrayers deserved no better fate.
Regrettably, there were also men I knew… the prince’s personal guard. Each one of them aimed arrows at stormlords, each one of them aimed their missiles at me, eyes cold as the winter snows, full of murder and hate. Why? I am no target? No one important? So why would they waste the arrows? Aren’t I on their side?
Why target a kitchen maid in the middle of a skirmish?
One fact answered every questions: all witnesses had to die.
Two lords engaged in hand to hand combat as I felt an arrow hit my thigh. I watched one of them fall, an echo of my dream, right as the pain hit me.
Startled, I looked at the fletching, sticking out of my leg. The colors of the Gilded Seat decorated the feathers. The colors of the prince: purple and gold.
Both of the stormguards stood near me, still at their post. One of them reached for me, lifting my leg. A spear of pain shot up my arm and spine. Fire in my bones. With a quick gesture, the soldier tightened a leather belt on my upper thigh, slowing the blood.
I didn’t feel any pain other than that. I refused to.
Full of anger.
Full of storms.
Full of piss and vinegar at being lied to.
At being disregarded over and over.
At being thrown out of my home because a child was worth so little to my own father. His own daughter… we have no worth. Not to the monsters who walk among men.
And now? These false men, the prince’s guards, the ones who plotted in the dark and shadows… now they aimed for me. They wanted the axe I had brought. But they wanted no witnesses to their theft.
Bastards.