Chapter 2 — War
“Hide me, hide me!” A young Prince Soranth shrieked, running behind the Queen’s throne. It was less of a throne and more a lattice of interwoven branches that resembled a seat—and surprisingly comfortable. Much like the rest of the castle, plants grew in abandon around the throne room, converting the hall into a forest clearing with starlight streaming in through the open roof.
“Soranth,” his mother sighed. Unable to stop the blooming smile from her child’s antics, the Queen gave the fauns’ newly elected representative Sablo an apologetic look which was accepted with a gracious bow. “Come here,” she opened her arms.
Soranth peered around a slim, creeping twine of ivy that had snuck its way up her throne chair, shooting the hall dangerous looks. His innocent face didn’t quite pull it off however. The Queen laughed and grabbed him, seating him on her lap with little fuss. “What’s wrong, darling?”
He leaned forward, gesturing for her to come closer with chubby fingers. She acquiesced but not without taking hold of his hand and brushing a quick kiss across his fingers. “Chu—” he began.
“Time for your history lesson, my Prince,” the wise, knowing voice of the Queen’s advisor came from behind the throne. Soranth yelped, jumping in the air in shock. Used to Chulsa’s uncanny ability of appearing out of nowhere even with his many limbs and dragging wings, the Queen didn’t as much as twitch. Instead, she shared a commiserating look with Sablo as the reason behind the Prince’s escaping act became clear.
“Running away from your lessons again, my dear?”
“It’s not fair,” he said with a pout, crossing his arms. “Chulsa makes it so boring! I want to go out and play!”
“History? Boring? Well then, you’ve obviously never heard one of MY stories...” She shot the young but astute representative a quick, inquiring glance that he understood in seconds. Sablo bowed once again, settling back on his hindquarters and crossing his arms in a clear indication for her to continue. Soranth looked up at her, bright green eyes gleaming curiously as she settled back into the soft sprigs of eldercress, their tiny amaranth-like flowers gently bunching up over the small hard buds left to hang from long stalks at their centre.
“I know you think Maraciel has always been this way,” she said, tapping his nose playfully, “but your father and I had a hard time when we were younger.” Chulsa disappeared once again, having made sure that Soranth was listening closely to his improvised history lesson. “The land was all barren. Empty. Nothing like it is now.”
“Was it like the Vermillion Plains?” Soranth chirped.
“No, no,” she chuckled. “Not even that existed back then. No,” she repeated, her eyes gazing into the distance. “We had nothing but each other. And Chulsa of course.” Soranth nodded, unable to imagine life without the insect humanoid. “Everything was frozen over in layers of solid ice. We walked across lakes, oceans, mountains and valleys—all without us realising it. All we could see was white.”
Soranth shrank against the armrest. Her eyes met his and she relaxed, sweeping him into a hug. “When we found out we were having you, your father was delighted. He refused to move another step, claiming that he would make this our new home so we could all live happily. That very night, Mt. Zarphan announced its presence in a very loud way. Can you imagine what it did, son?”
He nodded and gesticulated violently. “I know! First, big clouds come out so you can’t see the stars anymore! Then there’ll be a big splosion and—”
“Explosion,” the Queen coughed.
He barely missed a beat. “Like I said, splosion and then the red hot hot water will come out and burn everything.” He gave her a toothy grin.
“Well, I suppose that’s it in a nutshell,” she said delicately. “But yes. The volcano exploded,” emphasising the last word but it seemed to fly over the young Prince’s head. She sighed and continued, ignoring Sablo’s snickering with a practised ease. “The ice stopped it from reaching us but the clouds still blocked out the light for many many months. You know what happened after that of course, the ice near us melted, leaving us an empty, abandoned castle. It was just me and Chulsa by then and we couldn’t wait for you to be born.”
“Mm, did father go away?” Soranth frowned. While pleased to know he was listening closely, the Queen had hoped he missed that. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to settle her nerves.
“He didn’t want to, baby. But the clouds of ash and dust were just too much for him, weak as he already was fighting the cold. He wanted to see you so very badly, my darling.” She pressed her face against his soft curls and breathed in his sweet, unique child-like scent. “He was so happy when we found the castle. ‘Look, Af, now we have a place to raise our beautiful child!’ he told me.”
“He didn’t call you Queen?” Soranth lifted his head and looked at her, his head cocked to the side in curiosity.
She laughed along with Sablo, whom she had totally forgotten was leaning against the trunk of the magis mahogany tree. “No, we were just Eric and Af back then.”
“When did you become Queen?”
“Let me finish.” She gave him an admonishing look. “When the ice around the castle fully melted, you were almost ready to enter this world fraught with dangers. But you were still waiting for something. Chulsa and I didn’t know what,” she said, tossing a smile to the back of the hall where she knew he was waiting, “but it was the first plant.”
“What?” Soranth’s eyes widened into shining emeralds. Sablo’s expressions flitted from indifference to shock, finally settling on awe.
“Yes, my darling.” She pushed his short brown locks back, tucking them behind an ear. “It was that great magis mahogany tree right over there.” Sablo stumbled forward, suddenly realising that he’d been taking advantage of the very first tree to grow during the Sixth Ice Age. They all looked at the towering tree that easily shot above the collapsed castle walls with its thick golden-brown branches and canopy of long leaves. Many times had Soranth climbed up the tree while his mother worked away in the throne room, climbing up to the topmost branches as it dominated the air over the main building.
“You know what I said when you were born, darling?”
Soranth turned back to her. “What?”
She drew closer, gently resting her forehead against his. “For many years, I wondered who I was. When you opened your eyes, it was like a lightning shock!” She suddenly grabbed his sides, tickling mercilessly until he, writhing for mercy, burst out in peals of laughter. The Queen smiled and finished, “And just like that, I knew my place in the world.”
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“There was definitely some tension in the room, that’s all I’m saying.” Valda held up her hands defensively.
“There was no tension! None!”
“What’s going on?” Soranth asked warily, taking a step back from the doorway he had been about to enter.
“Valda’s imagining things again,” Haraldr said quickly, sharpening his blade with jerky movements.
“I am not. You were totally looking at—”
“She was the one looking at me!”
“She obviously hates your guts, it’s no wonder considering what you did to her—”
“She threw my third favourite spear into the abyss!” Haraldr had long stopped any pretence of productivity and was gesturing violently with his second favourite sword. Soranth recognised the faded black cloth tied around it from the shirt Haraldr had ripped up after receiving it from his sister for their shared birthday.
“Oh please, don’t be such a—”
“She dropped a block of ice on my head and claimed she thought it was water.”
“Girlfriend troubles again?”
“Ex-girlfriend, Max, ex.” Haraldr looked pained at the thought of an ongoing relationship. “This baby’s single now.” He then proceeded to kiss the muscles of his biceps.
“Eurgh.” Valda stuck out her tongue, her face scrunching up in disgust. “C’mere Puffy Wuffy, mama needs some lovin’.” She held her arms out. Almost instantly, footsteps thundered down the corridor. Soranth closed his eyes for a moment of silence to mourn the loss of his latest bedroom.
“Guys, we need to focus here... does that thing have armour on?” he demanded.
Valda’s nagacougar had a silver breastplate that extended till its forelegs, followed by a silver mesh that hung down to its hindquarters. Its sharp tail had small silver spikes imbedded at intervals. The forelegs were left bare to allow ease of movement except for a ring of braces that protected the tender skin near its paws.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Valda admired, hands automatically reaching under its jaw to rub its chin. “That’s odd, I thought the master smith was giving him a helmet too.” Her forehead furrowed.
“I found it,” Haraldr said in a strangled voice. They looked at where he was pointing. Soranth’s new bedroom had a beautiful view of the shattered remains of the castle’s old garrison quarters, with a fully functioning watch tower still standing tall. Green ivy and vines had trailed up the slate-grey stone walls, holding up the structure as much as it was threatening the integrity of its foundation.
And right at the very top of the tower, on a tall needle-like spire, was a helmet in the shape of a nagacougar’s snout. The trio stared at it for a moment, admiring the various ways it could have possibly arrived at its destination. Valda’s pet preened smugly.
“You just made me more terrified of your pet,” Haraldr whispered.
“He’s right, don’t bring that thing near me,” Soranth told Valda over her protests.
“You two just don’t appreciate beauty when you see it.”
“It’s because we have to see your ugly face all the time,” Haraldr drawled, ducking quickly to avoid the usual daggers. Only the first one missed.
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“What are you going to bring with you, my Prince?” Valda inquired, flicking the nose of a suit of armour’s helmet backwards. The red-plumed helmet gaped open, teetered backwards dangerously for a few seconds before decidedly falling into a pile of mesh armour on the ground. The metal took several ringing seconds to fade from hearing, ending as Valda shot Soranth’s back a sheepish look.
“I suppose I should pick more than one,” he mused, consumed in his thoughts. They had made their way down to the armoury when Valda claimed she required new weapons to replenish those that she had spent trying to hurt Haraldr. The other two merely looked at each other and agreed, figuring that they too could take the opportunity to arm themselves if there was going to be a war.
“Are you kidding?” Haraldr swung a heavy broadsword from the other corner. The word armoury was used lightly in this case, only called so as it was the place the master smith took to dumping his various creations. It was also the one secure room in the lower dungeons to have avoided total collapse along with a staircase leading down to it. “You’ll need to bring this whole place with you if you want to stay alive.” He sniggered and launched a mock attack on the only other suit of armour.
“Maybe if we bring a cart?” Valda eyed the row of gleaming spears.
“You’re not seriously considering his idea!” Soranth exclaimed, aghast.
“Well...”
Haraldr hefted the broadsword over his shoulder and swaggered over. “My Prince, your ability to lose weapons is not only well-known, it is legendary. Why, last week I heard a pair of very lovely fauns by the eldercress trees tal—”
The door to the armoury slammed shut, followed by a faint click of the lock falling into place.
Haraldr jumped, dropping the sword which thankfully for him landed away hilt-down. On the other hand, his sister was less fortunate. “G-mmph!” She hopped on the spot, massaging her foot. The crimson skin had darkened to a greyish bruise in the shape of a rectangular hilt-shaped injury. Deep brown eyes, usually gleaming with mischievous and slightly evil intent, were now hardened chips of coal. They burned with such intensity that Soranth felt a small shiver of fear for Haraldr’s continued survival.
“I swear,” she growled, hackles raising.
“Nice, nice sister,” her brother said, taking a few stumbling steps back, “You know I didn’t mean it! It was an accident!” His voice got progressively higher, hands held out defensively.
So this is the power of an older sibling, Soranth thought, fascinated.
“We shared the same womb!” The last word was a squeak, barely comprehensible. Haraldr shot a desperate look at the Prince.
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“We—um—” Eager as he was to save his childhood friend, Soranth couldn’t help but stutter when Valda’s glare of death shifted to him. “We’re trapped.” He pointed at the door. “Locked.”
She regarded the door with intensity, a large, towering dungeon postern gate gleaming with forged steel and hard bolts and the only method of entry and exit was a large, rusted key that hung in the keyhole where Soranth had left it. Underneath Valda’s fury however, it was similar to the process of running cheese through a grater. The metal screamed as it tore apart and Soranth and Haraldr’s hands leapt to their ears.
The she-demon blasted the door off its hinges with a powerful kick, sending it flying through the empty corridor. Out of the corner of her eye, Valda spotted a flash of red disappear up the stairs but took no note of it. Instead, she turned back to the two cowards who had turned away with hunched backs.
“Snap out of it, babies,” she yelled viciously, smirking in triumph at their not-so-hidden fear. “Grab your weapons and let’s go, my Prince. You!” She glared at her brother as he snapped at attention. “I don’t want to see that sword near me ever again or I swear I’ll—”
“No sword, yes ma’am!”
“Don’t interrupt me!”
“Yes ma’am!”
“Don’t call me ma’am!”
“Yes ma-er.” He puzzled over her command, mouthing the only other thing that came to his mind. Sir? Sir? She wants me to call her sir? He turned to ask Soranth, only to find him zooming around the armoury picking up as many weapons he could carry in his arms as possible. “I’ll help,” Haraldr volunteered.
Valda hid the cackle building at the back of her throat as her two minions trailed obediently behind her. A dark shadow broke away from a half-broken pillar, slinking predatorily up to them. “My sweet,” she crooned, holding up her hand invitingly. With her nagacougar by her side, they strode into the throne room to present the Queen with their preparations.
“YOU LET THE SPY GET AWAY!”
At the raised voices they heard echoing from inside, they shared grave looks and burst in.
“Mother! What’s wrong?” Soranth was beginning to feel a sense of déjà vu.
His mother’s face was expressionless yet her mouth was set in a grim line. “Come, Soranth,” she called over the arguing voices of Nathanael and Sablo.
“—your responsibility! You were elected because you were supposed to be the best!” The chief faun stabbed a finger in the chemycus’ chest, unflinchingly meeting the glare of the taller royal chief bodyguard.
“My job is to guard the royal family.” Nathanael’s blue eyes flashed icily. “Yours however, was to ensure any trespassers within the faun territory—”
“You’re blaming us now? Don’t mistake our lack of warriors for a lack of strength, chief,” he said, sneering at the last word. The chemycus reared back in anger at the insult. His sandy mane rippled as he prepared to charge into the unarmed faun. In turn, Sablo held his arms open mockingly, turning up his crooked nose and the rather dignified set of horns spiralling from the back of his head.
“Generals.”
All action stopped at the Queen’s command.
Soranth had long reached his mother’s side, her arm tucked against his side as usual. She was standing up, tips of her hair brushing the soft white scarf hanging low at her elbows. Her gown was made up of swathes of white material, stained near the ends with a cheerful yellow. She wore no crown but carried royalty like a cloak—encompassing, undeniable and awe-inspiring.
“We do not accuse others of things out of their hands,” she stated, giving the two males a level stare. “Or if we do, we make sure their back is turned and their ears closed.” A hot red flush worked its way up both of their necks as the great generals found themselves scolded and then forgiven like recalcitrant children.
“Nathanael.”
“Yes, milady?” The four-legged human hybrid stepped closer to the throne, bowing respectfully.
The Queen returned to her throne and gestured at Soranth. “My son has not heard the news.”
He inclined his head and turned to address the prince. “My Prince, forgive me for my oversight. It regards the spy who escaped. We encountered trouble cutting off his path as he’d discovered a hidden trail previously unknown to us. We were unable to follow and lost sight of him quickly. Luckily, my men caught up with him right before the trail opened up to the Vermillion Plains.”
At his words, Soranth, Valda and Haraldr stiffened. He shot his mother a weak smile at her curious look. The trail Nathanael was talking about was undoubtedly the one they so often used as a shortcut to get to their hunting grounds.
“We had him in our grasps,” Nathanael growled, gripping the empty air in a tight fist. “But the shadows, milady,” he turned back to her. “They swallowed him up, right from the ground. We did discover one thing while chasing him though. The shadows, they…”
“They what, General?” The Queen prompted with a hint of impatience.
He furrowed his brows. “They were gathering at the border of Mt Zarphan.”
She sank back into her eldercress throne, releasing the familiar sweet scent of the crushed flowers. “Time grows short,” she mused. “Our enemy grows in strength while we sit and wait for them to come to us.”
“We can go to them, my Queen,” Nathanael stepped forward eagerly, hooves clacking on the shattered marble tiles.
“Fight them?” Sablo spoke up incredulously. “We can’t even contain them!”
“It is easier to kill than keep, Chief,” the chemycus replied gravely.
“I suppose you would know more about this.” What the retort lacked in vitriol it made up for in insult.
Nathanael’s fists tightened and the Queen raised her hands. “Please, let us not take our anger out on each other. None of us want this but we are under attack,” she paused and surveyed them grimly, “so we must prepare. If we want to win this war, we must work together.”
War. The word sent a frisson of fear down Soranth’s spine as the gravity of the situation sank in. A war meant people dying, not coming home to their families. While they were hardly living in an idyllic world, no threat of war has ever breached the horizons of Maraciel. Until now.
“Generals, call up all your men. Every able-bodied warrior is to be given as much equipment as possible. Do not recruit those not of age, I will not deprive mothers of their children before they are ready to leave.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added “But accept those who wish to go—”
“Your Majesty,” Sablo began with an uncertain look. He didn’t manage to complete his sentence as Nathanael took over.
“This is not a good idea,” he said gravely in his deep timbre. “We should not be cutting off possible recruits when every single soldier needs to be there on the field.”
“Losing their life?” The Queen looked angry for the first time all day.
“Milady, this is, as you yourself said, a war. We cannot,” he stated, meeting her fiery gaze with a steady one, “and will not risk losing this war because of morals that are best held to in times of peace.”
“Morals are not something that can change overnight,” she replied in a stiff tone.
“I’m not asking for you to change them, milady.” He bowed. “I’m asking for you to set them aside in extenuating circumstances.”
“Nathanael,” she said, “I understand that you have seen a lot of battle in your time as our general but it has only served to increase your paranoia and lessen your empathy. We will not force children to fight.”
He paused before proceeding delicately. “Milady, you have always told me to be honest and I endeavour to fulfil your wishes. My experience, in my humble opinion, gives me the authority to say this: we will not win this war if we do not set all our strength against it.”
She made a frustrated sound and slashed her hand diagonally. “General, it is as if I am speaking and you’re not hearing the words I’m saying. Soranth and I will not sit here while our people, children,” she hissed, “die for us.”
At this, Haraldr made a sudden noise as if he was going to interrupt from the back of the open hall and threw his hands up to cover his mouth when Soranth glared daggers at him. From next to him, Valda hung her head at her twin’s timing.
“What is it,” the Queen asked in a short, clipped tone.
“Ah, it’s nothing Mother,” Soranth quickly soothed, unwilling to draw any further attention. Her eyebrows drew together as she spotted the abundance of weapons in his and Haraldr’s arms along with Valda’s newly-armoured pet that sat calmly next to her.
“You want to go,” she said, shocked.
“I—” he hesitated before summoning up the courage that had helped him defeat a Slyrdion hound. “We’re all going to fight.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Mother, we don’t have to go over this now.”
“You’re not going.” The tone of her voice brokered no argument.
He tried anyway. “We thought we could join the soldiers and maybe even the frontlines—”
“You,” she rose slowly from her throne. “Are not going and that is final.”
With those words, Soranth felt something in him snap and lost his respectful tone. “I’m not a child! I’m not even a teenager anymore—I haven’t been one for a long time!”
Chulsa stepped forward, appearing out of the darkness behind the Queen’s throne. “Perhaps we should take this elsewhere?” He offered, speaking in his usual slow and measured tone.
Soranth inclined his head at the advisor’s suggestion and walked off, leaving the Generals and his companions in a slack-jawed state. In the time they had known the Queen and the Prince, neither of them had ever fought and that included during his adolescent years.
He strode quickly past a pillar hidden by curtains of ivy and rounded the corner. He halted and turned back to face his mother, a string of words ready to be let loose. They died at the tip of his tongue however, when he saw the Queen calmly taking her time to reach him. It wasn’t her pace that caused his anger to die down—it was the look on her face. It was a look of heartbreak.
“Mother,” he began, reaching out. She bypassed his hand and walked right up to him, tenderly cradling his face between her hands.
“My dear son. You are too young for this.”
“Young?” He tried to wrench himself out of her grasp in incredulous anger but she coolly reached for his hands instead. “Mother, I’ve lived for almost as long as Nathanael! I’m older than most of our citizens! This,” he gestured at himself, “is not a true reflection of my age, Mother. And you keep forgetting that.”
“I don’t forget. I just don’t want to remember,” she said with a sigh. She pulled him alongside her, breaking out into a meandering walk that led them into the real palace courtyard rather than the overgrown throne room. Pixy bines, their hundreds of luminescent petals falling limp at the slightest touch, had taken over the corners of the corridor leading to it, the little yellow flowers lighting their path like a line of candles. Quick to lose their fluorescence once plucked, they were usually harvested every few rests and deposited into one of the many lanterns scattered through the castle.
“I know you don’t, Mother.” Soranth’s anger plummeted once again. He was beginning to feel dizzy with the changes in his mood in such a short time. “That’s why I try to always follow what you say. But this,” he tried to express how important it was to him in his face and eyes, in the tone of his voice, “this is different. This is for our people.”
She laughed brokenly, a soft sound that hurt him more than the various wounds he’d collected over the years. “You know I want what’s best for you. But this is a war, Soranth! People don’t come back from wars! I—I can’t lose my only baby!” Her jewel-like eyes pleaded with him.
He drew his hands out of hers. “I haven’t been your baby in a long time, Mother.”
He turned, leaving her alone in the shade of another magis mahogany tree. Its crisp, long flat leaves that collected in bushels at the end of each branch hung low, uncharacteristic for the usually tall and proud tree. Before he could step foot out of the courtyard, the sound of a muffled sniffle stopped him.
Wide-eyed, Soranth turned back to her. Queen Af, despite her gentle nature, had never been known to cry. Until now, he amended silently and dithered for a few seconds before rushing back to her. He dried her tears with the sleeve of his white shirt, erasing any last trace of evidence. “There, all fine now. There’s no need for tears, Mother.” He smiled at her.
She laughed and tugged on a bit of his hair that had grown past his ears. “You know, a long time ago when we realised you weren’t aging as normal humans did, Chulsa never said anything to me.”
Soranth shot her a look, having never heard this story before.
“I think it was when you were no bigger than that tree there,” she pointed at a small shrub that didn’t even reach his hip. “In the time it took you to grow, Sablo had only just been elected as representative, that’s what they called it in those times, and we had the second explosion of Mt. Zarphan soon after. Your friends only came a few systems after that.”
She smiled at him as he nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I remember that.”
“Well,” she said delicately, “in human years, approximately mind you, we have lost all sense of time ever since the darkness fell, you should have been way over 20 by then. Chulsa didn’t say anything to me because he knew I was worried.”
“Worried about what?”
“Oh, just things.”
“Worried about what, Mother?” he repeated lowly.
She looked up at him, a slow smile crossing her face. “You know when I first looked into your eyes—”
“Yes, yes, you knew your place in the world. Now, what were you worried about?”
His mother chuckled. “I was just getting there. I—”
The echoing, cantering of hooves preceded Nathanael as he appeared at the end of the corridor.
“Milady, we require your attention.”
“No wait, she’s just about to tell me something important,” Soranth said desperately.
The chief bodyguard looked at him. “It’s the spy, Your Majesties. He’s here.”
They froze. “You mean here?” he asked incredulously, pointing at the ground. Nathanael nodded.
The Queen uttered a soft curse and in his resulting surprise, Soranth let her pass freely to follow the chemycus out of the courtyard. “I’ll talk to you later, Soranth,” she called over her shoulder in lieu of an apology.
He swore to himself, suddenly realising that he’d been left with more burning questions than answers. Staring out aimlessly at the tall grass bordering shattered mosaics of an old path, Soranth reflected on the conversation. His mother had seemed apologetic of all things, as if his delayed ageing was her fault. It hadn’t been the first time he’d asked her about it but the last time had to have been at least a few systems ago.
His curiosity at his ongoing survival in a world that should have been destructive for a fragile human like him never truly abated, it was simply kept at the back of his mind. Locked away to save himself from constantly questioning his existence. Kept silent and unmentioned by his companions. Perhaps, he mused, it was past time.
The leaves of the stiff magis mahogany tree shifted. It couldn’t have been wind because there was no longer any such thing as wind—of a natural kind anyway. Colourful, eye-catching feelers pushed through the foliage, followed by a soft brown snout as a deer nosed its way through the courtyard’s vegetation.
Another thing that had been changed by the world’s desolation, Soranth observed. In a previous life, the deer would have been called a monstrosity for its flexible feelers of red, blue, green and orange. It would have been damned for the second pair of eyes that blinked as soon as it spotted him. Now, it was thanks to these adaptations that the deer continued to survive in the new world’s environment: the feelers filtering the harsh air while its multiple eyes kept it safe from overzealous predators. Carnivores were often hard to reason with—especially in a sanctuary such as theirs and deer were solitary creatures that lacked the numbers for protection.
As he stared at the deer, it too watched him unblinkingly. The heavy gaze had always disturbed Soranth, for although they were harmless creatures, they were the closest remnant to old Earth’s species and carried the weight of it like a physical mantle. It was in their assurance, as if they knew their place in the world.
Unbidden, his mother’s words echoed in his mind. “...one look and I knew my place in the world.”
Ridiculous, he scoffed internally and turned to join his mother in the throne room. Rather than the raised voices he’d been expecting, Soranth heard nothing but silence and it was a heavy one. Dread crept up his spine, pooling in a heavy ball of anxiety in his chest. Almost breaking into a run, he burst into the throne room.
A frozen tableau. His mother stood on the dais of wooden trunks, half-turned to face the spy. Nathanael stood over him with a sharp spear at his throat with a look of revulsion. Sablo had turned his back and as far as Soranth could see, had a hand pressed to his mouth. Haraldr looked horrified while Valda buried her face in her pet’s mane.
“What’s wrong?” This is it, he thought for a second, I’m repeating myself so often I annoy myself.
“Throw him in the dungeons,” the Queen said coldly, leaving his question unanswered. He finally took a good look at the spy. It was a weasel-lizard hybrid with a typically grey, scaly tail that merged into fur as it joined with the rest of the body. The fur was matted and sticky with black slime, his face a mess of dirt and the same type of goo. The only outstanding feature of the rather unremarkable hybrid was a silver-specked moustache that graced his upper lip.
“Ah, milady, the only dungeon we have is the armoury.”
“Just get him out of my sight!” She snapped, having long reached her breaking point.
“Mother!” Soranth darted forward in alarm as she fell in a graceful heap, arranging herself artfully in her wooden throne without even trying. The eldercress enveloped her dainty body in an embrace of thin, flexible twigs and small, velvety leaves. “What did he say?”
“It’s begun,” she said faintly. “Oh my stars, the war’s begun while we sat here arguing who should go!” She grasped his hands where they rested on her shoulders and looked at him pleadingly. “Please, Soranth, re-consider. I can’t bear it if you never come back.”
Soranth grimaced. “Listen to yourself, mother. You’re trying to stop your own willing child from going to war while forcing others to go instead.”
She uttered a faint gasp and turned away.
“Mother, look at me,” he urged, guilty for her suffering. “Look at me. I will come back. This will not be the last time you see me. We will all come back safe and sound—and victorious. I’ll make you proud.”
“You don’t have to, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her eldercress-scented embrace. “You just have to come back to me.”
The army left as soon as they cleared the armoury of weapons.