Isabel Page 5

  “You will accompany me in my carriage back to my quarters,” she stated.

  I blinked and then glanced at Marcy, who gaped at me with wide eyes.

  I didn’t have to look at Penelope to feel her burning glare. I remembered being told when I first started that there was great honor in riding with the Queen, but only the senior assistants achieved such a feat. Penelope had been here for years and talked of little else but her status as the “chosen one” who was always selected for “special tasks” by the

  Queen, whatever that meant. Usually, her self-gloating stories began with a flick of her thick, curly hair followed by directing her pointed nose toward the sky, saying, “The Queen wanted me, personally, to...” That was my cue to stop listening.

  I didn’t think the Queen even knew who I was, much less that she would put me in the predicament of being the most envied and despised assistant because of favoritism. I had no desire for such an accolade. Feeling my palms sweat, I could do nothing more than bow obligingly and turn my gaze back to the ebb and flow of the beautifully adorned and brightly colored dancers before me. I sighed, just slightly, and hoped that it had gone unnoticed.

  As the Queen stood and walked down several steps to the ballroom floor, the music silenced and the crowd stilled. I stood, legs aching, and followed her out the large double oak doors. A merciful breeze graced my cheeks. I closed my eyes briefly and inhaled the sweet smell of roses.

  Her carriage awaited us, a rich mahogany wood with royal purple velvet velour. The style resembled her plush throne. The wood was polished to a brilliant shine and the velvet brushed free of dust and dirt. Pulling its mighty weight were two magnificent white steeds, equally as spotless. I wanted to reach a hand out and feel their soft, groomed hair as it glistened under the light of nearby lanterns.

  Were their manes as silky smooth as they looked?

  I hadn’t touched or ridden a horse in almost two years. I had spent four weeks in Aithos, horse canyons to the southeast. It was a beautiful, arid country inhabited by the Caballus Clans, people who bred the finest horses in all of the Queen’s land. They wore dazzling red tunics and capes and inhabited the canyons near the river.

  As part of a study abroad program, I was there learning geology. I spent most of the days with my class measuring and observing rock sediment in the canyon walls, but at night I would sit at the Caballus Uni Clan hearth, drink their creamy cactus wine, and listen to their tales.

  They often talked of the revered Gunthi monks tucked away in a remote canyon at the river basin. They were a holy tribe who separated from the Caballus three thousand years ago and lived in seclusion. Living near the Aqua Santo, a sacred river, the Gunthi monks drank from it, and it was said their eyes turned as blue as the water. The water was rumored to give them extended life and the ability to prophesize. The Caballus proudly talked of some of these prophesies, which were entertaining tales of bold rulers and fearless warriors, those who had come and fulfilled their destinies and those whose destiny still awaited them.

  The Caballus also had their own tales. They believed that of every thousand horses, one Princeps was born. Heralded as a divine and intelligent creature, it was said to choose its rider and provide lifelong companionship. It would die when its human died, only to be reincarnated after a thousand horses were born.

  Although I was not seduced by such a romantic tale, I was pleased to be introduced to Phobus, a magnificent chestnut steed with black stockings. His wide brown eyes were separated by a crimson star on his forehead that gave him a noble air. I rode him alongside the Caballus on weekends—or during the weekday when I occasionally skipped class.

  As my knees gripped the smooth leather saddle, the muscles of the large steed flexed beneath me. His hooves bore into the ground, kicking up fresh dirt as he galloped across the prairie. He showed me their far-stretching plains and wide starlit skies. I would have loved to take him back to Oxville with me, but I was only a college student and could not afford the luxury of boarding a horse. Besides, it would have been cruel to deprive him of the beauty of his home.

  Now, as a temporary servant, I still could not afford to keep a horse and would have to settle for coveting the Queen’s horses.

  As I climbed inside the carriage, I glanced back at the black carriage behind us where Paul, staring at me with a perplexed look, was waiting to board. I tried to shrug back at him, since I was as baffled as he was, but I wasn’t sure that he saw the gesture in the dim light of the lanterns.

  I sat meekly beside the Queen, diligently trying not to touch her elegant red dress. Two of her most intimidating bodyguards sat across from us, staring impassively at the wall behind us. It was comical the way their large bodies were compressed together to fit in the space on the seat that was really only wide enough for one of them. Since bodyguards and servants kept different quarters and mess halls, we were not friendly or familiar. Perhaps this was intended. They were stiff and impassive, seeming to mirror the Queen’s disposition.

  As the carriage began to roll, I listened to the rhythmic click of horse hooves against the cobblestone. Since we were seated facing the rear, I watched the grand pavilion, with its shimmering lights, fade into the distance. It would be a 500-meter ride from the ballroom to the Queen’s quarters, and what a beautiful scene through the decorated grounds lit with streams of dancing lights that cast colored shadows from the arching trees above the path. I couldn’t help but lean just a little out the window to take in the beauty of it all.

  In the distance, I could see Paul’s carriage and imagined that he was wondering as much as I what I was doing in the Queen’s carriage. I looked around at the courtyard. It was vast and elegant and surrounded on all sides by the castle’s enormous buildings. The real beauty of the castle belonged to its grounds, or inner ward, though I may have had that perception because of my preference to being outdoors. The northeast corner of the courtyard was an open dining facility surrounded by immaculately groomed bushes sitting atop lush trimmed grass.

  The northwest corner contained awe-inspiring statues depicting famous mythological heroes from millennia past. The southeast corner was the grand pavilion outside of the ballroom, and the southwest corner contained the Four Horse Fountain and Marrington Chapel. Within its walls were housed the Queen, the court and the ministers, as well as all of their meeting halls and business rooms, ornately furnished with dark mahogany wood and regal draperies. There were figurines and expansive collections of artifacts from centuries of diplomatic excursions across the world. I knew them intimately, since I dusted them weekly.

  With a sudden chill, the light from the lanterns all abruptly extinguished and the line of carriages came to a halt. I heard the horses neigh with unease. My eyes adjusted to the moonlit darkness, and I could see Paul’s carriage once again in the distance around the bend, just at the last gate leaving the pavilion. It was black under the light of the moon, looking more like a box cage than a carriage.

  Shadows came to life as tall, lanky, dark figures appeared on either side of Paul’s carriage. Their general form was similar to human, with two arms and two legs, but their body and limbs were thinner, and they appeared taller than any man I had ever seen. My stomach lurched in alarm. Whatever they were, their stealth and demeanor conveyed the danger of a predator.

  Long arms stretched and opened the doors on both sides of Paul’s carriage, and silently and swiftly, the passengers were lifted out and swallowed whole. The horrible figures vanished into the dark shadows as quickly as they had appeared.

  I shook once, not believing my own eyes, but too frightened to scream. My heart was pounding with spasms threatening to spread to the rest of my body at any moment.

  I turned to the only other person who sat in a position to see what I had seen. The Queen shot me a look of caution, shutting my mouth before I could speak. She had seen, I knew, and if it were possible, her pale face seemed even whiter. Although her eyes were not as wide as mine, her pupils had dilated, the way I had seen a
n untamed filly’s eyes when cornered by a would-be rider. Yet, she kept her composure.

  I could hear the confused murmurs of the drivers. Then, the dismissive humphs presumably accompanied by dismissive shrugs.

  The carriage began to move forward again, encroaching on some dreadful fate. Even as the lanterns around us illuminated once again, I felt engulfed in numbing darkness.

  Paul?

  The Queen gazed impassively forward, then with a faint disinterested yawn, spoke. “I think we’ll take a walk for the remaining distance. I’ve not stretched my legs all night.”

  One of the guards snapped his fingers, and the carriage halted.

  Walk? Out there? With those things?

  Despite my quivering knees, I followed the Queen out of the carriage. I had been conditioned over the last several months to follow orders, so it was less of a struggle than it might have been.

  When the guards began to follow us, she stopped them with a faint flick of her wrist. “We’re on the castle grounds. We’ll be safe here.”

  I wanted to contradict her but my throat seemed to have convulsed shut, the way vocal cords spasm when liquid threatens to erroneously enter the windpipe. It was all I could do just to breathe.

  They bowed and climbed back into the carriage.

  Floating in a world of confusion, I walked beside her stiff figure. How could we possibly be safe? I started to turn, wanting to look back and see Paul safely sitting in his carriage, though I knew he wasn’t there.

  “Don’t,” she snapped in a hushed tone. “Your brother is dead now, and you will be as well if you let on that you saw anything.”

  I stiffened, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other while the starry night spun dizzyingly around me. “I don’t understand, mum,” I managed to whisper.

  She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “It’s obvious we’re under attack. They are already on the grounds.”

  “Attack?” Another prickly look came my direction. “It’s very important, Abigail, that you pretend not to have seen anything until we are in my quarters. Do you understand?” Her voice was sharp and commanding.

  I wanted to say “no,” but instead, “Yes, mum,” reflexively came out of my mouth.

  I walked by her side until we reached the Queen’s cottage, an elaborate fortress of marble and stone three stories high. We climbed two flights of stairs and entered her chambers. The pleasant night air seemed to have turned cold, and I was shivering uncontrollably as if drenched in an icy bath. My stomach clenched into a knot.

  Once the doors were closed with the bodyguards posted outside, friendly eyes met us inside the Queen’s room. The Queen’s counsel, Aman, gave us a strained smile. He ushered the Queen to her dressing chair. The agile old man brought her tea but she waved him away with a hand. He handed the cup of tea to me instead, then laid a coat across my shoulders.

  He introduced himself and, leading me across the room, sat me down on a sofa. Few, I had been told, ever met the Queen’s counsel, for he was her personal advisor and confidant, unspoiled by the opinions, affections, and attentions of others. He had sad eyes, brown, leathery skin, a slumped posture, and wisps of gray hair. He indeed appeared to be a man who had been denied affections and attentions.

  Staring around the room, I tried to keep my trembling hands from spilling the tea. Her bedroom was everything I would have imagined for a queen, with shimmering mauve drapes and a canopied bed. Somehow, though, it all looked very dismal in the candlelight. Long, deep shadows were cast along darkened walls. Although I was a servant, I was not one of the higher tiered servants who attended to the Queen in her personal quarters.

  Paul? My heart ached as though a corset was squeezing my torso.

  I sipped the tea, and the hot liquid soothed my throat. I could discern only a few of the hushed words exchanged by the Queen and her counsel. We were leaving tonight, just the two of us, in the dark.

  “The guards were already overcome,” I heard the Queen explain. “The Swallowers were on the grounds.”

  Aman nodded gravely. “You will go and I will remain to distract them.” He continued to speak quickly, but I could not discern the other words.

  “And I’m to take this journey with that girl?” I heard the Queen ask incredulously.

  There was a solemn nod. “It has been shown to me.”

  With sudden urgency, I was helping the Queen into a plain, faded charcoal wool dress, attire that I’m sure she had never worn before this moment. I managed somehow to avoid destroying the great curls of gray that were situated so elegantly above her head. Even in such a drab dress, her queenly dignity was unmistakable. We removed the makeup on her face, but I thought that this disguise was unlikely to fool anyone. She donned a hooded coat and grasped an iridescent torch.

  Aman gave me an odd comforting pat on the shoulder as I followed the Queen into a secret passageway through the back of her closet. As she gave one final glance back at her counsel, I thought her face softened for a moment. Perhaps there was even a hint of pity, as though she might not see this lifelong friend again and knew what fate awaited him. Perhaps to be devoured by those repulsive creatures.

  Swallowers, they had called them. I shivered. Swallowers had swallowed Paul. I choked back tears and followed silently. We walked for what seemed like many kilometers on a dizzying course through endless passageways of cold stone. The blue and purple haze created from the iridescent torch lit the way. The Queen had the special bioluminescent algae imported from Waterton. It was a hearty saltwater algae that could survive for weeks in salted jars feeding off sunlight. One need only dip a stick or branch into a well and the algae would adhere to it. Once in darkness, the glow lighted a pathway by which to travel.

  Admittedly, I had never seen it used as a torch, probably since I had never traveled secretly at night. I had seen it used for a more entertaining purpose. At Winter Festival, a delicate film of algae was brushed on the tips of bushes and bare trees, illuminating the outskirts of the carnival in a beautiful glow of blue and purple. It was an uplifting sight to see amidst the cold, barren landscape of winter. While the light of the algae on the Queen’s torch reminded me of this yearly celebration, it did not convey the warmth that it did at Winter Festival. Now, it was a light to guide us as we ran for our lives from the most secure location on the entire continent—Marrington Castle was overtaken!

  And on V-Day, no less.

  Victory Day was a celebration of our independence. In the year 4,061 we became a land with a governing body, the Queen’s Ministers. The rule of royalty ended and the separate towns all agreed to unite as Marrington Kingdom. Although we still kept a ruling Queen, she was selected by the Ministers, and the Ministers were elected by the people. It was a fairly nonviolent transition, but we were heralded as the first continent to implement a form of democracy. In the decades to follow, the other continents followed suit.

  We reached an iron gate, blocking our escape route. The Queen fumbled with the lock, mumbled something, and then swung it open. Tossing our only light back into the tunnel, she lifted the hem of her dress off the ground and plummeted into the dark night. I looked back at the iridescent torch. I realized that we would certainly fail in our escape if a glowing torch could be seen snaking through the forest away from the castle. Yet, traversing the terrain in darkness seemed hazardous.

  Since my black dress only came to my knees, I had no hem of which to be concerned. Instead, I bit my lip, rolled up my sleeves, and followed my Queen. We were fleeing while a castle full of people were left behind—to what?—to be swallowed like Paul? An endless black forest stretched before us, beckoning with shadowy tentacles to some dreadful fate.

  <<<END SAMPLE>>>

  Enjoy The Avant Champion series

  The Avant Champion Series

  Rising, Book 1

  Honor, Book 2

  Malakai, a story of Malos (prequel)

  Ashes, Book 3

  Brothers Bond, Book 3.5 (novelette)

  Conques
t, Book 4

  Isabel, Book 4.5 (prequel novelette)

  Redeem, Book 5

  * * *

  Maps and pictures of the fantasy series are available on

  www.cbsamet.com/epic-fantasy.html

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