Chapter 38 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

“Can we not watch the battle somehow?” asked Macca, cradling her softly bulging belly as they stood before a mirror in her sitting room.

“Only in flashes,” said the Teacher, “reflections from shields primarily. It's rather disconcerting, but I can try. Show me the king,” the Teacher ordered the mirror.

Immediately a jumble of images filled the mirror, all of them focusing on Ilhovin--some close up, some far away, all of them swinging and jostling wildly. “Stop!” said Macca, turning away nauseous.

“I did warn you,” said the Teacher mildly as the mirror returned to placidly reflecting the sitting room.

“It's not enough that you enchanted his armor. Why aren't you there with him?” she demanded. “I would be with him if I could!”

“I was ordered to protect you. I can't go against those orders. And there is another reason.” The Teacher sat on the edge of a table. “When he was born, the Traveler Queen gave him his prophecy. All Tremontine royals have their future prophesied at birth, male and female alike. Your son will have his future foretold in his turn.”

“Prophecy?” said Macca blankly, sinking into a heavily cushioned chair. “Your people really still believe in prophecy?”

“You do not?” said the Teacher. “You are a lay priestess of Harla.”

“It is not prophecy when the gods speak to you directly,” said Macca sharply.

“Has the Bloody One spoken to you, ma'am?” said the Teacher carefully.

Macca considered. “What was this so-called prophecy?

The Teacher recited:

“I am the only magic wielder in the kingdom besides the king.”

“So you're to kill Ilhovin?!” cried Macca, backing away.

“I cannot kill anyone of Tremontine royal blood. It is impossible. But I fear my magic might be turned against the king in battle somehow. I've even told him not to count on my magical protection of his armor. I confess I don't understand what the prophecy means.”

“How can you not know what it means?” she said. “You're his chief counsel!”

“I thought you didn't believe in prophecy, ma'am.”

“I believe in doing anything I can to help my husband in the thick of battle, Teacher! That's what I believe!”

As she spoke, Ilhovin and his men were sweeping down onto the empty fields. Their enemies held their ground but no one rode out to meet them yet, the rebels' horsemen staying behind the battalions of pikesmen protecting ranks of archers, who began firing into the oncoming charge. The enemy trebuchet crews were ready, and the first stone took down three of the Brothers surrounding the king at once.

“Remember my orders! Let me take the lead!” Ilhovin roared as loudly as he could; he only hoped his cry would be passed from man to man. He spurred his horse forward ahead of his men until he was well in front with only a few Brothers, then quickly dismounted, the Brothers forming a protective half-circle of shields above him but leaving his line of sight to the enemy open.

Ilhovin removed his gauntlets. He scanned the area but knew he would find no open flame among his enemies or his supporters; he had come out knowing he couldn't depend on it, and that he would have to raise his power another way. Instead he put his bare hands flat on the ground and began to feel for the thrumming energy that came from the land. Slowly he pulled it up, like water from a reluctant well, until he felt it pooling in his hands. Around him he could hear enemy arrows thudding into the Brothers' shields, and arrows flying from his own men on horseback, mounted archers wheeling back around to give the next rider a chance to fire, in an endless loop. Ilhovin noted in the back of his mind that his men were obeying him and staying behind him, and nodded with satisfaction before gathering the last bit of energy.

Then, he pushed.

The ground rippled beneath his hands, a wave that gathered strength as it rushed toward the enemy lines. A rumbling, grinding sound filled the air. Chunks of earth flew up and out toward the ranks of enemy archers and the pikesmen protecting them. And still the wave of earth came on. The men before it began to scatter and run, but the wave caught them, flinging them high into the air, some to be impaled on their companions' weapons. The wave hit the trebuchets, knocking one of them against the other like the discarded toys of a giant, and continued onward to the earthworks before Marsury Castle. There it ended, but not before it buried 2,000 archers where they stood and cracked the outer ramparts of Marsury.

When the wave of earth stopped, Ilhovin heard no sound but his own breathing. He had thrown everything into that blow, and he hoped it has been enough. A wild, despairing keening reached his ears. He looked up and realized the rebels were retreating inside Marsury's walls--or what remained of the rebels. Apart from the entire battalion of archers he had buried alive, hundreds of men lay dead in Agrin Fields where they'd been thrown by the wave of earth, bodies broken. Riderless and wounded horses charged through it all, adding their screams to the chaos.

Ilhovin stood up and faced what he'd done. Killing never came easy to him, and this was no different; he was sickened. But he thought of his wife and his unborn son. He thought of his father. And he thought of Henrik, now cowering within the walls of Marsury, and smiled.

He pulled on his gauntlets, pulled down his helm and mounted his horse again. “Let's see how badly broken those trebuchets are, before the archers get their wits about them enough to fire at us from the ramparts!” he called. So badly shaken were the inhabitants of Marsury that Ilhovin's men were able not only to examine the trebuchets but get the toppled one upright again before anyone even so much as fired an arrow at them.

On the castle walls, the rebel lords reconnoitered. “Now what?” said Lord Barle. “Half of our forces are dead. Our outer walls are damaged. Our trebuchets have been captured, and men are deserting. There are goats and cattle in my stables eating my horses' hay! What are you going to do, my Lord Belleth!”

“He's not even bothering to hide,” muttered Henrik, looking down at the king as he moved among his troops, much too close to the walls. “He's just walking around in the open, mocking me. Very well.” He called his lieutenant to him and took a longbow and arrow from him. “I only have one of these. I have to make this shot. ” Henrik examined the arrow closely. It looked old, too old to use; its fletches were ratty, but its shaft was straight.

“What d'you mean you only have one arrow?” said Lord Leutefloss.

“Arrows aplenty, but only one of these. We've had it in the family since the days of Gethin the Third, waiting for just such a moment.”

“Your family has planned rebellion that long, then? How are you going to penetrate his armor--hit him in a joint? That would be a very lucky shot indeed, Henrik, and so far luck is against you.”

“Shut up, Rek. I just need to hit him. It doesn't matter where.” Henrik nocked the arrow, then raised and drew the bow. Ilhovin was barely in range, but Belleth knew he could hit his target. He steadied himself, sighted down the shaft, and let the arrow fly.

Ilhovin fell to the ground with a grunt, the arrow piercing his shoulder straight through his armor.