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“Not that I want you risking yourself in a battle,” he said, “But this is a time where we must risk everything. There is no second chance.”
“I understand,” she’d said and she truly did, but waiting for the signal, Dianora had a hard time accepting the fact she was part of an attacking army. I was supposed to be the one reading the historical accounts thousands of years later, not a participant. But her days as an archaeologist were over, unless she wanted to do her own version of a dig in the places where Garrin had told her legends spoke of the AO visiting, centuries before this time. Would the ring take her even further into the past to see the AO if she asked? She wasn’t going to attempt the experiment. Even if it worked, the AO might confiscate the ring and leave her stranded in the prehistoric past or worse.
Garrin squeezed her hand and she forced her mind into the present. Tonight was a major holiday for the Craadil, hence the big gathering and their opportunity to launch a devastating surprise attack.
As their leader rose to make a toast or praise his gods or whatever he expected to do, Garrin pressed the lever in the wall, which hesitated for a heart stopping moment and then slid aside as it had been designed to do centuries ago. Dianora and Garrin fired into the assembly in front of them, sweeping the space with deadly blaster fire. Not knowing who was who among the Argorn attendees, she shot short bursts and targeted Craadil as best she could. Although they were now fully exposed since there was no longer a wall, Garrin’s forces took no casualties. The Craadil and their human allies had been caught truly off guard and although one or two survived the first barrage of blaster fire, taking shelter behind statuary or other barriers, when Garrin and his men leaped into the room from their position about five feet up, there was little resistance.
Dianora had been told to remain in the wall, which she did, sidling to the spot where the opening ended. Hunkered down, she forced herself to watch as individual battles took place in the dining chamber. Once or twice she shot a Craadil or a human gaining an advantage on their opponent among the king’s forces. Checking the charge on her blaster, she was relieved to see she had half left, despite the training she’d done yesterday and the firefight just now. The reloads were in her pocket, in case they were needed. Aside from the first barrage Garrin stuck to his resolve not to use the blaster, which was another reason Dianora forced herself to remain on overwatch. He was an incredible fighter, clearly a better swordsman than any other man in the room but she wasn’t about to watch him killed in an attack from behind or a sudden rush of the surviving Craadil.
Then it was over, although Dianora suspected the horror of what she’d forced herself to witness might have affected her sense of time. Only one man stood between Garrin and total success—his cousin Fedorr.
“You sought to take what was mine, cousin,” Garrin said, confronting him. His voice rang out strong in the big room. “The gods sent me help the last night in the dungeons—a sacred messenger and a deadly fire weapon from their own forges.” He waved a hand at the devastation around them while the other man breathed hard, bleeding from several wounds. Garrin’s orders had been most stringent that no one was to kill Fedorr but himself. “I’ve triumphed this night over the allies you invited from beyond the ocean. Yet I’m moved to be merciful in my victory. You and I will fight to the death—a clean death, not what you’d planned for me. If at this late moment the gods decide you should rule over Argorn, then your sword will prevail over mine and this will all be truly yours. Otherwise my sword will be your executioner and your lifeblood will wash away the stain on our family honor which you placed there.”
Fedorr launched himself at Garrin, probably hoping to catch him off-guard but the king was ready, his sword poised to deflect the mad flurry of blows.
Terrified, Dianora watched the death match, along with Garrin’s men, all silent. The only sound was the clanging of the swords and the heavy breathing of the two combatants. This was no ceremonial practice bout. They were each intent on killing the other although it was clear Garrin was the much better swordsman. Even Dianora could tell he wasn’t toying with Fedorr and the instant he had a clean opening, he took it, plunging his sword deep into the other man’s belly. Now she did avert her eyes as a great cheer went up from the assembled soldiers.
When she opened her eyes, Fedorr lay in a spreading pool of blood and Garrin was coming toward her. “It’s done, my queen. With your help the rightful ruler has been restored to the throne. Will you descend and join me in celebrating our victory?” He reached up and she slipped over the edge of the now revealed passageway so he could catch her. They kissed quickly before Garrin pivoted, one arm around her waist, to address his men. “The rest of the castle will have to be cleared of these Craadil vermin and any human sympathizers. Organize patrols and move out as we planned.”
With crisp salutes his sword brothers accepted the orders and deployed with their individual squads. Garrin kissed Dianora again and said, “Thanks to the gods for sending you to my side, my lady. This victory wouldn’t have happened without you. Now, I could leave you here guarded by five of my finest while we clear the castle or you can come with me.”
“I’m sticking with you,” she said, not hesitating for an instant.
“There may be danger, depending what enemy forces are left alive.”
“I’ve got my blaster.” She lifted her hand to show him. “And most importantly, I’m a trained observer and you’re going to need a history written of this day and what happened. I think it’s my job.”
Garrin seemed delighted by her answer. “Come then but stay close and remain alert. A solitary Craadil or adherent of Fedorr’s may hope to gain glory by striking at me or at you. I’ll not lose you now.”
“I’m not losing you either,” Dianora said. “Not after all this.”
He checked with the waiting squad of soldiers and the group headed off into the corridors of the castle, seeking any enemy holdouts, Dianora in the center of the unit, ready with her blaster. Her nerves were on edge but she meant what she’d said. There needed to be an account of this battle and what led up to it and the aftereffects and she was already itching to start writing. Of course she might have to do it longhand and then there’d be the issue of getting it translated into Argorn but she wasn’t going to worry about the details right now. I didn’t really want to be an archaeologist writing about long vanished civilizations—I wanted to live in one and have adventures.
Late in the night Garrin stood on the balcony overlooking the giant public square of the city and addressed his people, Dianora at his side and his inner circle of sword brothers behind them. All Dianora could see below them was a sea of torches and upturned faces.
“I have rid our land of the Craadil invaders and the Argorn who worked with them and my pledge to you is never to allow this to happen again. We’ll send an expedition to the Craadil homeland across the seas and take the war to them if any remain alive. The gods blessed me and enabled this victory by sending their envoy, the lady Dianora, from another realm. With her magics and her help, I have been able to prevail this night.” He drew her forward and there were cheers from the crowd below. “She has chosen not to return to her realm but to remain here as my wife and queen and together we’ll work tirelessly to restore Argorn to its former state of peace and prosperity.”
He kissed her and the crowd yelled its approval. Dianora wasn’t sure if she was thrilled or terrified to be suddenly and publicly acclaimed as Garrin’s mate and fellow ruler. It wasn’t a proposal exactly but any man who would tell his entire kingdom she was his choice got points in her book. They’d kind of moved past the point where he needed to ask her for her hand. The ring had taken care of the formalities in a sense. Relieved she wasn’t expected to address the crowd, she stood and smiled and waved, the entire scene tinged with unreality.
CHAPTER SEVEN
One week later the giant dining hall had been rigorously cleaned by the palace servants and set to rights. The walls were closed, hiding the now no longer secret passages. Garrin had declared a day of feasting and celebration throughout Argorn and his reconstituted court joined him and Dianora at the castle for their own revels. The food was plentiful, the wine flowed and although she was an introvert who normally avoided any and all such gatherings, Dianora played her role as best she could. She had a few acquaintances at court now and considered herself an interested observer, constantly taking mental notes. The attitude helped her not to be self-conscious and awkward. Garrin at her side was a far bigger support, explaining who various people were and making sure her plate was always full of the best morsels and her wine goblet topped off. There were endless toasts, a number of them to her, which was embarrassing and the event was giving her a massive headache truthfully. Being a queen—well not quite, as the wedding and coronation were scheduled for a month from now—but close enough, wasn’t as much fun as the fantasy trideos of her time made it out to be.
At least not the ceremonial aspects of the job. She and Garrin continued to enjoy an extremely healthy relationship in bed and he’d kept his word to involve her in all his councils and decisions. When he went to inspect a fortification or there was an issue with a dam or whatever the topic might be, he insisted she accompany him.
Now there was to be dancing. A group of musicians tuned up in an alcove and the servants swept the central portion of the floor.
Garrin turned to Dianora. “The king and queen must open the first dance, my lady. Will you honor me?”
“I—I’m not a dancer,” she said, thinking belatedly she should have asked for lessons ahead of time. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”
“You could never embarrass me, my love. And it’s known you’re from another realm. The dance is a simple one—I’ll guide you.” He kissed her cheek and laughed. “This is the woman who wasn’t afraid to engage in mortal combat with the Craadil, who now shows reluctance to dance?”
“Yeah, well, never said I was perfect.”
Bending close, he said, “Perfect to me.”
He rose and held out his hand so she got herself out of her chair, trying to be as graceful as possible in the flowing gown with its many petticoats. She wasn’t sure of her footing in the bejeweled slippers either and wished she could at least go barefoot but supposed as a queen that would be breaking too much protocol. Garrin led her onto the floor and struck a pose in the exact center. The music started up, not too fast, with a good rhythm, and Garrin swept her into the Argorn version of what she thought of as a waltz. His arm around her waist was firm and he held her hand firmly with his and guided her through the space without too many stumbles on her part. Her cheeks were flaming hot with embarrassment at being the center of all eyes and no doubt being judged harshly by many but she kept her eyes locked onto his and maintained a smile on her face the entire time.
