“Cole? Flick? Which one are you? I can’t see well enough to tell you apart,” she sobbed. “He’s killed her. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me our queen is not dead.”
“What is this?” Ra’Gren growled through his unease.
Flick held up a hand to still the angry king. He could tell that something was terribly wrong. “Who said she was killed?” Flick asked.
“The High King and his Princess,” Lady Mandary cried. “He said he beheaded Queen Shaella after killing you, and some priests. The bastard brought Princess Rosa to Dreen then went off after someone named Fin.”
Flick was staggered by the news and immediately began reaching out to Shaella for confirmation.
“Are you sure?” Ra’Gren asked.
Lady Mandary turned back to the King of Dakahn. “I saw the High King and the Princess with my own eyes,” she sniffled and gulped in a breath. “There’s a great army coming through Oktin; Seawardsmen, dwarves, and the Blacksword of Highwander, led by Queen Willa herself.” She looked away and her eyes grew wide. Her voice became a hurried whisper. “They’re coming for you.”
Another voice, that of an angry woman, was heard in the background, and then Lady Mandary’s apparition was gone. The cloud of yellow smoke slowly dissipated.
Ra’Gren started to say that it wasn’t just his plans that sometimes went sour, but the look of pure hatred and anger on the bald-headed wizard’s face stopped his voice in his throat. Instead of saying anything, he walked to his throne and sat down. He wasn’t sure what Flick was capable of, but he knew he needed to turn the wizard’s anger to his advantage. With Shaella dead, and his force at Seareach trapped, he would need every ally he could muster.
Lady Trella was in the middle of fetching more hot water from the kitchen pot for Princess Rosa’s bath when she heard the General’s wife speaking crazily. She stopped to listen, thinking that Lady Mandary might have hurt herself and possibly needed aid. As she went to open the door and ask if everything was all right, she heard the woman’s words. “… and some priests. The bastard brought Princess Rosa here to Dreen…” It was all Trella needed to hear. The woman’s disrespect of the High King, and the tone of her words, only confirmed what Lady Trella had suspected since catching the woman spying on the war council. She burst into the room, just in time to see General Spyra’s wife warning King Ra’Gren.
Before Lady Mandary could move to defend herself, Lady Trella punched her hard across the jaw. The woman crumpled to the floor. Trella wasted no time. She swept the scrying bowl off of the vanity into the floor. Then she tore a strip from the bed sheet and bound Lady Mandary’s hands behind her back and hurried off to find her husband.
She found him with General Spyra, both speaking hopefully over a map of Westland that was held open on the table by an empty bottle of wine and a trio of goblets. She was glad the bottle had been empty for a few days. She didn’t want to tell the General about his wife’s treachery at all, but since she had no choice, she would rather him hear the news sober.
“Sirs,” she said politely, interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give them the chance to ask what was wrong. “I’ve caught Lady Mandary,” she said. “I caught her in a treacherous act, and I’ve subdued her.”
General Spyra looked up and blinked in confusion. “What? Lady Mandary?” He looked to Lord Gregory for some sort of explanation, but the Lion Lord looked just as confused by his wife’s accusation.
Lady Trella explained in great detail what she’d heard and seen, both times that she’d caught the General’s wife acting suspicious. General Spyra looked stricken.
Half an hour later, Lady Trella was dismissed to tend Princess Rosa. Lady Mandary stood unbound before her husband and Lord Gregory. She swore that lady Trella was a jealous liar. The conniving marsh witch had her husband convinced that she was innocent and was urging him to challenge the Lion Lord to a duel to prove her honor. Lord Gregory declined the challenge, explaining to Lady Mandary that the High King would be back soon, and with the power of Ironspike, he would be able to see the truth of the matter.
Speaking to General Spyra, Lord Gregory said, “If your wife is still willing to deny Lady Trella’s claim before the King of the Realm, and the might of his blade, then I will place myself at your mercy, but I promise you, friend, my wife is no liar, and King Mikahl will know the truth.”
Lord Gregory felt for the General. The man was as honorable as they come, and so in love with the woman that he couldn’t see past his heart. Lord Gregory’s statement hit home with Lady Mandary, though. Already she was starting to make excuses to leave Dreen.
“I thought you were my husband,” she spat at General Spyra while glaring daggers at the Lion Lord. “If you’ve not enough rocks in your britches to defend my honor, then you’ll take me home to Xwarda now.”
General Spyra took his time and weighed Lord Gregory’s statement in his heart. Already he knew that, even if his wife was proven to be innocent of Lady Trella’s accusations, the woman would never love him or respect him as she had before. A man who didn’t fight for his wife’s honor wasn’t worthy of her love.
He almost did it. Even after the Westland lord had declined the challenge. He almost drew his blade. Common sense kept him from it. All along he had known that it was too good to be true. Lady Mandary loved him a little too much, a little too perfectly, always catering to his pride while gently prying information from him.
Fighting a tear, and the dead weight of a lifetime of hope pulling at his heart, he cursed out loud and called for the guards to come. What a fool I’ve been, he told himself.
Thinking that her husband was going to have Lord Gregory put in chains, Lady Mandary said, “It’s about time you came to your senses. These greedy Westland nobles just want your seat.”
“I suppose you’re right, my love,” General Spyra said to her as a pair of Valleyan guardsmen stepped into the room. “It is about time that I came to my senses.” Then to the guards he said, “Take her to the upper cells and treat her well. She may be a traitor, but she is still a lady.”
“You coward,” she yelled at him as the guards grabbed her arms. “You’re a fool, a buffoon. Wraaagh!” She spun and twisted free of the men holding her. She was far stronger than either of them thought possible. Her golden ringlets began to grow thick and grey and her chubby cheeks deflated to pale spotted leather-like skin. Her wide proud shoulders drooped, and her breasts sagged to her belly. In a matter of seconds she transformed from the plump young Lady Mandary into the old wrinkled Dakaneese swamp witch that she really was. Her long nails raked one of the guards across the eyes. He brought both of his hands to his face while the other guard was fighting through his shock to draw his sword. She sent a sizzling blast of static into his chest that sent him staggering backwards. The smell of burnt flesh quickly filled the room.
The marsh witch whirled on the open-mouthed General and began barking out the words of a spell. He was entranced by her sudden transformation, sickened that he had loved such a thing. He had kissed that rotten toothless mouth and run his fingers through that matted gray mop of hair. She smelled of decaying fish and looked as if she were older than the Maker. It caused him to heave. Suddenly leaning over, he was vomiting on the floor.
The fiery red streaks of magic that shot forth from her fingertips passed right through where his head would have been had he not gotten ill. She was cackling loudly now, and in the process of bringing her razor sharp claws down across the General’s back when Lord Gregory made his move. Drawing his sword, he took two steps then made a chopping swing that left him way over extended. He felt his sword tip bite into flesh, and heard the witch’s howling scream, but his breath was forced out of his lungs as he hit the hard stone floor squarely with his chest. The world filled with exploding white stars for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he looked up and saw the anguished General’s tear-streaked face as he pulled his sword out of the witch’s gut. The shining blade was covered in thick black blood. When the Lion Lord rolled over to push himself up, he saw the clenched hand and forearm that his sword had severed from her body. As he stood, he looked at the General. He saw an embarrassed, heartbroken man who was about to crumble. “I’m sorry, sir,” was all he could manage to say, but he said it as sincerely as he could. Then to the bloody-faced guard that was huddling over his fallen comrade, “Go. Find a healer for him, if it’s not too late.”
“I’m a fool,” said General Spyra after the guard was gone. He was trying desperately to hang onto at least a scrap of his dignity. “If you’ll excuse me,” he managed to say before turning. After a few paces he stopped and drew in a deep breath. “Can you have your wife recount exactly what the traitor told our enemy,” he asked Lord Gregory without looking back.
