Annatrice of Cayborne (21 page)

As the feint glow of the rising sun began to lighten the horizon, pushing their steeds to their limits, the King and his party caught their first glimpse of the dark shadow that was Fontayne in the distance. Only the dotted pin pricks of torchlight revealed any detail. The lead rider slowed the pace and the horses caught their breath. It was almost time for Annatrice to weave her magic and cast her spell. As the realisation set in, her heart began to thump and her hands began to shake. The moment she had waited for nearly three years was upon her.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

The raiding party pulled up short of the castle and surveyed for some kind of cover. The castle overlooked the Karick flatlands making any approach difficult. If they were tardy, then the impending light would surely catch them out and they would be spotted. Concerns over getting close enough to the ominous structure were well founded. Annatrice was not sure that she had the range in her abilities to work from this far out. Her nervousness also did not help. She knew that the fate of all the men in her group were firmly in her charge. She dare not get this wrong.

“How close?” The King asked her, the tension telling in his voice.

“Gods, I cannot tell, I feel we are too far away.” Annatrice replied.  It was the answer that the King dreaded. One of the soldiers, the senior of the warrior's spoke up.

“Then we must move in on foot and follow the contours of the land. I will take the girl forward and give a signal when it is safe to approach.”

“And the signal?” Charleroux piped up.

Annatrice bravely stepped in.

“I shall let Charleroux know, I know his mind, and it is easy to breach.”

Charleroux did not know whether that was a back-handed compliment or just a logical statement.

“Good. When the gates are parted, we will ride in at speed.” The King stated boldly as the other soldiers readied themselves, not yet revealing the glint of their blades.

“There is one more thing.” Annatrice squeaked, afraid of being rolled over by the will of the eager soldiers.

“There must be no bloodshed. As I have said before, these soldiers are known to me, they will not defend the King if a better offer is made. There is also another good reason...whilst I am in bond with their thoughts; I am connected with them both emotionally and perhaps more. To inflict pain on them will cause me great torment...” Annatrice was visibly scared, her voice quivered uncontrollably.

The King nodded.

“T'is our arrangement, it will not be broken.” The King looked to the other soldiers who turned the corners of their mouths down. The senior soldiers once again spoke up not feeling comfortable with the instructions.

“There may be a need to defend ourselves...”

“And naturally you will with my blessings.” The King added to put them at ease.

“If that is the case however, then our mission will have failed...unless you seek to take on an entire garrison of soldiers?”

The natural instinct of the soldiers was to fight; this would be a testing moment for all of them. Self restraint was not usually in their brief.

“Let us waste no more time then, Garrig, lead Annatrice forth. Annatrice my girl...” The King laid his hand upon her hers.

“...the very best of luck. Our thoughts are with you.” The King's words filled her with pride but also dread. She dare not let him down.

Garrig moved swiftly and silently for a big man, Annatrice could barely keep up. The undulations of the grassy swathes of boggy ground were just pronounced enough to offer the most meagre of protection from the castle's line of sight. Stooping low, Garrig and Annatrice managed to get within an arrow shot's range assuming a decent archer was present. Halting their progress, they lie flat against the wet ground, their clothes soaking up the moisture.

“This is as close as we dare get.” Garrig whispered. Annatrice could see the individual boulders which comprised the outer walls and the flickering torchlight which lit the inside of the guardrooms. Annatrice nodded and rolled over, her eyes facing the stars which were so pronounced in the crystal clear skies.

“I will need your help.” Annatrice stated, Garrig unsure of what that meant.

“Yes, My Lady?” He replied with a keen respect for the girl. It was clear to see that any woman of such tender age who was willing to storm the King's keep was worthy of his admiration.

“I will need you to keep my silence. You must not interfere, just keep me quiet, I do not care how.”

Garrig nodded, he was intrigued. Annatrice produced a small dagger from beneath her sheepskins and did well to hide it from the light of the moon.

“Are you ready?” She asked as Garrig's eyes widened. He had the most bronzed of skins; his hair was fair but his eyes where as white as the mountain tops of Prima Tak.

“Yes.” He said raising his hand ready to cover her mouth. Annatrice pulled her sleeve up to reveal sickening scarring which looked more akin to a tree's branch than human skin. Garrig's mind raced as he gently covered her mouth with his wet glove. Annatrice closed her eyes and grimaced as she drew the blade across the length of her forearm, her flesh splitting like the crisped skin of a roasted swine. Annatrice convulsed and Garrig used all of his weight to restrain her, the whimpering was even difficult for him to bear as he felt such cruelty in treating her in such a manner.

Annatrice's eyes flicked open, her trance told Garrig all he needed to know about the kind of state Annatrice was in. Her black pupils grew large, so large that her face was difficult to look at, there was an inhuman quality in her appearance, and it even brought the elite warrior Garrig to tremble a little.

Seconds passed and Garrig looked on at the still form of Annatrice whose breathing was so shallow, she could have been mistaken for dead. Garrig released the woman and peered over the tallest mound of grass he could find. He searched for any sign of movement upon the high walls. It was so difficult to tell, until the gates splayed open. Then it would be a waiting game of quite desperate hope.

Garrig looked back down at Annatrice and his heart jumped as he looked straight into her eyes which were staring at him.

“It is done.”

Garrig looked slightly incredulous and once again peered back over the clump of thick, tall grass. A broad toothy grin began to appear on his face as the merest chink of light appeared in the centre of the colossal wooden gates. Garrig looked back down to Annatrice who once again had her eyes closed as if in deep concentration.

“Annatrice...” Garrig whispered, wondering what she was doing now. She opened her eyes and wiped her face of the wet dew but only causing her hot blood to drip over her chest.

“They are on the way.” She said nonchalantly. Garrig stifled a laugh. This girl was an ally for any occasion.

Still peering out over the meagre cover, Garrig scanned the horizon and pinned his ears forward for the approach of horse's hooves. Annatrice simply stood upright and began walking with pace towards the castle gates, Garrig, clambering to his feet urged restraint. It was only then that it occurred to him that she had played her part so well that they could have sent the entire King's army up to the gates and the resistance would have been nonexistent.

As Garrig jogged on forward ahead of Annatrice, pulling the sensationally impressive blade from his sheath, the moonlight glinted off the blade and acted as a beacon for the approaching King and his other soldiers. Annatrice simply strode forward, her concentration vital to the success of the mission.  Whilst the adrenaline fuelled warriors drove their horses on, their eyes dashing about the ramparts for the sign of incoming arrows, Annatrice's mind was elsewhere, pushing her pawns around like pieces on a giant chessboard. Her mind was mapping out routes, giving orders and searching the halls for the dozing consciousness of the tyrant King himself.

The Suleyman soldiers mustered just within the castle gates, their swords flashing. They looked around the dark and empty compound. The Araman guards were nowhere to be seen, it was a surreal experience for the attacking soldiers who seemed to be at a loss of what to do next?

The party waited anxiously for Annatrice who walked at a steady pace up to and through the open gates, seemingly in no hurry. Her relaxed nature seemed to have an effect of agitation on the King's soldiers who failed to understand her most bemusing lack of urgency.

Annatrice continued her bold walk, her eyes wide and focused, through the gathered soldiers who were dismounting and tying their steeds, and onwards towards the Keep. Garrig began to whisper orders and getting his confounded followers in line. The soldiers clustered and spread out, some taking charge of the gates and climbing up to the ramparts, others seeking to quell any possible surge of resistance. Seizing armaments and searching for the soldier's quarters, they would quash any battle before it had a chance to begin by boarding up doors and blocking routes. It was a good plan as long as Annatrice could keep the garrison subdued for long enough.

Charleroux led the main group, the King, Annatrice and a small compliment of the best soldiers joined him in breaching the main Keep. Charleroux found the reinforced doors to the high tower also unlocked and unguarded. As the doors creaked open, it never ceased to amaze the King what Annatrice was capable of. Alert and with readiness to defend themselves at every turn, the soldiers stormed through the corridors of Tragian's power, the occupants fast asleep in their beds oblivious that foreign invaders approached. The endless and uneven steps caused a few stumbles as the soldiers skipped climbed, their hearts thumping harder with every step.

Annatrice stood silently outside Tragian's bedroom, her breathing slow and deep. The others could feel the tumultuous tension that coursed through her veins. Garrig moved to lift the black metallic mechanism and push open the heavily studded portal. The King, puffing and panting from the ascent of the staircase whispered.

“Take great care.” He said as if this was somehow the most perilous part of the quest. Garrig as quietly as was possible clicked the clunky bolt and pushed the door open. The warmth of the room immediately felt by those who had lingered long in the cold outside air.

Tragian lay as expected, splayed across his enormous bed, his naked body exposed. He was asleep and completely oblivious. The soldiers surrounded his bed, their blades drawn. There was a moment of pause. It had not been decided how the King was to be taken, perhaps it was already a feat to get this far and it had always been seen as some kind of bonus to be in this position. Deo Canthi looked over to Annatrice who stood white as a sheet, staring at her tormentor.

“Your vengeance demands it.” He whispered. Deo Canthi raised his hand and offered his dagger to Annatrice by the blade. She looked at it, her face full of doubt. How she had dreamed of such a moment. Annatrice saw her father's face clear in her mind, his kindly features and his jovial voice. Annatrice took the dagger from her new King's hand and looked it over as if to test its fitness to perform such a historic deed. Tragian snored, his face buried in a pillow, his spindly body face down. The soldiers stepped back. They all yearned the glory of bleeding the tyrant and Annatrice could feel their intense jealousy that she should be offered the final act. She held the dagger high, her hand adjusting its grip as she rounded the bed and finally stood at its side. She felt the soldiers urges, the fear of delay. She could even detect Deo Canthi's racing pulse and Charleroux's squeamish anticipation not wanting to witness this most disturbing act.

Annatrice knelt down by Tragian's side, the hot air blown from his nostrils steamed the blade of the dagger as it drew close. Annatrice's hand began to shake and the anxiety of the soldiers behind her was only serving to make it worse. Despite every moment that she had longed for this, now the time had come to fulfil her life's quest she found it impossible to take action.

The dagger was a hairs breadth from the soft, vulnerable skin of Tragian's throat when dramatically and wholly unexpectedly, Annatrice bellowed in a scream of despair and agony. Tragian opened his eyes and seeing the most horrific scene before him, he motioned to scream also but it was too late for him. Garrig stepped forth and lopped his head from his shoulders in a majestic swoosh of the lengthy sword. Annatrice dropped to the dark red carpeted floor and rolled around clutching at her abdomen. There was shouting outside in the compound and Deo Canthi pushed forward and opened the shutters wide open.

His soldiers peering over his shoulder, Deo Canthi gritted his teeth and cursed Drayk, for his soldiers had arrived and a slaughter had begun.

CHAPTER THIRTY

With Annatrice incapacitated, her control foolishly ended by the lustful thirst for blood, Tragian's guard awoke to the sight of foreign blades thrust into their bellies. The screams of their demise only served to create a wave of terror throughout the castle walls and those who had slept soundly in the Keep were now stirred into consciousness.

Annatrice pulled herself to the side of the great bed and on her knees looked up to see the decapitated head of Tragian, his eyes staring at her and destroying her will even in death. Deo Canthi's soldiers burst out of the bedroom and into the hall.

“No!” Annatrice screamed. “There are innocents!”

Annatrice's thoughts were focussed on Marianne and her ladies who would have no doubt been awoken by the clashing of swords and the war cries of enraged defenders. Deo Canthi stood motionless, his wits had escaped him, and he was powerless to intervene. Realising that her companions were in the most desperate of situations, she stood and whilst still reeling from the agonies of a hundred deaths, she closed her eyes and concentrated her thoughts.