The other stormlords stood in parade dress, formal and unmoving.Their leader swore me to the task I had come seeking. The lie.
I wanted to say, This is all a mistake, I’m sorry. The prince is fine. The whole thing is a trap. But the only think the magic let me say was the last, “This is a trap.”
That’s what I announced when the cold, calculating man put the terrible weapon of Stormrage into my much smaller hands. The old Stormwarden nodded solemnly.
“It is a trap, milady,” he paused for a moment, again looking at the thousands of invisible things he could discern floating in the air around me.
“I see the trap. And I see you. And the safest path for the Stormrage See is by your side.”
“We stand by our word,” the leader of Stormrage See vowed. “We will help restore the Gilded Seat. We will help you rescue the lost Prince Benjamin. And then, milady, we will talk about the matter of your name.”
He paused as if there was so much more to say.
But he left those particular words unspoken. He bit his tongue like anything else said between us would blot out the sun. It felt so abrupt. And his willingness to help me felt too easy. Why? Why does he listen to the words of a serving girl and allow his men to be taken as fools? But I could not say any of those words. I could not say he was a fool. Because it just wasn’t true.
“One last thing,” he said as he set the heavy weight of the axe into my hands, “...if you lie, the axe will know. If you lie, at all—the axe will return to me and to its rightful home. You are bound by its magic as much as you are held to the standard of truth in this very room. The heart of the storm is the eye. Only there will you find peace. Remember that.”
***
“We ride for the future of the Gilded Seat,” I spoke the vow calmly, as if I had some right to ask any of this of brave and honorable men. The rescue was a lie. And where exactly could I lead them?
Emerging from the Stormrage See with a full escort of stormlords and guards, we sped faster than arrows in flight, back to the place I emerged as a lady, returning to the grounds of my deceit.
As we rode on the backs of war horses, clad for war and rescue, I felt the power of the Axe of Stormjen grow. With each step we took , the eerie yellow light that emanated from the blade gained power. The weapon itself lay in a cross covering my back, sheathed and cloaked in a thick velvet. Only its handle fell below the saddle. It was enormous.
The weight of the weapon had to be centered between my shoulders for me to keep my balance. But it wasn’t the physical weapon I worried about. Away from the room of truth and the columns’ bespelled protections, the Axe of Stormjen crackled with weather energy. Storm clouds began to form in the far skies, slowly drifting toward my back. From across the wide horizon, bits of clouds appeared and generated by magic, rushing to the call of the weapon.
None of the storm lords noticed for a few miles. But soon the change in weather was obvious to all of us. Winds pushed at our backs. The horses sped on with the tailwind lifting every stride, hurrying us on our way. To the trap the cunning prince had started.
As soon as we crested the last hill, I stopped my horse. Pulling up on the reins, the war horse responded immediately to my request. In perfect flanking formation, the Storm Lords halted and circled back.
As the wind picked up, it became harder to speak on horseback without shouting.
“Here,” I said, instantly recognizing the very real location where I had been left this morning. And the place my dream showed me… where Death took my hand and everything ended. I straightened my shoulders, determined to speak only the truth, focused on winning past the moment of my death. “Yes, the attack happens here.” I spoke in the wrong tense. None of the storm lords noticed.
Holding on to the axe, being this close to its presence…
I knew better than to lie.
***
Instead of charging at a full canter into the meadow, I said, “Let ‘s search the nearby woods. For traces of the prince and for any traps the robbers left. Far more experienced than a noble lady, the storm lords looked slightly taken aback at not riding full force into the the remains of the encampment. A broken tent and a carriage wheel lay out in the open, clearly evidence of the attack which stole the Viscount. My husband, the Viscount.
As I watched from my horse, the stormguards spread out in a series of lines on both sides of me, they entered the forest, sweeping anything hiding ahead of them, flushing out pheasants and peasants alike.
I held my position, watching the fraught landscape, nervous at the thought of these honorable men dying for me, for a lie.
Two stormguards stayed at my side, slightly behind me. “Why do you not search with the others?” I demanded, somewhat imperiously. I was more nervous and worried than haughty but my words sounded cold and vain.
Neither man moved from my side.
The winds began to howl around me as storm clouds gathered from across the sky and the meadow’s air turned gray. The meadow filled with heavy tendrils of fog as the rescue party searched for any clue of the Viscount’s kidnappers and any marks that pointed to their whereabouts.
“A hideout must be near,” one of the guards shouted.
I could barely hear him above the whipping of the wind. Rain began to fall. First lightly and then rougher, harder, the sky wept.
That’s when I saw the first stormguard fall off his horse. Blood seeping down his neck and along the sweat shined coat of his wild-eyed steed. He fell like an autumn leaf, past its prime. And the man who had killed him grinned up at me and saluted.
One of the prince’s men.
At my side, the stormguards stiffened. “What’s happening there?” They asked.
“We are attacked!” the other cried out.
The wind whipped away their words. I couldn’t speak anyway.
I was a child caught in a savage war. These men, my kidnappers, they had told me they were a noble prince and his personal army. They had spun a tale… told me they needed an axe, the very one on my back. And if that was in fact what they wanted, why kill the stormguards who accompanied me?
Why kill anyone? We had, in fact, already won. I had the axe. Their mission was complete.
My escort of storm guards moved closer to me. As loud as braying dogs, the winds howled all around us.
Another stormguard fell a few yards ahead of us.
Arrows flew all over the meadow. Everything was chaos. Arrows hit the ground in front of my horse, closer and closer with each flight. Gusts of wind saved me when nothing else would have stopped the arrows.
Hidden in the forest, the archers were adjusting their aim.
I charged forward , spun my horse and circled back, topping farther away. A moving unpredictable target was my best chance.
Death.
Death was coming for me, the stupid kitchen wench who thought herself special. The lie wrapped up in a rich woman’s cloak, holding on to the ultimate truth spelled into a weapon. Defenseless.
Ashamed. Men were dying because I lied. More would fall.
And then, I would die. The dream had told me the truth. Tied to my back, the weapon’s magic set my fate. I couldn’t wield the monster axe. It was for the Prince. For the viscount, for Marcus. But not for me. I could no sooner swing that axe than hold a jousting pole on a charging war destrier.
Arrows landed close to where my horse pawed the ground—eyes wide, hooves dancing nervously. Still I kept my seat. Doggedly, the two stormguards near me did not run. A little farther this time, we moved away again. One arm of the sweeping stormguards pushed through the forest over, driving the hidden robbers in front of them.