Most of them would never get up again.
Fallen off his downed horse, the Prince shook his head and grabbed the pommel of his sword. Striding toward us, he muttered, “You will die for this, you bitch. No one speaks to me like that. Not even the prince himself. Certainly not a common whore such as you. You. Will. Be. Silent.” Lifting his sword into the air, the arrogant nobleman swore, “One way or the other, your nagging voice ends tonight.”
All around us, the storm abruptly stopped. Howling winds ended. Ripped up trees fell to the ruined ground, smashing crops, destroying the land for miles in every direction.
I let go of all that anger.
I didn’t know what Marcus would do. I had to know. Before….
“Marcus?”
My voice was small, the whisper little more than a plea spoken behind his neck. “I want to believe in you. I do. But this isn’t the way to a true throne. This isn’t right…”
I knew the words were accurate without the axe telling me. I didn’t need magic to know an evil man from a good one.
Sitting in front of me, ready to fight, Marcus looked hard at the approaching prince. Then he nodded once, solemnly agreeing with me.
“Marcus,” Marcus said softly, “Marcus, don’t do this. You have done everything I asked. You don’t need to do more. It’s over, my friend.” Marcus kept talking to the prince, whose eyes were filled with a rage beyond words.
“I don’t think he hears you. Or anyone else, for that matter.” I whispered, confused.
“Marcus, please,” Marcus pleaded with the armed man ready to attack. The man on the horse, the man I healed, drew his own sword, facing the enraged warrior head on.
“Marcus, I know you are in there. The concealing spell has been twisted. Can you hear me?” Marcus said, lifting his own blade.
I was completely confused.
“Wait. What…?” Everything was happening so quickly. Why was he calling the prince Marcus?
I tried to understand. “If he is Marcus… then who are you?” I asked as I gathered every last bit of energy in my body. The wave of power that had wiped out all of the charging men, that power spiralled inside of me, linked to the axe’s magic, but also to my own awakened powers.
“Marcus, as your Prince, I forbid this. Please…” I could hear Marcus’s voice catch as he begged the man advancing on our horse to stop.
Without a second glance, the raging man raised his sword and cut down Andry’s horse. The stormguard jumped off of the saddle in the nick of time, just escaping being pinned under his dead animal.
“Marcus… my dear friend,” The man whose waist I held onto tried one last time to stop the berserker.
“Who are you?” I sobbed into his back, lost in the magic, confused by his words.
“Briar, I’m sorry. I tried,” the mysterious man I held onto seemed profoundly shaken. That didn’t matter to the rage-filled warrior who drew back his arm to murder me. His only goal: to steal the Axe.
None of it mattered.
Slamming his body in front of mine, the man on my horse fought the enraged attacker. Which one is Marcus? Metal to metal, sword to sword, they parried. The sword blade missed me twice.
Almost equals, there was an advantage to being on horseback. But it was also a liability. A horse could be gutted with one killing stroke.
Somersaulting off of the saddle, the Marcus I healed fought for my life and his own. He met the attacker on the crumpled meadow grass. There was no conversation. Not with a being so full of anger and black magic, not even if they were once friends.
Without pause, the healed Marcus, my Marcus defended me from the deranged lunatic. It was almost as if the berserker didn’t see my defender at all. Wild as a windstorm the man’s gaze stayed almost exclusively on the Axe of Stormjen, like a bespelled maniac.
Over and over, the man I healed kept redirecting the berserker’s attack. Though, I could tell that he held back any killing blow.
Several times, there were openings in the fight, where the healed Marcus could have ended the savage man’s onslaught, but he did not. Over and over, the healed man spared Marcus’s life, despite of the furious blows that hammered down between them.
“What is your name?” I demanded, still on horseback, scooching up onto the saddle itself. I took the reins and danced back a bit from the fighting men. The Axe of Stormjen, treasure of the century was left exposed in the mud.
Its terrible magic would fall to the victor. If they could control it...
Grunting with the effort of fighting a raging man, the man cloaked in stormguard armor, the one who protected me, the same one who told me his name was Marcus Dewbern—he fought like a lion. Or rather, like a monstrous bear.
A burst of magic and an accompanying roar--that was all the warning I had.
My defender’s back hunched and his body rapidly got larger than any man’s. Snarling at the false prince with the sword, his front teeth grew pointed and wicked huge. Even his nose widened. Dropping the sword because his paws could not hold the metal, his claws grew bigger than daggers. Quite suddenly, the chainmail burst off of his body, sending a spray of loose links as shrapnel in every direction.
Within seconds, an enormous bear stood where the Man-Who-Was-Not-Marcus had been. Fighting an armored, crazed human, the bear looked directly at me. His eyes filled with a wretched, deep sorrow.
Of all the secrets I do not know… This one was clearly a were-curse. Fairytale creatures of mayhem, nothing more—I’d always thought.
But now, all around me, fairytales came true.
“Stupid girl,” the newly-named Marcus slurred his words. “Look what ye’ve done. Now, the prince has turned to a bear. That’s nice of ye. Now, I can kill him easy. And not even think of the man who used to be my friend.”
Marcus, crass and black-hearted Marcus, raised his sword in a killing stroke.
***
In the end, I just guessed.
My intuition was the only weapon I had that wouldn’t accidentally kill us all.
Jumping off the startled horse. I dove between the greedy bastard and the snarling, ferocious bear. With a shout I hoped reached up to the heavens, I yelled out as loud as I could:
“I do not love Prince Benjamin!”
Around me—like spun sugar crystals under a hammer’s blow—the weather magic cracked and shattered.
As it did, I grabbed onto the handle of the Axe of Stormjen and the hind leg fur of an enormous wild beast. The storm that was only held by magic inside of the metal weapon seethed out. Winds ripped at my face and spun me around until I was dizzy. I almost lost my grip on both the bear and the weapon.
But I didn’t.
I was tied to the magic and its power wrapped around my heart and soul.
In a cluster of yellow storm clouds, the Axe of Stormjen winked out of existence in the muddy, corpse-strewn meadow, pulling me right along with its magic.
My guardianship of its powers released back to the Stormwardens of the Stormrage See.
Even then, they knew far more than a silly, serving girl about the Axe’s use.
A rude girl who managed to arrive in the middle of a state formal dinner, I appeared plumb in the middle of the elaborately-set meal—clutching the fabled Axe of Stormjen, and the rear-end of a tremendously angry bear.
Elaborate dishes went flying in every direction, spilling food and drink all along the beautiful, tiled floor.
There I stood on the tabletop, in front of all the stormlords. Every one of them dressed in diamonds and pearls, silks and velvet. My dress dripped mud and blood all over the fine, white table cloth.
Curtsying low, I stood up again.
Not a sound came from the gathered nobles.
Lifting its snout in the air, the bear sniffed the room, looked around curiously at one very powdered lord. Then the animal turned and started eating a plate of stuffed pheasant.
Only the noise of its rather loud slurping and chewing with bone-breaking jaws broke the silence.
“I have returned your Axe, Stormwarden. My name is Briarthorns of the Rose Berwyn and I present my claim the Gilded Seat.”
Chapter Nine
Mrs.