I pushed a branch out of my face to look out over what had been my home from my perch in a tree. A shaky breath escaped my lips as I surveyed the ransacked wasteland that had once been an entire village. A tear slipped out the corner of my eye when I saw that Morwyn y Pren, formerly one of the most magnificent estates in Evalor, had been reduced to nothing but a shell of its former glory. The outer walls were piles of rubble sprawling out from the keep, which stood mostly intact, but had large portions of the walls missing and shattered windows at every turn.
Henry sighed from the branch below to me, and I could tell he was just as rattled as I was to see the extent of the destruction wrought at the hands of Corran and his wretched minions. We had known he was a danger to Evalor, but we had miscalculated the extent of his wrath miserably.
I pulled my hood down farther over my features as I shifted my focus to what we had come to observe; the number of troops, the number of weapons, any fortifications, anything that might turn the tide of the battle. There were at least 1,000 wraiths milling about, sharpening weapons, tearing into the remnants of what looked to be a deer carcass. I looked over at Henry nervously--we only had 300 men back at camp.
We both returned to sweeping our eyes over the estate. Corran apparently hadn't felt the need to build any sort of physical fortifications or blockades, but I was sure there were some kind of magical wards around the camp. He only had guards posted several meters apart from each other, which seemed odd until you considered the capability of the wraiths under Corran's control. He was smart enough to put the armory in the center of camp, where it would be the easiest to reach for any point inside the camp, but nigh on impossible to sneak into from outside the camp undetected.
Aside from the sheer number of Corran's troops, the camp seemed fairly harmless to the untrained eye, but I had come to know better. I looked at the camp and saw strategy and careful planning in everything from the placements of the tents to the lack of open cook fires throughout the camp. In fact, I couldn't find a mess tent anywhere either. The wraiths must not have been civilized enough to even feel the need to congregate in a designated area to feed on the bodies of their poor victims. I shuddered at the thought of one of those beasts tearing into Ophelia's haunches after shooting her.
There was a tent in the center of camp that was significantly fancier than the others. I assumed it was Corran's, but it was too big for just one person. A few figures were standing outside the main entrance. I looked closer and I realized they weren't wraiths. They were humans; probably other magicians Corran had converted into his twisted, lawless campaign to destroy the monarchy.
Henry turned and looked up at me from his branch. He pointed back in the direction of our camp, and I nodded in acknowledgement before starting to climb back down the tree after him. I slipped from limb to limb as quietly as I could, disturbing as few leaves and twigs as I could to avoid being detected. I reached the bottom of the tree, and set my feet on the ground gently Henry steadied me as I almost fell over from the sudden landing, and we started back in the direction we'd come.
We were almost back to camp when I tripped over a root and fell to my knees. A splitting pain pierced through my consciousness, right where the diamond in my circlet rested on my forehead. My hand flew to the gemstone, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't make it stop. I cried out as my vision went black, and the rest of my senses faded into nothing.
I stood up shakily, my cheek stinging like I'd been slapped. My entire body ached with the pain of someone who'd just been beaten within an inch of their life: a feeling I knew all too well. I looked down at my dress: tattered, my hands: bruised and bloodied. I looked around the room, spinning around me, shattered glass from a mirror scattered on the floor.
Father's voice came booming from nowhere in particular, and everywhere around me. "You disgusting little wretch! Do you have any idea how much you've humiliated me! You and your little games, always getting into trouble and ruining a perfectly good evening!"
I tried to respond, but nothing came out of my mouth when I opened it. I'd tried to bury this memory again and again, but I never could. This was some twisted version of the first time that Father had really beaten me badly. He'd had a noblewoman on his arm all evening, and I hadn't liked her from the first moment I saw her. I had simply refused to answer her questions about my mother, which shouldn't have been an issue. I'd barely known her, so how was I to answer questions about her? Father had been outraged, and when the noblewoman left, he'd beat me within an inch of my life.
I fell back to my knees, crying, screaming, trying to cover my ears. I sat there, in the middle of the Great Hall floor, in a heap for several more minutes.
Corran appeared by the window in front of me. "You poor, poor, little thing. Look at you, fragile as a flower, crying in a heap on the floor of the room where your father now lies, cold, still, and very much dead." He laughed, and it echoed around the room in a haunting, terrifying manner. "I warned you, child. I told you surrender was the best option, but you just had to go and take up arms against me, didn't you?"
I shook my head, trying to break the hold he had on my mind. I screamed. Corran laughed. "Don't fight it, it's pointless."
"Nooo!" A voice outside of the vision yelled in a guttural roar. I suddenly felt as if I were being pulled between the two realities, one of manipulated terror, the other of calm reasoning. My brain felt like it was being ripped apart, each individual nerve pulling in a different direction.
Something pulled me back into the vision sharply, gruffly.
"Just give in, Genevieve. I'll spare them all if you would only just surrender!" Corran's voice echoed across the Great Hall. "Just hand over the circlet." He stretched out his hand.
I pressed my hand against the gemstone. For half a second I almost took it off, but I was suddenly jerked back into a tug-of-war between realities again. As they battled for control of my mind, I let out a guttural scream that grew and grew until my throat was hoarse.
I pulled my hands away from my forehead, and I fell into a heap on the forest floor. My shoulders slumped over, and I started to fall over. I felt a pair of arms catch me and lay my head on their lap. I looked up through patchy vision to see it was Henry. My vision was quickly fading to black. The darkness was comforting this time, not at all threatening or dangerous the way it had been moments ago. It was like a gentle caress on my distressed nerves, and I leaned into it wholeheartedly.
The last thing I heard before everything went dark was Henry's voice softly pleading, "Please, no, no, no. Stay with me, Genevieve! Keep fighting! I've got you! You're okay! No, no, no, no, no..."
////////
"Bydd hi fel oen: merch Pren, Arglwyddes y Pren, Rhyfelwr y Frenhines..." I woke up to hear Henry's voice singing the opening lines of the prophecy in the Old Language. "Cudd o Evalor tan ei phen-blwydd yn ddeunaw oed." His fingers brushed the line of my scar on my cheek.
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath before trying to sit up. "What just happened?" I asked, confused. Henry helped me into a sitting position next to him from where I had been laying with my head on his lap.
He reached to brush my hair away from my face and answered, "We were just coming back from scouting and you collapsed. It was like something was trying to separate your soul from your body and somehow torture you. I've never seen anything like it." He shook his head. "Then you started mumbling something about your father, something about a trade. You said something about giving yourself up, a sacrifice or something. That was when I knew something was terribly wrong. Do you remember anything?"
I rubbed my forehead, moving the circlet on my brow as I did so. "I remember collapsing, but whatever happened after that I can't figure out. It was like I was back at Morwyn y Pren, but it wasn't the same. I remember hearing my father's voice, and feeling like I always did when he felt I had done or said something wrong: small, terrified, aching, and bruised." My voice felt foreign in my own mouth. It echoed in my mind like I had shouted across a ravine. "And then I remember hearing Corran's voice." I paused, "That was the really terrifying part."
"Corran, that snake! I should have known he'd have something to do with this." Henry clenched his jaw and brushed his fingers over my hand absentmindedly. "Can you recall any of what he said?"
"He said something about a trade, that if I surrendered myself, he would spare all of you. I can't remember much else of what he said, but Henry it was so tempting."
"Hmm, that's not good." Henry looked more worried than I'd ever seen him. "How did he get past the wards on your circlet?"
"I don't know." I pulled my knees to my chest and tucked my chin over them.
A magician never reveals his secrets, darling. Corran's voice echoed in my head. I gasped.
"What? What is it, Genevieve?" Henry asked suddenly.
"My offer still stands, m'lady. But it won't be on the table forever. You have until sundown tonight to make your decision. I'll be eagerly awaiting your decision." Corran's voice was gone as quickly as it had come.
"Did you hear that?" I sat bolt-upright.
"Hear what, Genevieve?" Henry gazed at me quizzically. "What did you hear?"
"Corran! He said I have until sunset tomorrow to consider his offer." I fidgeted with my archer's glove nervously. What a mess I've gotten us into, I thought.