Wysper - Abduction

The company of Warghorse riders are far off, but getting closer by the moment.

"Wysper, drop your pack and run," Asena growls as she pulls out the short stabbing sword and tosses it towards Greywolf. I slip my arms out of the straps and let it fall as I take off running, glancing back as Greywolf catches the sword and does the same. Asena and Castor practically fling their packs to the ground before breaking into a run.

I am several horse-lengths ahead of them, still looking over my shoulder as Asena calls out, "Make for the ruins just beyond the grey tree. Greywolf can open a wide hole in the Shadowlands, and then-"

A grey oval forms between me and the others. I gasp as a Warghorse thunders through it, with a Tartaros warrior in leather armor on its back, and Fox in Artifact armor sitting behind him.

Before I can even scream, the man leans towards me in his saddle and grabs me by the waist as the mount gallops past. He lifts me up and dumps me face first onto the creature's back, the impact knocking the breath from my chest as Fox yelps, "You did it! Make for the top of the hill so we can put some distance between us and that Night Hag following Greywolf."

I squirm, trying to break free, but the warrior holds me down with a firm hand as Greywolf shouts my name. The warrior laughs. "Struggle all you want, kitten," he says in a harsh voice. "The Great Khan told me if I pulled this off, I'd get to play with you first. I'm going to break your spirit as I-"

"Turn around," Fox screams. Twisting my head forward, a wave of greyness crests the hill and rolls towards us. "Turn the Warg-" The grey wave hits us and rolls on past.

Color drains from the world as a large, hairless flying creature back-wings in front of us. Then it digs its claws into the warrior's chest armor. It's enormous wings fill my vision as the creature pulls him out of the saddle, the Warghorse rearing back as the man screams, his kicking feet knocking me off the Warghorse before it madly gallops away with Fox clinging to the saddle.

Fox wails in terror as I accidentally flip mid-air and land on my feet, unable to stop myself from tumbling onto the dry grass and rolling a couple times before coming to a halt. Panting as I raise my head, the flying creature bites the head off the warrior and drops his body as the grey wave rolls back over me going the opposite way.

Color rushes back into the world. The flying creature is gone, but the headless body drops to the ground with a thud, blood spurting from its jagged neck while Fox's Warghorse continues galloping wildly back towards Bukhara. I rise to my knees as a rumbling sound grows louder from the opposite side of the hill.

A line of black armored warriors riding Warghorses crest the hill above me and thunder straight down the slope. I freeze in horror, my mind screaming in panic at my frozen limbs: Get up, wave your arms, do something!

I cannot move, only watch as more Tartaros riders come over the hill, following the leading line. One of the warriors holds the banner of a dragon with black scales... their mounts are picking up speed on the downhill slope, growing larger by the moment... the wind whips the slather from the beast's jaws, the earth trembling as their hooves tear up the ground, getting closer... a Warghorse is galloping straight at me, a startled expression on the warrior's face, but it is too late to veer away... I am going to die... I am going to die… I-

The thundering Warghorse fills my vision as a grey oval forms and strong arms pull me through.

Color flees the world around me once more as a body not wearing armor lands on top of me. Behind us, a female's horrid voice shrieks, "You cannot escape me forever, Shadow-walker. Someday, I shall feast upon your heart... the feast!"

"Wotan's blood, that was close," Greywolf pants. The hideous voice continues shrieking as I fling my arms around him, crying hysterically in relief with my knees pressed against his chest. Greywolf gives me a fierce hug back. "You're okay, Wysp; nothing can hurt you now. But we need to get moving because everything around us still is."

I let go of him as he continues holding me, and wipe my eyes on my sleeve as I force myself to calm down. "Apologies, but everything was happening too fast, and I thought I was about to die." My eyes go wide as I look around. "Are we underneath the Warghorse?"

The detailed shadow of a galloping Warghorse's belly is a finger length from our heads, its head pointed down as if attacking the horrible, grey crone with sharp claws instead of fingers, still shrieking in frustration as we both scoot away from it. The Warghorse itself creeps forward at a snail’s pace.

"The Warghorse's the reason we're still both alive. The shadows of living things burn Shadow-creatures like cold iron, and the larger, the better." My eyes meet his and he smiles. "The Night Hag won't touch us so long as we use the Warghorses as cover, so we sneak through them until we reach the last line, where I'll make another gate back to the real world."

Glancing up the hill, there are several more rows of Warghorses charging down it. "But who are... wait, I saw a banner with a black dragon."

Greywolf nods. "I saw it too, and the only Shadow-walker strong enough to make such a big gate is papa."

"Your father is here?"

"He must be, but why anyone's here at all will have to wait. C'mon." Greywolf crouches along underneath the Warghorse shadow and I copy his movements until we move past the first one, the beasts staggered enough so we can sneak our way between them without the Night Hag being able to touch us. Her shrieks begin coming from farther away, as if she is circling the company as we reach the last row of Warghorses. He forms another grey gateway a handspan away from the Warghorse's rump. Taking my hand, we move through the gateway together.

Color fills the world as the Warghorses rumble down the slope behind us, and with the crest of the hill just above our position, we turn around. The riders split into two groups as they reach Asena and Castor, reforming into a protective semi-circle around them as the Warghorses come to a halt.

A short distance farther down the slope, the Tartaros warriors with the banner of a white boar on a green field are slowing to a stop as well. The two companies look evenly matched as a short warrior moves a horse-length forward. "Kula, where are Greywolf and Wysper?"

"That's Attila," Greywolf says as he grins.

Attila raises the Artifact battle-axe in his hand. "If you've hurt them, I swear-"

"We are up here," I yell, waving my arms as Greywolf adds his voice to mine.

Both groups look up at us, flame haired Hypam giving us a whoop of laughter that many of her warriors echo. They quiet down as Kula yells back, "Greywolf and the priestess Wysper are accused of murdering Yasataar with evil magic, and casting an illusion in her place to sow chaos. Khan-king Timur has publicly decreed that both shall not be executed, as they are too valuable to waste, but must be punished for their crimes."

"That's a pile of Warg shite and you know it," Attila yells back.

Kula shrugs. "Doesn't matter whether I believe it or not, or even if it's true. The Great Khan issued a summons for both of them to appear in his court to answer the charges, but instead they fled from Bukhara, leaving their Daemo mount behind. It bolted the moment it caught sight of us, hoping to lead us on a false trail, but I knew exactly which way the fugitives were heading."

"Hel take that Daemo," Asena roars. "I knew she was playing us false."

Much farther off, a pale, slender figure is still clinging to the saddle of a galloping Warghorse as Kula yells, "Enough of this. Avitohol, for my company I chose the most heavily armored and experienced Warg-lancers I could muster. They will rip through your Black Dragons like a scythe through wheat, and kill both Asena and Castor, neither of who Timur vowed to spare. Or, the two fugitives can end this by surrendering peacefully."

"Yasataar wasn't an illusion and you know it. Yasataar was trying to warn you, one last time, that choosing Timur was wrong."

Kula seems to sigh. "Yasataar gave us a choice between two different ways to die. Either slowly, chasing a tired old man's dream of becoming civilized, or gloriously, ravaging an empire in an orgy of fire and blood. No, the People have chosen their path, and those two children are needed to make sure something survives of us once the Rune sword breaks and the dead turn against us.

“Their actions in trying to sneak away proved their guilt to all the people, both in the encampment and the city, so even if they escape, all of the lands around Bukhara will be looking to take them alive. Avitohol, don't be foolish. Give them up peacefully and go live your life free with your cousin and her people, or else watch her and everyone else around you die. What is your decision?"

The little warrior lays the battle-axe across his lap. "Kula, the boy you knew as Avitohol is dead. My name is Attila." He places both of his little fingers to his lips and gives out a piercing whistle.

In response, an even greater rumble starts up on the other side of the wide hill, and we turn around. A moment later, another line of Warghorses appears, only this one stretches a long ways to either side, with a company of riders as large as Kula's group riding a short way forward on each flank. "Shite," Greywolf says, "no wonder the gate was so huge."

Attila lifts the Artifact battle-axe back up and rests it on his shoulder. "I formed my new clan with the remainder of the Black Dragons, who are both heavily armored and much more experienced than your men. When Ghostdog brought Titan and Paulus to our camp this morning, Titan told me what Paulus had overheard Timur say. So I went ahead and brought everyone."

Kula and all his warriors are gaping or muttering among themselves with uneasy expressions. "This is impossible," Kula shouts.

"If you really think I'm lying, and this is either an illusion or a bluff, go ahead and charge." Attila takes the Artifact battle-axe off his shoulder and points the double-bladed head at Kula. "But if you do, once we've shattered your company and sent them fleeing, we're continuing on until we reach the people streaming through your city."

Kula draws his sword and points it at Attila's face. "You would dare attack your own defenseless people?"

"They were Avitohol's people. The Black Dragons are Attila's, and they remember warriors of the White Boar clan attacking their clan and slaughtering their own defenseless people when the Black Dragon warriors were elsewhere. But they have agreed to let the past remain buried if you turn your company around and return empty-handed."

"Do you realize this means war between our peoples?"

"It was war the moment Timur plotted to defile Wysper, the daughter I'm planning to adopt." I blink. Daughter? I thought that business had been forgotten when the old Khan denied him the right. Attila rests his battle-axe on his shoulder once more. "So what will it be, Kula? Fight or flee?" For a long moment, Kula glares at him.

Then he slams his sword back into its sheathe. "The day will come when I make you regret this decision."

"The only regret I'm going to have is when you force me to take your head... and by the way," a sarcastic edge entering Attila's voice, "you better check the vault where the blood-corn's kept. I think you're short a few sacks." Outrage sweeps across Kula's face... is he going to order his troops to charge? He does not, pulling hard on his Warghorse's reins to turn the animal around as he barks out orders in their harsh language. He rides back towards Bukhara and his company falls in behind him.

Attila barks out orders of his own, turning his mount around and riding up the hill towards us as the rest of Hypam's company does the same. "Wysper," Attila calls out as he gets close, "are you alright?"

He reins in his Warghorse beside me as I say, "I am fine, my prince... ah, do I still call you that?"

Attila leans over in the saddle, extending his hand. "It's khan, but we'll talk about that later." Despite his youth, he pulls me up effortlessly and sets me down behind him. "Right now there's someone you need to meet."

Hypam rides up beside Greywolf and helps him up as Attila's Warghorse breaks into a canter, the riders at the top of the hill making a space for him before turning their mounts around as well. At the bottom of the hill are the ruins of the large temple that once guarded the dead, grey tree, with Ghostdog standing beside it, smiling. Titan is close by, as is Paulus... but standing next to him is someone strange.

He is a warrior in Artifact armor, but instead of the square or rectangular plates used in the east, his armor has the small, round discs used by the Brittani. The helm he wears is also Brittani, being leather softened by boiling in wax, and then molded into a conical, open faced shape, before being transmuted into Artifact. He wears a round shield strapped to his back and has a sheathed sword at his side. As we get close, his face underneath the helm is clean shaven, and somehow familiar... he has to be a nobleman of our people, but why did Ghostdog bring him here? Attila slows his mount as we approach the fallen stones, weaving his way around them until coming to a halt near the tree. The Brittani nobleman removes his helm.

He has the dark red hair of a blood mage, with golden bangs like mine at his temples. I gasp. "Alar?"

Alar laughs as Attila, grinning himself, helps me down. I fly into Alar's arms, both of us laughing and crying in equal portion as we cling to each other. Standing behind me, Greywolf says in an uncertain voice, "Wysp, who's this?"

Alar lets me go as I turn around. "Apologies," I say to him as I wipe my eyes. "This is Alar, my fraternal twin brother."

Relief touches Greywolf's face a moment before he smiles. "Greywolf, son of Asena." He holds out his arm. "Well met."

"Alar does not speak Greco-Roma."

"Actually," my brother says, "Alar does now." Gripping Greywolf's arm in a warrior's clasp, he adds, "It's a long journey to get here, even with the difference in time, and Ghostdog taught me Greco-Roma along the way."

As they let go, Greywolf says, "Hey, papa taught you how to talk like a regular person, and not all flowery like your sister."

Alar laughs, clapping Greywolf on the shoulder as I roll my eyes at both of them. "Why do I have the feeling the two of you are going to be thick as thieves in a fortnight?" it is Greywolf's turn to laugh as Alar makes the 'who, me?' gesture he used to tease me with before I was sent to the temple. "Alar, you did not come all this way just to learn Greco-Roma."

"You're right, I didn't." The humor on his face dies as he turns towards Paulus. "Would you mind retrieving my satchel?"

Paulus nods, walking over to a brown horse tied to a large bush and grasping a battered leather satchel hanging from the saddle by its leather strap. He unhooks it, then holds the satchel out with both hands as if it contains a holy book.

My heart begins beating faster as unease transmutes itself into fear. "Alar, what is going on?" Paulus hands him the satchel, and without answering my question, Alar undoes the flap and reaches inside, letting the leather case fall as he pulls something out.

Alar holds in his hands a crown of leaves, dark red as old blood. My hand goes to my mouth as he nods. "Our mother, Queen Boudica, died when the capitol city was overrun by the Kingdom of the Gauls, as were her other children except for you and me. We thought you were lost to us as well, until Ghostdog arrived with news that you were not only alive, but also free. You need to come home with me, Wysper. Your people need you."

My eyes on the red leaved crown, I take an unconscious step back. "No, that cannot be true. I was the sacrifice." I look up and my eyes meet his. "The law of the druids is clear: the sacrifice can never become queen."

Alar's hands on the crown never waver. "You stopped being the sacrifice when you gave yourself to the son of Ghostdog and the Wolf-mother. Pan himself has forgiven you, and instructed me to give you this message. 'You must return to Britannia and become the next... and the last, Queen Boudica. There is no one else'.