The Dark Queen

By Yvonne C.

She was once known as Swiftsword and then for a time was called The Red Lady but finally Julill’s path has reached its destination and the Dark Queen is awake. Her true aim is revealed and it is death – death for the men of the Free Land, death for those who oppose her, death for those who refuse her hand of friendship.

Farina, Queen of Maranea, is in Julill’s sights. She would have this strong young woman as an ally, but Farina fears the madness she hears in the older woman’s words and fears what she would do to her son and only child. She refuses Julill’s hand but no one does that and gets away with it.

Jareth, Julill’s second born son, now stands opposed to his mother, at least in theory. He knows she is insane and that she must be stopped and so he travels with the ancient witch, Oluna, to learn how to fight, to become strong and to gather allies of his own. Soon he will need to decide if he is truly willing to put what he has learned into practice, for it is one thing to know that he must act and quite another to take up arms against the only mother he has ever known. Might she not yet, even at this late stage, be turned aside from her dark path?

Oluna thinks not but she herself cannot act as it is forbidden for witches to interfere in the lives of the other races. All she can do is advise.

Others must come together to move against the Dark Queen.

Farina flees south to Tunislaw and distant cousin, King Rilathus to beg his help. Jareth finds unlikely assistance from a band of outlaw vampires and in Finlea Anya ponders her options. The Dark Queen does not yet threaten the elves but sooner or later she must surely move against them? Should Anya move first? Elves do not lightly enter into battle but when they do they are committed to the end. Without Emkel to advise her and share the burden of decision she is stuck. Should she move now to confront Julill or wait for the red-haired queen to come to her?

Julill too ponders her options. There are only two enemies she truly fears – the witches and the elves. The witches are powerful but bound by their oaths. They will not move against her, but the elves are a different matter. For all their show of grace and apparent disdain of violence they are skilled warriors and see themselves as duty bound to help those called friend. Will Anya ride to the side of Farina to help her friend? Can Julill best the elven queen? Elves are often more powerful than they look but Julill has power too. More than even Oluna suspects. But does she have enough?

Soon she must test her strengths and test the will of those around her. Will her allies remain loyal or prove cowards at the finish? Will the dark forces that have shaped her all her life be enough to help her take charge of the Free Land and shape it to her own desires, or will she discover too late that they too have desires: desires they deem more important than hers.

Is this the end of the Dark Queen’s journey or merely the beginning?

Book seven of the Free Land Chronicles takes up where The Red Lady left off. Julill is home. The crown she once spurned is now firmly on her head and the power she craved is now hers.

Now begins the task of shaping her kingdom to her desires. Her kingdom first and then the rest of the Free Land. And woe to any who think to cross her.

Enemies lurk around every corner but Julill knows how to deal with enemies. She has werewolves on her side; werewolves and vampires, a rogue witch and an unseen force that has been with her since the day she was conceived. She is more than a match for anyone and will destroy everyone who stands against her: father, husband, son – none shall be shown mercy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yvonne C.
• Release date: Oct 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311211781

Yvonne C.

Yvonne Carsley is a writer from the Northwest of England. She writes fantasy fiction and poetry under her own name and erotic fiction under her pen name of Blue Sapphire.Print copies of her work are available on Lulu.comAnd you can follow her blog on Wordpress...https://wordpress.com/stats/day/awriterswords32692851.wordpress.comand add her on Facebook if you like.She also enjoys digital photography and has work listed on...http://www.redbubble.comShe loves to write and read, admires particularly the work of Stephen King and Diana Gabaldon, and enjoys films and music.She likes cats, both big and small.She is an unashamed Trekkie and would love one day to go to a convention dressed as a Vulcan ambassador. Though at only 4foot 11inches tall it'll have to be a mini Vulcan ambassador!

Book preview

It was glorious. The utter confusion, the chaos, the terrified expressions on the sea of faces undulating before her. Eyes darted around the room, looking for escape; looking for answers. Necks craned almost painfully as they sought to see above each other’s heads but, despite their terror, there was an undercurrent of curiosity running through her audience. Few here had ever seen a soul-feeder up close. They were afraid, oh so terribly afraid, but who could resist admiring that most attractive of monsters?

Soul-feeders, nightwalkers, children of the milky moon. They had been called that and more since the Great Mother had first set her dainty but dangerous feet on the Earth. Despite their furiously beating hearts and sweating palms the crowd was slowly becoming transfixed. The deadly lances and the wicked-edged swords held by the vampire guards had lost their interest as their fierce red eyes began to work their charm.

Vampires were not truly telepathic. They had no power to read minds but they could project their own thoughts and if there were enough of them all in one spot, each projecting the same thought, then even a large crowd could be subdued.

The effect would not likely last long. Most vampires were not that strong and even together they had limited power to keep up such a spell and even the most transfixed of crowds would eventually wise up to the fact that they were being swayed, but she only needed the effect to be temporary, to last just long enough for her to have her say while they were calm enough to listen.

My friends. My people. Julill stood and held out her arms as though to encompass the crowd within her embrace. There really is no need for alarm. You must forgive me for my little moment of drama. My father was something of a showman in his youth and I have inherited his liking for it. She swallowed, tasting bile as she thought of Senovar.

Hateful old man, she sneered inwardly. Hateful, cowardly old man who had kept her from her rightful place for too long.

She smiled brightly. None of that mattered now. She was back. She was in Illanier, in the palace…back in her true home.

She re-seated herself, taking a moment to toss her cushion aside before doing so.

Ah, she sighed softly. Much better.

A throne should not have cushions. A throne should be a strong thing, powerful enough to withstand blows, large enough to convey majesty but not so big it overshadowed the one sat upon it, but above all it had to be hard. A leader had to be hard and needed to be reminded of that fact each time he, or preferably she, sat down. Soft things bred soft people, and Illanier was in danger of becoming too soft, with its plump cushions and gilded finery. Look how easily her vampires had managed to enter the city, the palace…the very throne-room!

Her people had become too used to how things were. They had their fine clothes and their bellies were full so why worry? What was there to be concerned about in a city where true crime was dealt with out of sight and therefore out of mind? The rich were rich and the poor were not as poor as they could have been. There was little to complain about; little to fear. Illanier was prospering so what need was there to be concerned?

Julill swept her green gaze across the room, thinking that there was great need.

Illanier was a rising power but as it rose it had grown complacent. What could possibly threaten this great city, this magnificent country? It had its famous army and its renowned palace guard. It had its loving, benevolent king and sweet, pretty princess. Julill smiled faintly. Had, she corrected.

She looked across the crowd again, turning her eyes to the vampires.

Illanier’s famous army, well known for their incredible parades, their marching skills and the cut of their fine uniforms…where were they now?

Illanier’s famous palace guard, each man hand-picked by Senovar himself, taken from a pool of soldiers who had been fighting since they were boys. Or at least training to fight, she added. Illanier’s army had not fought a real war in decades; the palace guards did nothing but patrol.

Day in, day out, night after night, they walked around the palace, up and down its corridors, checking its many rooms, peering in through its countless windows. They walked and walked, marching proudly in their neat uniforms and brightly-polished boots. They could blind an enemy with that shine but when had they last had to physically defend their monarch?

Julill harrumphed softly.

The famous army; the famous palace guard…neither had noticed nor prevented her entry into the city. She had smuggled her vampires into the palace with almost laughable ease.

Only she was not laughing.

This was her country, her city, her palace and it was woefully vulnerable.

She glanced down at the discarded cushion and with a swift, determined kick sent it flying into the arms of a startled Denmar.

To his credit he caught it well. She awarded him a tiny nod of respect and then turned to address the crowd once more.

My people. Do not be alarmed. The vampires are here for your protection. They are our friends. I have made an alliance with them.

Denmar frowned but said nothing. Julill knew he would have a lot to say to her afterwards but for now he was doing what had got him this far in his life, watching and listening. But was he also planning: planning what to do if his decision to put her on the throne proved to be erroneous? He had helped her thus far but how much further would he allow her to go?

She hoped he would not prove a threat. He seemed quite…likeable, for a man.

She looked to the people again, singling out the ones she thought might prove troublesome: Freya was glaring up at her through narrow eyes, the little conclave of councillors in the corner looked agitated and to the other side stood Dana and Caro.

Caro looked as confused as ever. He would not be that much of a problem. His new bride-to-be would keep his mind occupied, but what of Dana?

Her daughter’s face was an unreadable mask. Her eyes were fixed on her, her gaze watchful, a question held in them. Well, mother, what now? What are you going to do?

Julill gripped the armrests of her throne. Her throne, she repeated silently. Hers at last. At last!

My people. Things must change. There are great dangers approaching us and we must make ready to deal with them. I have returned to you now so that I may help you face these oncoming troubles. And here is what I plan to do.

As she began outlining her vision of Illanier’s future her own vision narrowed until all that she could see were the delightful imaginings of her own thoughts. She did not see the many nervous and alarmed looks that crossed the faces of the crowd before her. She did not see the tiny ripples of movement as certain groups inched together to silently share their concerns.

Dana shuffled closer to her husband and gestured with a small flick of her hand for her children to move behind her.

Adira, Larina and Kyra tightened their little group.

Behind them Freya stood with her arms folded and a look of hatred on her face. She had many friends in the crowd and slipping effortlessly like eels through water they slithered through it to be near her.

Denmar stood alone, his face betraying nothing as he listened with mounting confusion to Julill’s words.

He was not the only one who stood alone.

At the very back of the crowd a cloaked and hooded figure watched from a corner he had not budged from since the throne-room doors had opened to admit the coronation guests.

He stared up at the throne, at the woman sat on it, wondering what had happened to the girl he had once known. She had been strong with a core of iron running through her spirit, but when had this darkness entered her? Had it always been there as the old warlock had claimed? If so why had he not seen it?

Because innocence can’t see true evil, the warlock had uttered.

He had not understood and the warlock had not explained. All he had said after was watch, watch but do nothing. Do not show yourself. She is not the girl you once knew. She will not listen to you. She will not listen and she may in fact turn against you. She may even kill you.

He could not believe that but the warlock had shown him too much for him to ignore his advice. So he watched and did nothing.

Julill, he whispered. Where is she? Where is the girl I loved, the girl I shared my secrets with…my Swiftsword? She must still be there, somewhere inside. She must.

Julill’s eyes suddenly focused on the crowd, sweeping over it, her brows knitted in confusion. Her gaze swept over him and he melted back into the shadows.

Master, he hissed. Master, I think I’ve been spotted. Master!

Julill’s gaze had moved on but snapped back, her eyes searching the shadows, certain she had seen movement there.

Master! he whispered again, reaching back.

His hand encountered the cold stone of the back wall.

Master!

Here, a voice uttered. Take it. Quickly!

He reached back again, grasping the hand jutting from the wall and stifled a cry as he was yanked through it.

There was a brief ripple like that of some magical door opening and closing, and the cloaked figure was gone.

Julill stared at the empty space in the corner and frowned.

Her shadow seemed to be playing some sort of trick. She would have to find out what and make sure it did not happen again. This was her time. Whatever he wanted of her it could wait.

It was not I, a voice murmured in her ear.

Then who? she said out of the corner of her mouth.

No one. It was just one of those brief hiccups that happen from time to time as a stray bit of magic burns itself out. Think no more on it, my queen. An unseen hand squeezed her shoulder in a reassuring manner. Think no more on it. It was nothing.

Julill turned back to face her guests. She smiled broadly at them, the strange feeling of being watched swiftly dissipating.

Behind her left shoulder the unseen shadow turned its unseen eyes to the spot where a moment ago the only true threat to Julill’s – he corrected himself – his plans had been standing.

His eyes narrowed in deep thought. Curious, he mused.

The old warlock had teamed up with the ex-lover; the old witch had teamed up with the son. Both men were potential dangers. Both ought to be destroyed and swiftly so, but both were protected by higher powers.

There had to be a way around them. He had come so far. His Dark Queen would soon be where he wanted her. She was his key to getting what he had wanted for so long now: power, the dark master’s throne and ultimately a way back into the world.

He would not be stopped by ghosts from Julill’s past or her own flesh and blood. Both had to be destroyed but how, and which should die first; the mercenary or the son?

----

Their journey was a silent one, both of them lost in their own thoughts, their faces turned to Maranea but their minds focused on the scene they had just fled. Oluna had procured fine horses for them both, at the start of their travels together, when things had seemed slightly less uncertain and they had both thought they had more time.

Now they hurtled onwards, both hardly noticing the sights that flashed by, each going over in their minds what they should have done, what they were doing and what they might have to do to stop whatever dark scheme Julill was putting together.

Oluna bit her lip, troubled by her conflicting thoughts.

Julill was dangerous. Her mind was surrounded by shadow. There was anger and hatred in her. She would cause great harm to many people if not stopped soon enough. Oluna knew this as surely as she knew that day followed night, but on the other hand, Julill was the rightful heir to the Illanian throne. She had every right to take the crown.

Witches were sworn not to interfere in the politics or religions of others. They could give their help when asked for; could offer it when not but they could not force it on those who refused it.

Of course, as with most rules, there were grey areas and many a clever witch had used them to justify certain actions and though the Witch’s Council might frown on such actions they would let them pass, unpunished though never unmentioned.

Technically, Oluna was not interfering in anything at the moment. She had spoken with Julill, tried to discern her plans, attempted to dissuade her from travelling dark paths but she had not done anything to take away her free will. And she could have. She could have snapped her fingers to cause the redhead to fall down dead. An instant and simple solution but she was not that sort of witch. She could have woven a spell to alter Julill’s mindset; remove her anger, take away the reason why she was on a dark path, but she was not that kind of witch either. Change a person’s very personality and you may as well kill them.

Though she could not interfere she could not simply sit back and watch events unfold. She had to do something, even if that something was simply to assist those who could interfere. It was not strictly speaking going against any laws.

Jareth meant to go against Julill and he had asked for Oluna’s company. He was acting from a position of free will and if at some point he should freely ask Oluna to work some of her magic then she might do so, depending on what was asked of her. The Witch’s Council had certain rules she would never break, the Witch’s Assembly had rules – vague and peculiar though they might be – and more importantly she had rules of her own, lines she would not cross, words she would never say no matter the temptation.

Some form of action would have to be taken though. Oluna felt it in her extremely old and reliable bones that Julill had dark plans in mind. For now they might be limited to Illanier but the moment she placed so much as a toe beyond her own borders…

Oluna shivered. It did not bear thinking about.

Switching her thoughts, she turned from the mother to the son and glanced over her left shoulder.

His horse galloped swiftly, its nose mere inches from the tail of her own. Jareth sat in the saddle, his gloved hands gripping the reins so tightly she wondered if he would ever be able to let go. His shoulders were hunched forward, his chin pressing down into his collarbone, a grim expression on his face. His red hair, recently cut short for ease of management, glowed like the flame of a match; his green eyes – so like his mother’s – shone just as brightly, if not more so.

He was very like his mother in more regards than just the colour of his eyes. Physically he was almost her twin. Broader through the shoulders and possessing a slightly squarer jaw he was unmistakably her son. Of all her children he looked the most like her; Zellora the least. She doubted the fact pleased him.

She could tell him that looking like someone was no indicator of his personality being the same, but it would be hard to tell him that when the face looking back from the mirror at him each morning was Julill’s.

But in personality he was as unlike to Julill as day was to night.

There was something hard about Julill; something Oluna suspected had been there from the very beginning, a core of darkness, something sharp and ugly. Julill was a woman who sneered at others, a woman who constantly judged them and always found them wanting, a woman who saw the bad in all things but never the good.

Jareth was so different. There was something intrinsically good about him. He was a man of honour and loyalty, a man who would go through his life with a lot of pain in his heart because he cared too deeply about the actions of others.

She worried about that but she much preferred him to care too deeply than not at all.

She glanced at him a moment longer and then turned back in her seat to face the path they travelled. Mountains were nearing. Soon they would be well out of Illanian territory and soon to enter Maranean.

The Maranean queen was relatively new to her role as supreme leader and still just a girl but she needed to be warned about the character of her neighbour sister. Farina had a part to play in Julill’s future. Oluna knew it though could not quite see what it was she would do. She hoped it was not to aid the redhead. Farina was unknown to her though she had known the character of her parents.

Her father, a kind man but not a strong one, he had turned a blind eye to his wife’s infidelities and indulged a greedy son. He had not been kingly material. His heart had been that of a poet; he had been a dreamer lacking the necessary sternness to be a great leader. Had he lived longer and been the one to face his dark-minded neighbour he would not have been able to stand firm against her.

Then there had been the mother. Not a bad woman, just a little too free with her affections. She had been a pretty bauble hanging on her husband’s arm but she had been no leader. She had been the sort of queen who smiled and waved a lot, but left matters of state to the men-folk.

The character of a child’s parents may or may not be indicative of the child’s character. Jareth was nothing like his mother in character but what of Farina?

If she was some silly girl, more interested in dollies and dresses, then Oluna would ride on swiftly and go straight to the elven queen. Her character was not in question and if Julill had any thoughts of stepping beyond her own borders then Anya would certainly welcome a warning.

Oluna glanced back again.

Jareth was still on her horse’s tail but his features were becoming indistinct. It had been a dull, dark day and now what little light there had been was fading fast. They would have to make camp at the base of the mountains and cross over them the next day. She could use some magic to light their way and continue their journey. She could travel indefinitely without pause for rest or food but Jareth could not. They would make camp and rest, cross the mountains in the morning and by the evening, with luck, be on Maranea’s doorstep.

She turned back again and spurred the horse on faster. Her eye missed the two little pinpricks of light that blinked in the distance less than half a mile behind them – two little pinpricks of fierce red light.

The vampire paused.

Had the old woman spied her? She did not think so but waited an extra minute before moving out again, her nostrils quivering as she homed in on Jareth’s scent.

CHAPTER TWO

The throne-room had been cleared of all unnecessary personnel. All the guests had been returned to their quarters. No doubt many of them were hastily packing, eager to return home and try to make sense of what had happened. The foreign guests would no doubt be itching to get back to report to their own leaders. An alliance between humans and vampires would be news indeed.

She could well afford to let them go. There was nothing they could say that would raise any real suspicions. What the Illanian queen did in Illanier was of passing interest only. Making an alliance with vampires might seem odd but nothing else could be read into it. After all, even the elves had reached out their hands to their darker neighbours. She was simply following their example and while there were many who would think her as daft as the elves they would never guess there was more to the alliance than a simple joining of hands.

They could all go home. In fact it was better that they did. That way she could get on with her plans without worrying about what any of the other eleven tribes might discover. She had no concern regarding the spirits, the dwarves, the trolls or the fairies. The werewolves had no interest in human affairs; though that would change when she offered them an alliance. Something that would aggravate the vampires but she would deal with that problem later. The fire-dwellers kept themselves apart from all the other tribes. They would neither help nor hinder her, unless truly motivated to do so, and as for the vampires…

Though it was unlikely she could get every clan on her side she thought it equally unlikely that any that could not be got would set themselves against her.

Her only real concerns were the witches, the elves, the water-dwellers and the shapeshifters.

The elves, water-dwellers and shapeshifters were very alike in their beliefs and moral values. The plans she had in mind would not likely be to any of their liking and those three tribes had been known to band together in the past against a common foe. The water-dwellers were not the best of fighters. They preferred to keep their hands clean but elves and shapeshifters were formidable warriors. They would not rush into a war. So she had some time on her hands, but if she turned her attention to them too quickly they would fight her and fight hard.

She would leave them until the last possible minute, until she had enough strength on her side, but sooner or later they too would fall under her rule. First Illanier; then the world.

As long as the witches stayed out of it.

They were the most likely threat to her schemes. They had their silly rule of non-interference but how many times had they broken it? Valiaresa, Aldar, Leanora, Senephra…even the great Tirandall himself had all overstepped their so-called boundaries, playing bigger parts in history than should have been allowed for those who claimed that their roles were simply as watchers.

Julill straightened up in her chair and glanced at Helesa; a case in point. Here was a witch doing much more than just watch. Fortunately, she was on her side; at least for now. Julill doubted that would last long. Dark-seeds were hardly known for their loyalty and Helesa was a dark-seed whether she admitted it or not. Just how long she would stick around for once she discovered Julill’s ambition was for more than Illanier was anyone’s guess. Julill smiled faintly. No matter. There were other dark witches about who might be persuaded to help her. And there was always her faithful shadow.

She did not know just who or what he was, or what his interests were but he had helped her thus far. He was not a witch but he clearly existed on some magical level. In time he might be prompted to do more than skulk about in the darkness frightening old men to death. She would discover his true nature and capabilities, and then he would use them for her benefit. If he refused she would find a way to deal with him, as she planned to find a way to deal with all those who refused to work for her benefit.

She turned her gaze to her councillors; the cleverest men in all of Illanier, some chosen by the king; some by the people, men chosen to make the laws, rule over lives, dish out rewards and/or punishments, men who stood before her, some with expressions of fear on their faces; others with narrowed eyes. It was to the latter she addressed her words.

Councillors, you look…concerned.

Concerned? More than that, Your Majesty, Uman uttered.

Julill looked to him, spearing him with her cold, green eyes. He had been a confidant of Ulrik’s and no doubt had deep suspicions about what had become of him. She smiled inwardly at the memory of Ulrik’s last moments but showed no hint of anything on her face.

Alliances with vampires? Uman threw up his hands and shook his head in disbelief. What madness is this and what gives you the right?

The right? Julill’s voice was ice. I am queen.

Who was crowned barely five minutes ago and already you are making announcements. Uman ignored the frantic eye signals of Gershaven. He was determined to say what he knew everyone else was thinking but was too scared to utter. No king or queen ever rules alone, Your Majesty, he pressed on. You have a council for a reason. We speak of such matters as alliances together. We talk through the idea. We discuss the pros and cons. We debate the wisdom of such things and then we take a vote. A monarch may override whatever results come of it but still the vote is taken. It is necessary. We do not simply jump in feet first without thinking. Any alliance affects this entire city, this entire country. It is not something to be undertaken lightly and especially not where vampires are concerned.

I understand your concerns, Councillor–

Do you?

The odd friendship between human and vampire is not unheard of but an alliance between entire groups is rare indeed, has perhaps never been done before, but it is something we need. This country has become too complacent. Do you have any idea of the dangers that surround us? If this country was attacked do you truly believe it could defend itself?

Who would possibly want to attack us? We have no enemies.

Julill glanced at Gershaven. The man tried to hold her gaze but could not. He dropped his eyes and stared at his boots, desperately willing her to look away. He knew Ulrik was dead. He felt it in his bones and had no desire to follow him into the Underworld.

You have more enemies than you know, Julill replied. Some you can see and others you can’t. You do not know what I do. You have lived all your life in this country, within these walls. You have been pampered and cosseted. You have never set foot beyond the forest, never seen what I have. I’ve been out there, in the world. Julill stood and loomed over them, her shadow stretching out across the tiled floor. I have seen dissatisfaction. I have seen jealousy and greed. I have seen those who have nothing looking towards those who have everything. I have seen men killed for the coins in their pockets and you stand here before me, in your ermine robes, with those gold rings on your fingers, with that scented perfume in your hair and you think you are safe? Julill barked a small laugh. Eyes have turned to you, my good councillors. Eyes have turned to Illanier and seen that we have much, much that they want.

The councillors glanced at each other. Was this woman merely rambling, attempting to justify her completely unacceptable decision or did she have a point?

She had been out in the world, sent away for thirty years to keep her safe from would-be assassins. She had seen things they had not; known dangers they could not guess at.

There are rumblings, gentlemen, Julill continued. All across this world there are rumblings. Men and women…even children who are dissatisfied with their lot in life are coming together. They complain to each other, they wish for different lives. The have-nots are looking at the haves and blaming them for their situations. We are the haves, gentlemen. We should be concerned. Oh, right now we are quite safe. The have-nots merely talk. They don’t act. They don’t yet know how to, but that will change. It only takes one, one individual to get these people organised, to inspire them, to lead them in a fight. And the have-nots will fight harder than us because they have nothing to lose. We need to be ready for that day. It is no use our waiting until the problem is on our doorstep demanding to be let in. We must begin preparing now. We must strengthen our army, cull all that is weak from our land and we must make alliances with those who are strong.

But vampires? Uman persisted. "If we need strong allies why not go to our neighbours, our human neighbours? Or if you desire the friendship of other tribes why not the elves or the shapeshifters? Why the soul-feeders? You must know how allying ourselves with them will look to the other tribes. It will upset the werewolves, the witches will wonder what you are up to, the elves, despite the actions of the Finleans, will cast a watchful eye over us and even our own people will think it sheer madness."

I don’t like that word, Councillor. Please don’t use it again in my presence.

Uman sighed softly and glanced at the others. Would none of them speak up? Why was Osrik just standing there? Why did Denmar not voice his concerns? He must have them. Not for nothing had he been called the king’s man. Uman did not care for him much but even he would admit that Paras Denmar was a clever man, gifted with a diplomatic mind and a subtle boldness. Where was that boldness now? Denmar had often questioned his king’s actions: why not the daughter’s? He could not be afraid of her. Paras Denmar was no coward: cautious maybe but never a coward.

But he just stood there, silent and watchful, giving nothing away.

Uman sighed again and looked at Julill. Gershaven might look away but he would not. He fixed his gaze, hoping to sway her by sheer force of will. Your Majesty. An alliance with the vampires is…unwise. They cannot be trusted. They are dangerous. He glanced at the red-eyed guards, feeling their thoughts on him if not their gazes. They would be the first to tell you that making friends with the other tribes is not something they’re known for. They would tell you that friendships with their own kin are hard enough to maintain. How can you guarantee they would not turn on us?

There are no guarantees in this life, Councillor, but they have pledged their allegiance to me and I give you my pledge that they will do exactly as I command.

Uman opened his mouth but Julill forestalled him with a raised hand.

If my pledge is not good enough for you then we have a problem. Do we have a problem, Councillor?

Uman glanced to the side. Each man was silent, clearly not about to back him up. None but Denmar would even meet his gaze.

Councillor, do we have a problem?

Uman dropped his eyes at last. No, he mumbled, thinking that they jolly well did and just as soon as it was possible he was going to do something about it.

Good, said Julill, reseating herself. Now that that’s sorted we can move forward. There are many things I wish to discuss. You will no doubt find much to complain about but I assure you that everything I’m going to do for this country is for its own good. Think of me as your mother. I may be hard and smack you when you do wrong but it is only because I love you. I am mother and mother always knows best. You will come to hate me at times but I promise you, – Julill flashed a brief, chilling smile – you will come to love me too.

----

They made camp at the base of the mountain in a small cave that offered them protection from the rising winds. Jareth built a small fire and they sat on opposite sides of it, gazing into the flames, heartened by the crack and snap of the wood.

I like a nice fire, Oluna commented. There’s something…promising about it.

Urm, Jareth muttered, firelight dancing in his green eyes as he moved closer to the warmth.

You know you don’t have to do this, the witch said, turning her gaze to him. I can go to Maranea alone. Or we can simply forget the whole thing and go far away where Julill’s name is not known. We need not be the ones to go against her.

Run away like cowards and let her spread her darkness like disease?

It would not be cowardice. There are others quite capable of defending this world against the likes of Julill. It doesn’t have to be your responsibility.

But it is. She is my mother. I have to be the one. I just have to.

He stood and moved to the back of the cave, where he lay down, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. He turned his face to the wall, signalling his desire to end the conversation, and a few minutes later he was asleep, dreams causing him to twitch and moan, and draw the cloak tighter still around him.

Oluna did not sleep. She sat silently watching over him; the only sound that of the fire.

Outside, a pair of ruby-red eyes stared unwaveringly at the cave’s entrance. From her angle, perched high in the branches of one of the very few trees to have made its home near the bottom of the mountain, Pearl could not see inside the cave but her acute sense of smell was all she needed to be sure her target was still there.

Her nostrils flared as she scented first the witch – an unusual odour (all witches smelled vaguely like the air after a lightning storm) – then the man.

She craned her neck, though she could smell him quite well, and took a deep, lingering breath, letting his scent fill her nose and spill down her throat.

She sighed softly. By the gods, he smelled so good!

She closed her eyes and turned her ear to the cave, sighing again as she listened to the steady thud, thud, thud of his powerfully beating heart. The beats were evenly spaced out and calm, indicating that he was sleeping. She wondered if he dreamed and if he did what of?

His heart quickened briefly and she caught the sound of a soft moan. He was dreaming but not pleasantly so. Her forehead crinkled and she reached out a hand, wishing she could go to him, touch him, soothe away whatever troubled him.

Then she bit her lip, knowing there was every chance that she was what troubled him. She had killed in front of him. In his defence but that would not erase the image from his thoughts. Humans could be so delicate at times and there was no telling what would affect their minds and what would not.

She slumped back on her perch and considered again the wisdom, or lack of it, of her choice to follow him.

She had left her clan to undertake this mission. For good? She was not certain. She had told them she had something important to do and that she would be back when it was done, but in her heart she was uncertain. She might see her people again but something told her she would never be rejoining their ranks.

She had chosen a human over them.

She had thought it a silly infatuation, a momentary flush of feeling for someone she could never possibly be with but then she had heard of the famous vampire, Mirialle.

The famous Mirialle had fought against the dark warlock, Aldar. A former blood-drinker, she had taken the sacred vow and lived for a time in the forests of Miya’Nazha – now a shrine of remembrance where those who had taken the vow went to remind themselves that even a vampire could not outrun death and evil. She had befriended elves and fought alongside a werewolf; sworn enemies of the vampire. And then the rumour started; a rumour that went unproved but not disproved.

Mirialle had married her human lover.

The news had sent shivers down Pearl’s spine.

The news that a vampire and a human had become joined was not unheard of. Did not the forbidden histories say that Drazneal had married a human female? Was there not talk of Carathers and his human mistress? But the former was history and could not be verified and the latter could have been simply scurrilous lies intended to blacken the former king’s memory.

Mirialle was not history. She was the present and possibly the future. She was even now travelling in the south, encouraging other clans to take the vow, and it was said her husband travelled with her.

Pearl had seen neither of them but the talk was very exciting and it had led her to think seriously about the possibilities.

If the famous Mirialle, child of one of the highest ranking clans, could marry her human lover why could she not follow suit?

Of course Jareth was not her lover. She was the woman who had saved his life, twice, but who knew how clearly he remembered each instance? And was that a good grounding for a relationship? Would he even go for a vampire; was she his type?

So many questions but to gain answers she would need to get closer to him, closer than she was now. Shadowing him was fine. She could learn much about him without revealing herself and possibly frightening him, or having to deal with the witch but, eventually, she would have to make herself known to him, to find out if there was any point in her pursuing him.

She sighed again and pulled her knees up to her chest. Resting her head on them she continued to stare at the cave until she felt the first rays of the sun starting to singe the hairs on the back of her neck.

Then in a flash she was gone. Leaping high in the air, she twisted and turned, like a diver and dove down into the earth, close to the base of the tree.

The soil was just settling over her feet when Oluna emerged from the cave, stretching and blinking as the sun rose up.

She gazed around, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Strange, she murmured.

What is? asked Jareth, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

For a moment I felt… Oluna shook her head and then shrugged. I don’t know. Nothing I guess. Well, if we’re well rested we best be getting a move on. I’d like to be over the mountain by nightfall. There are paths cut here for us to follow but they will be narrow. They were made for goats not horses. We’ll have to go carefully.

She looked up at the sky. It felt like it was going to be a mild day. With luck they would be over the mountain and at the far edge of Maranea by nightfall. And if they were exceptionally lucky they might just have enough light to reach the outer dwellings. A night in a barn would be preferable to another night outside.

She mounted up and once more led the way, wondering what the Maranean queen would be like.

CHAPTER THREE

Julill was wondering the same.

She sat on her seat, casting her eye about her throne-room and savouring what she saw.

The décor was a little too gilded in places; there was a bit too much ostentation but no matter. Decorations could be changed and would be just as soon as there was time to worry about such frivolities.

First there were more serious matters to contend with.

There was a list in Julill’s mind; a list she could never put down on paper for fear that certain nosy beaks would find it and use it as proof of her unsuitably as queen. It would not be long before her actions became clear but by then it would be too late for anyone to do anything about it.

She closed her eyes and pictured that list in her mind.

One, remove Senovar from the throne and replace with herself. Done.

Two, deal with Jenna and Kara in whatever manner was necessary. Jenna had been and as soon as Kara was found so she would be. Done and almost done.

Three, replace the palace guard with Narika’s vampires, only revealing their existence once the crown was firmly on her head. Done and very nicely so.

She doubted anyone truly believed that nonsense about them being their friends but she had to give them some hope that it was the case. Those who knew for sure that it was not so would be suitably frightened into saying and doing nothing.

Then there came the truly important aspects of her list. Numbers one to three had been easy. The other numbers would not be so.

Four would be difficult to achieve but not impossible while Helesa still stood at her side. Four involved turning Illanier from a patriarchal to a matriarchal society. Helesa advised a slow plan of action, gradually allowing women to rise up through the ranks in such an inoffensive manner that the men would not be unduly alarmed. Julill dismissed her words. She had no intention of dragging that part of her schemes out. She wore the crown. That gave her the right and the power to do as she wished. Otherwise what was the point in being queen?

There would be no gradual creeping around in the shadows, making plots that would take centuries to implement. Julill had snuck around for long enough. Now was the time for action. Now was the time for change.

The men are not just going to sit back and let such a vast change happen, Helesa protested.

You think I don’t know that? Julill replied. "Men wouldn’t recognise or accept a change for the better if it leapt up and punched them in their arrogant fat faces. But I am not so naïve as to believe they will yield to me simply because I am their queen. A queen whose ideas they don’t care for soon finds herself to be a dead queen. That’s why I brought the vampires here. They will see to it that I don’t suffer any unfortunate accidents and they will deal with any and all who refuse to see things my way."

The vampires are strong but not large in numbers. They cannot hope to police your entire city let alone this whole country.

No. Julill smiled. That is why I have you, dear Helesa. That’s why I have you and your clever little spells and your delicious potions. You will perform the de-souling.

Helesa blanched. That was a very powerful spell, completely irreversible and if she were to perform it she would be brought to the Council’s notice almost immediately. Was Julill seriously suggesting she use it on a citywide scale, perhaps casting it over the entire country? Such a thing might cause the Council to abandon their non-interference rule and Helesa had no desire to feel their collective wrath.

Witches did not punish their own kind often – there was not much need to (there were fewer dark-seeds than there were good witches) – but when they did their punishments were severe indeed. Old Aggy and Senephra had both felt the Council’s wrath but they had been quite fortunate in that they had been allowed to live after having their powers ripped from them. There was a group who had favoured a more extreme action; the Order of Moonlight.

Helesa shuddered at the thought of them.

There were twelve witches, spread across the land, who had revealed a special talent for knowing when a witch had gone bad. They could sense the moment when a witch’s actions turned from simple mischievousness to downright wickedness. They had the ability to track such a witch, chasing them through time and across worlds – their single-minded determination frightening to behold – and once such a witch was caught the order showed no mercy.

They were assassins; witches who killed other witches – a necessary but deadly group of people. They were recognised by two things – the dagger they carried (a weapon dipped in every poison imaginable and strengthened by every destructive spell known) and their eyes.

Each member of the order was a witch of stern resolve, a person who could never be swayed, bribed, coerced or threatened. Their minds were impenetrable and they had but one rule – a truly evil witch must die. There was to be no forgiveness, no mercy, no time awarded for explanations. A truly evil witch left to roam freely was a danger to all life and for the good of all had to be eliminated.

The Council believed it was enough to catch these dark-seeds and remove their powers. A witch without power was a pathetic creature indeed and what trouble could he or she cause then?

The Order of Moonlight did not agree.

Old Aggy was a case in point. Not the darkest of dark-seeds (that honour had gone to Senephra) but evil enough in their minds that she should have been destroyed. Her magic had been removed as punishment for her crimes but as the order had repeated several times (their words falling on deaf ears, they complained) Old Aggy may have been stripped of her true magic but it was only one of the four known magics (true magic, inherited magic, borrowed and stolen magic) and Aggy was a resourceful old woman. She knew just as much about borrowed and stolen magic as she did the true kind, and she was out there in the world still working her evil.

But she was not so big a threat anymore, the Council had argued.

The order had argued in vain that Aggy might no longer been in the same league as Senephra but she was still a danger. Evil did not have to wield a big fist to be of concern. A blow from a small hand could be just as devastating if targeted to the right spot. And Aggy had been a favourite of the Destroyer and clearly still held some favour in his eyes because even now he kept her safe, kept her just out of the order’s reach.

Helesa shuddered again.

The order would have killed both Senephra and Aggy had the Council not enlisted the aid of the Assembly in keeping them alive. Witches were loath to kill their own kind, even those labelled dark-seed. Tirandall himself (the first witch and considered the wisest) had defended his wife. Having condemned her to be labelled dark-seed he had nevertheless argued for mercy when it came to her punishment.

There had been quite a scene at her trial. Tirandall on one side of the room calmly asking for his wife to be stripped of her powers and imprisoned for the rest of her life (which could be quite a while for a witch) but not killed; and on the other side, the representative of the order, furiously demanding her total eradication.

Had the Assembly not intervened they would have got their way.

As it was the vote went Tirandall’s way and from that day forth the order set themselves apart from their brethren. The order now walked under their own steam, answering to no one, beholden to neither the Council nor the Assembly.

It had been millennia since one of their kind had been seen. Though if they had been would anyone know it? Unless they revealed their daggers, which they wore hidden beneath their robes, or a person got close enough to them to take a good long look into their cold, unforgiving eyes who would know if they had passed by? Though some said that if a member of the order had passed you by you would know it by the shiver that went down your back.

Helesa shivered at the thought of them. The Council’s punishment would be harsh enough. A witch without power was nothing, but at least they would be alive and like Aggy discover there were other magics to be used. Using borrowed or stolen magic was like eating bread and water when one had been used to lobster and the finest of wines but it was better than nothing.

Death was far more frightening a punishment than to be stripped of one’s magic. For most who died death was never truly the end. There was plenty of afterlife to go around, but for a witch it was very different. There was no afterlife waiting for them, no Celestial Palace beckoning them home, not even the promise of the Underworld. Death for a witch was final; a complete and utter end to all things. At the moment of death the life-force of a witch – the soul if you like – went into the Earth, replenishing it. It was the bargain struck when the first witch descended to the Earth. Their lives had begun in the Celestial Palace but when they left that place there was no going back. Their lives would continue indefinitely on Earth until the day they chose to die and when that day came their flesh would simply fade away and their soul descend further into the planet, becoming food for the trees, the seas, the mountains and the meadows.

A fair bargain perhaps.

Each time a witch cast a spell he or she was using some of the Earth’s power to do so. It was only fair they gave some back. Death enabled them to do this, but Helesa was a relatively young witch with no desire to pop off anytime soon.

Julill’s request (hah! demand, Helesa corrected) meant drawing more attention to herself than she was comfortable with but could she refuse her?

Helesa was a witch; Julill a mere mortal but there was something about the redhead that gave Helesa cause for concern. Julill was at the centre of a web of destiny that had been woven over a great deal of time. Helesa did not think it likely she could just say no, I won’t do it and walk away. No mortal could hurt a witch but there was just enough doubt in Helesa’s heart for her not to chance it.

She agreed to Julill’s request and hurried away before she made anymore, leaving Julill to sit alone in her throne-room savouring her return to Illanier.

Julill opened her eyes and glanced at the door through which Helesa had scurried.

She would set to work on that de-souling spell and while she did so Julill would look to the rest of her list and next upon it was the making of alliances.

She had Narika’s clan on her side but others would be useful. She also wanted werewolves, possibly trolls and of course as many of her own people as she could get.

The Halaparans and the Maraneans were her closest physical neighbours. She would start with them. The Maraneans ought to be easy. She had given them Jargo. Their gratitude would ensure her an audience with their queen. And Farina was just a girl. She would surely welcome help in hanging on to her throne and an alliance with Julill would give her extra strength should she need it to deal with her increasingly frustrated brother.

The Halaparans ought to be similarly grateful to the woman who had ensured that the murderer of Governor Wayalin had been brought to justice.

Julill smiled inwardly. There would be no problems with those two and once she had them she would move out, one by one gobbling up every human settlement. Queen Julill, ruler of Illanier, ruler of Maranea, ruler of Halapar and Lerandil…the list went on. So many territories to be had and all of them just begging to be drawn in by her strong hand.

An unseen hand on her shoulder told her that her faithful shadow was pleased too.

She shrugged it off. I do these things for me not you. Remember that. I am in charge here. I am queen.

As you say, Your Majesty, a voice murmured in her ear. But remember that I have assisted you in certain matters and it is only fair that at some point in time you will assist me. We can be very useful to each other. You give me what I need and I will share with you what I know, tell you of the things I’ve seen, warn you of the dangers you face.

All things Mistress Helesa can do.

Ah, but does that little witch tell you all? The cold breath against her ear told her the shadow had moved closer. I know her secret, the voice uttered, so softly she barely caught the words.

What secret?

A chuckle sounded out. I may tell you in time, the voice murmured. When it is more to my benefit. For now the little witch’s secret is of no concern or consequence. Turn your thoughts away from it and to matters that are of consequence – such as your son.

My son?

The one who was second but whom you now call first.

Jareth? What of him?

He is a danger to you. Surely you realise that?

He will not rise against me.

Don’t be so sure. He may lack courage at the moment but in time that old witch Oluna will instil it in him.

If and when that day comes I will deal with him.

Perhaps I should–

No! Julill’s head swivelled and she fixed her eyes on the spot where she assumed the shadow’s face to be. Listen well: ghost, spirit, demon…whatever the hell you are. My son is not your concern. He is mine. I will deal with him in my own good time and in my own way. If you so much as breathe on him I will have Mistress Helesa cast as many spells as are necessary to send you back to whatever hell you came from. Is that clear?

There was a long moment of silence and then…

As you say, Your Majesty. Forgive me. I only thought to take from you what may prove to be an onerous burden.

Julill faced the front again, her eyes shining in the gloom. Jareth is my concern, she muttered. I will deal with him if and when the time comes. If he has to die it will be by my hand and no one else’s. No one else’s.

As you say, Your Majesty, the voice repeated. As you say.

----

Their journey over the mountain was surprisingly easy. The goat-tracks made thousands of years ago by the early Maranean farmers had been widened quite considerably – perhaps to accommodate horses and larger cattle, Oluna mused – and once over the mountain they galloped across acres of what had been once been bright oceans of golden corn.

The fields had been ravaged, partly by the fire Jargo had set on his invasion of the city and partly by the short amount of time the Sphere of Earth had been absent from its place above Orteya’s throne. Without its nurturing power Maranea’s fields had begun to die, fruit on its trees had turned rotten and the waters had become foul.

The sphere was now back in its rightful place and its influence was once more spreading out over everything but it would take some time for the land to return completely to its former glory.

Jareth’s jaw clenched and began to ache as he cast a look over his surroundings. Jargo had done this, he thought bitterly. Jargo: burning, stealing, killing and all in such a short space of time. Dashing into Maranea, taking what he wanted and then dashing out again with no thought as to what his actions might lead to.

He growled softly. How was it he and Jargo had been born of the same mother?

He cut that line of thought off immediately. What Jargo had done was easily something Julill might do in the future. She was hungry for power just as his brother had been, and both would do whatever they felt necessary to get it. And if they were both capable of such evil what did that say about him? He shared their blood. He had Julill’s face!

I shouldn’t be here, he muttered.

Oluna glanced back at him.

They had slowed their horses to a trot and up ahead the first ring