True Colors

By Constance L. Lubbert

Clighton and his sister Sheigh have been the king and queen of Red since the murder of their parents many years ago. They have always been happy, but that happiness and the future of their kingdom are now in jeopardy. Strange soldiers of doubtful Color have begun infiltrating their homeland.

Sheigh loves the Red and her brother, but perhaps she loves the young prince of Orange more. Clighton knows he must remain true to his Colors, but is haunted by the image of the Blue.

Both of them know that they must find the origin of the strange new Color that threatens their security, their happiness, and their future. Who is this enemy? What does he want? And what are his True Colors?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 28, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469720807

Constance L. Lubbert

Constance L. Lubbert has taught English, reading, and related subjects for 23 years. After graduating from Augustana College in Sioux Falls, SD with a degree in English, she and her husband moved to Waterloo, Iowa, where they live with their two daughters and the cat.

Book preview

PART ONE:

Red

CHAPTER ONE

The early evening sun blazed Crimson in the western sky. Sparsely scattered clumps of trees seemed to reach up and grab the Ruddy glow, flinging out long, deep shadows eastward to the dim Red horizon. The shadows fell on sunset grain, now almost blood-Colored in the fading light. The darkening Colors spread the news of the closing of day, and the Crimson leaves of Red maples reached like brushes into the sky to infect the air with long, thin streaks of Color. The light was reflected for miles, and pools of Rose-Colored flame showed her lakes even a day’s ride beyond the castle she sat looking from.

Sheigh looked out of the window, over the parapet, to a magnificent view of the north of the kingdom. To the south, behind her, she knew that she would see a vision much the same, extending miles and miles until the land met with the Great Sea. Across the wall to the north, past the outskirts of the city, she could see field after field of patchwork squares, as far as she looked. They were interrupted only by the blazing shadows of scattered trees and hedges. The quilt covered the land in every direction, proving to her watchful eye that the kingdom was, indeed, prosperous and prospering.

She should be happy; she was not.

Worry wrinkled her lightly Tanned brow, and her usually flashing eyes looked dark and clouded. Her Blonde hair, now darker than its childhood White, was swept up and enclosed in a small, close-fitting cap. She was dressed for riding.

She had come to this room, in one of the highest towers, to look for a sign of her brother, out there somewhere in the fading day. He had been gone since before daybreak, and while that was not out of character for Clighton, it was out of character for him not to send word of some kind, even if only to delay dinner. And, although her view from the window had revealed much about the kingdom, it revealed little about Clighton’s whereabouts: No troops of riders returning from the hunt; no triumphant revelers; not even any empty-handed, shame-faced stragglers.

In short, she did not see her brother or any of his men, and she was worried.

She would go find him.

*                   *                   *

She walked carefully down the back staircase once outside the room. No one in the castle would stop her, but Alcon could make her feel guilty enough about leaving to make her change her mind. The only person who could order her to stay would be the brother she was going to look for. They were equals, in spite of his birthright as the elder, and were almost always in harmony. Clighton was older by a year, but being so close in age made them seem more like twins.

Sheigh almost felt a stab of guilt as she reached the bottom of the staircase. She stopped for a moment, undecided about the easiest way out. She chose to go through the formal hall, even though the way was longer, because nobody ever went there except on occasions of state and because Alcon wouldn’t expect her to be there.

She got to the room without meeting anyone, and when she shut the door behind her and found herself truly alone, she closed her eyes and let out a breath of relief. Then she opened her eyes and almost ran through the room.

At the opposite door, she stopped again. This time, she would have to be more careful; getting outside the castle would be harder than running down the back stairs. A prayer, a deep breath, and then she eased the door open and slipped through the crack and into the dark corridor.

She figured that if she stayed to the wall, she’d be less conspicuous, even though no one else was there. It was her own guilt that caused her caution, and it angered her to have to feel guilty, sneaking around like this out of fear of the old man. She knew she probably looked ridiculous, too. Still, she stayed to the wall, even crouched a little as she walked, and was grateful to reach the grand hall unnoticed.

Now, however, she had to stop. There were people here. She could step into their midst, walk out the main entrance, even have her horse brought to the gate.

But she wouldn’t. The thought of Alcon finding out she was leaving stopped her at the edge of the room, and when she heard the sentry’s footsteps by the main door, she jumped behind a Scarlet curtain into a niche.

Stop to think, she told herself. She backed carefully, tiptoeing comically in her caution, back to the side corridor, crept to the first chamber, and peeked in.

Empty.

She slunk into the room, around a table, and to the window. She looked out, and heard the gong summoning dinner behind her. The courtyard emptied gradually. Sheigh seized her chance and climbed awkwardly out the window, dropping a short six feet to the ground. She hit hard but did not fall, looked around once, and scurried to the back of the stable. The horses were in for the night, as were the keepers, and she hoped the stable boy was busy playing with the dog, as he usually was. She entered her private stall through the back entrance, saddled quickly, and streaked out of the gate. The huge wooden doors were still open, in spite of the lateness of the day, for they were seldom shut until the sun actually set. So much the better, for then she didn’t need to summon the keeper. No use letting Alcon catch her now…

She didn’t want him to worry, she told herself. He would have given her a lecture about leaving when Clighton was gone. She could see him now, in her mind; she could almost hear him. His gentle, deep voice had a soothing quality that could be infuriating when he chastised her for her sometimes rash behavior.

It is foolish, what you are doing, his voice said. And she knew it, and she did it anyway, and she was aggravated that he was right.

In her mind, his White hair and beard framed his face, and his Gray eyes looked into her and made her feel ashamed, and he said what he always said to her when he was disappointed in her.

Remember, Sheigh. No matter what your heart tell you to do, your mind must tell you this: It is not up to you to decide for yourself. You must decide for Red. You must remember, Sheigh, that you are queen.

*                   *                   *

She was relieved to ride free of the village without really meeting him, and as she passed the last house in the settlement she realized that she had been holding her muscles tense, anxious at the scolding she had imagined. She marveled at the power the old man had over her, even in his absence. She relaxed slightly then, and rode smoothly.

She was a good rider. As good as a man, Clighton would say—as if that was a standard to aspire to. Even the thought of such a comparison irked her. She only put up with it because she knew he was not serious. She would not tolerate such derision in others. Her ability to ride well made perfect sense, considering the circumstances.

Again her mind saw Alcon, who had been responsible for her training. Riding was something she and her brother had been trained to do together, one of the countless things Alcon was forced to teach them both because they had at first refused to be separated by anything. She remembered how Alcon had tried to convince her to stay in the staterooms and be schooled in what he called social graces. She remembered, too, how indignant he had looked when he had to come out to the practice field to find her, sword in hand, filthy, bruised, and happy.

Later, he saw the sense in it. Or maybe he just gave up against their combined will. Whatever it was, she found Alcon teaching her defense skills and weaponry, and she and Clighton became pupils of warfare as much as they were pupils of history, government, and etiquette.

*                   *                   *

Coming back to herself now, Sheigh deliberately followed the road north, thinking of Alcon and thinking of the land behind the Ridge, which she could see only as a slightly darker shadow above the deep Crimson of the distant fields. She knew very little about these mountains, and even less of what lay beyond. She had heard the legends, like any other child in the Red, but how much was true and how much was exaggeration she could not guess. For countless generations no subject of the Red had crossed that line of mountains, just as no Blue citizen had been seen south of them, in her land.

After the Great Wars, which she had heard of in legend as a child, the law had been for the Red to stay in their southern land, below the Ridge, and the Blue to keep to the north—

If they really exist, she told herself. They no longer fought, certainly. The division was so complete that the Red citizens almost never thought about the Blue any more, except with tales and legends of the Great Wars. Sheigh knew that all of the tales were old enough to be myths, and almost no one she knew really believed everything they had heard about the Blue. There was certainly no such Color. If there were people living on the other side, of the Ridge, well, that was none of her affair—as long as they stayed on their side of the Ridge.

Still, something in her mind told her that she would be foolish to completely disregard the stories. Something told her that she needed to remember the lessons learned by other rulers in legends of long ago.

Recently, something or someone was about in the land. That was why Clighton had taken a party out—hunting, he said, but they would also see if there was any truth to the rumor that unknown agents of doubtful Color had been noticed in the foothills.

Sheigh rode easily to the north, because she knew that was the direction Clighton had taken. Once, she turned and looked behind her, but she had left the castle behind long ago. She met few people, but saw an occasional late worker in the field, his Red cap and work shirt exactly matching the tunic she wore under her riding cloak.

The sun was even lower now, its Rosy glow changed to a few streaks of brilliant Pink across the west, to her left. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, she thought to herself, and felt reassured that this meant fair weather for her in her search. It also meant good luck for her and her brother, for in this land of Red, a Red sky was doubly lucky. She sat up straighter in her saddle, confident that she would find Clighton soon. She took care, however, not to look behind her, where she knew the darkening landscape could cast a gloom over the fields, and creep to mingle with lengthening shadows in an effort to overtake her and her new-found confidence.

On an impulse, she turned her horse and faced the Red sky in the west, and rode slowly until the sky melted to Black. A bright moon was out, and she could see her way vaguely. As she rode, however, she began to notice subtle changes. The land was still marked out in squares of crops, but in the dark the patchwork wasn’t obvious, as it had been from her window. The most noticeable change, however, was in the people she could see in their homes now. The Red of their clothing no longer matched hers. The further west she traveled, the more Orange she would see. The cottages she passed had blazing Red-Orange fires in the fireplaces, and the few peasants she could see through slightly Orange squares of window were clad in matching hues, no longer as truly Red as she. She sat straighter in the saddle, proud of her own bright tunic, of the brilliant Red that marked her true Colors.

CHAPTER TWO

There is no treachery here, she thought to herself. No one hides his true Colors under false clothing. She checked her thought later, as she drew on her cloak, very Black over the bright Red of her silk tunic.

Some hide their true Colors out of necessity, some out of treachery, and some out of carelessness, she rebuked herself, suddenly glad she had thought to wear her Red cap. She felt less deceptive then; she wanted no one to think she was false to her Colors. She might need an ally on this journey. She was nearing the region of the Orange, which was governed by its own king and owed no loyalty to either the Red or Yellow that bordered it. She knew the Colors were close enough for her to find help nearby if she needed it, even though she knew no Orange subjects personally.

It was long past very dark, too late for her to turn back to her own castle yet that night. She still had the Orange moon to guide her, but she was no longer certain about finding her brother in the dark. She remembered Alcon guiltily, and realized that by this time he would have discovered them both gone. Well, she was already traveling west. Here in the northern part of her kingdom, it was just a short way to Edland’s castle, in the Yellow. She could camp tonight and start for there in the morning, sending word to Alcon with a messenger before she left. That way she wouldn’t have to face Alcon for a few days.

Remember, Sheigh, the old man would tell her. Well, she remembered, all right. Reluctantly, she started to turn her horse around. I can find a house to stay in for the evening, she said aloud. And maybe even find someone to take a message to Alcon. As she listened to the silence her words left in the air, she heard a low sound coming from the north. She was not near any village—did not even see light from a farmhouse window. She could definitely make out voices, shouting even, but she was too far away to distinguish any words. She reined in her horse, sat perfectly still, and listened.

She knew the sound of trouble. She had heard this before. Horses, she could make out, and men shouting, and clashing swords.

Quickly, she steered north, into the sound. Off the road, into a field, at full gallop, she plunged headlong into the darkness for a quarter mile, vaguely aware all the time that she was now heading into the danger. She was forced to slow down when she neared a dark shadow she knew to be the edge of a forest.

More cautious now, she entered slowly, for the shouts were closer and she couldn’t risk being seen until she knew what was going on. She moved from tree to tree until she was within a hundred feet of the skirmish. Then she dismounted, left her horse where he was, and proceeded on foot.

They were in a small clearing. There was enough of a moon for her to see how outnumbered the horsemen were, but since they were mounted, they still held the advantage. In the darkness she could distinguish no Colors. The more numerous foot soldiers seemed to be dressed in dark cloaks. They surrounded the riders and attacked the horses, trying to wound them into giving up their riders. Swords and knives flashed; horses screamed; horses began to fall.

A voice she recognized called loudly to the men behind him. Sheigh riveted her attention on the lead rider and recognized Clighton by the command in his bearing. Born a leader, he assumed a natural soldier’s posture. He held it more assuredly now, as his horse was attacked by one of the dark-clad footmen.

Coward! he yelled. Leave the beast! Have at the man! With that, he leaped from his mount, sword drawn, and attacked the soldier.

Sheigh knew she must do something. Her brother was on foot now. He was a skilled fighter, but how could he stand against so many enemies at once? She ran back to her horse, jumped into the saddle, and rode full speed into the battle.

She heard a strange, high-pitched cry, and realized it was her own as she entered the ranks from the rear. It made the attackers pause momentarily. Clighton seized the opportunity she had given him. He leaped back onto his horse and galloped for the woods, knocking down two men as he rode. Once in the cover of the trees, he turned his horse, and then rode back into the melee, changing his position enough to meet his attackers sideways. He swiped through the mob with his sword as he rode, and a man fell.

Sheigh caught on to his tactic quickly, and rode straight through the throng, sword unsheathed, cutting through the crowd with long, deep swaths. She wounded two of them, she was sure, but did not take time to stop and finish them. Like her brother, she sped through the battle, reached the forest, turned, and reentered the fight at a slightly different angle.

The attackers were momentarily confused, but not defeated. Deploy! a man yelled. Immediately, the men spread out, covering the entire clearing. No more riding through and turning; men were already filtering out into the forest on all sides.

Sheigh felt a sudden apprehension, turned to seek out Clighton. He too seemed at a loss. For a moment, they were silent. Then the enemy, with a savage yell that made Sheigh shudder in her saddle, again attacked the riders to surround them. They were being herded together like cattle.

A fraction of a moment later, Sheigh heard a thundering sound of hooves from the northern edge of the forest, and a score of dark-cloaked riders appeared in the clearing. Sheigh’s last hope vanished. If the footmen had been able to gain such an advantage, how could they hope to win against these skilled horsemen? She began to raise her sword in the air, ready to give what she was sure would be her final war cry, when her voice was arrested by the surprise she felt in what she saw.

The dark riders were attacking the enemy.

They assaulted with such intensity that the men on foot no longer tried to fight. They did not immediately flee, however. In one sweep, they cleared the field of every fallen comrade, leaving not a sword or item of clothing behind. They disappeared into the woods so completely that Sheigh could see absolutely no trace to show that they had ever been there, taking with them their dead, their wounded, and every clue to their identity.

*                   *                   *

Clighton and Sheigh had no time for a joyful reunion. They turned to thank their unknown saviors, looking up to see the strangers in a Black line of suspicion. They were no friends, after all, and the two quickly gathered Clighton’s party of seven men behind them, ready for another onslaught. The enemy did not advance, however. The two groups faced each other silently, and an ominous tension filled the air.

We thank you for your valiant rescue, Clighton finally ventured.

No rescue was intended, I assure you, returned a large, dark man. Had those villains not been our enemies, we would have been pleased to see you die for them. As it is, prepare now to meet your fate at the hands of your betters!

He held up his arm, ready to give his soldiers the sign to advance, when a barely perceptible motion from a rider to his right stopped him. He inclined his head as in deference to one of higher rank, but even in the darkness Sheigh could almost make out the scowl she was sure shadowed his face. His arm stayed up for a moment more, then relaxed and fell to his side.

You are fortunate that I ride with my master tonight, he resumed, finally. It is my inclination to remove scum like you and clean up some of the pollution that taints this land. As it is, however, I must defer to my master’s more refined tastes. I will content myself that I have not defiled the air with the stench of your rotting corpses. With that, he ordered his troops to retreat into the forest.

The army was gone, but in the place where they had stood, a solitary rider remained. It was the one who had given them their stay of execution, a slender, regal-looking figure with a Black cloak pulled close around his face.

Clighton and the rider stared in each other’s direction for a long while, neither one moving. There was no tension in the air now, just a kind of simple curiosity.

I thank you again, for again, it seems, you have saved my life, Clighton said. When there was no reply, Sheigh rode to her brother’s side and touched his arm. It seemed to break a spell. He turned to look into her eyes gratefully. When they looked back in the direction of their new adversary, he was gone.

*                   *                   *

Clighton was as happy to see Sheigh as she was to find him. They embraced warmly. No words were necessary to show how they felt about their close scrape. After checking for injuries, which seemed to be superficial in spite of the merciless attack on the horses, they were faced with the decision about what to do next.

I’m tired, Clighton said, but I don’t think stopping here tonight would be wise. There are many enemies about.

Two too many, Sheigh replied. I think that we should leave. Now.

Once she had remounted, however, Clighton stopped her.

I have been thinking, he said.

What?

It may be dangerous to return east to the true Red yet tonight.

Sheigh waited, and glanced a question at him. What do you mean, dangerous? she asked.

The enemy on foot—the one we were fighting when you joined us—came from the east. I think they may have gone back that way and await us in ambush.

Clighton spoke in the formal language he used only when he was very serious. Sheigh grew concerned, half afraid that her brother was afraid.

Edland’s stronghold is to the west, she reminded him. It can’t be more than a few days’ ride, as far north as we are.

He smiled a weary smile, and nodded. Yes. Edland. He will provide rest.

And wine.

And stables.

And wine.

And perhaps news of the dark enemy.

And perhaps wine, she smiled, and her brother laughed softly.

They vitally needed information now. The strangers on foot who had attacked the horsemen were one enemy. Who were their reluctant rescuers, then? Surely not friends. That army had been as eager to fight them as the others were. But they obviously were not in league with the footmen, either. Their general had said they were enemies. Sheigh realized that the threat to her own kingdom might now be doubled, and only information about both enemies could protect them. They might be able to find that in the Yellow. If not, the trip would not be wasted. She would see Edland again, and rest, and sample his wine.

CHAPTER THREE

As they rode, Clighton told her his story. He and his men had gone to investigate the rumors of strangers from the north, he said, and soon found them to be true. Many farmers had seen men in dark cloaks, especially in the foothills near the Ridge. The most sinister thing about them was the ambiguity of their Colors. Their cloaks appeared to be Black, but some who had seen them up close said that they were not the true Black, but a very dark shade of some very different Color. Others said they were definitely Black. Now that they knew there were two enemies, this made more sense, although it did nothing to clarify the Colors. Sheigh said nothing, but was haunted by the memory of the old Blue legends, which included Black cloaks.

And my own cloak is Black, she thought to herself. Does that prove anything?

These dark-cloaked travelers never seemed to speak to anyone, never asked questions. They were almost never seen in towns or villages—only in the countryside or crossing the fields. Sometimes they would stop and rest, but mostly they just traveled.

And not in any particular direction, as far as anyone can figure out, he continued.

That’s not entirely true, said a voice behind him. Sheigh started. She was so wrapped up in her conversation with her brother that she had forgotten that he had other riders with him. This one appeared different, riding up to his king without bowing, and addressing him as an equal. Neither she nor Clighton really cared about the fawning and bowing that too often accompanied being addressed by a subject, but she had gotten used to it. Boldness like this unsettled her. Then, too, she knew Clighton’s riders: all of them. She would not trust her brother’s welfare to someone she did not trust herself, but she did not know this man.

The stranger pulled up next to them, and his obviously well trained horse fell into stride. There seems to be a general trend to the south, although they cross paths east to west, too. While you two have been talking, I have taken the time to think about the map we tried to make earlier. Although he said, You two, Sheigh realized he was talking entirely to Clighton, and felt slighted. The man evidently took no notice, for he continued. Some travelers go east, some west, some southeast, some north and then southwest. But they all come from the north, and they all go to the south.

It was too much for Sheigh. What conclusion should we come to? Isn’t there only one obvious answer? The dark cloaks, the Black cloaks, the strangers coming from the north, the general trend to the south? Why don’t we just admit it? Our ancient rivalries with the Blue seem to have resurfaced.

Both men turned toward her, but she was not sure what to read in their expressions. There was a silence heavy with apprehension. Neither of the men seemed to want to admit that they agreed with Sheigh; such an idea was unbelievable. Yet she knew that Clighton had been raised on the legends. She couldn’t understand why they held their silence.

Do you realize what you’re saying? the unknown rider finally asked. You’re asking us to believe in a fairy tale. No one even knows what Blue is. We were told tales in our cradles, and threatened with the wrath of the Blue when we misbehaved as toddlers, but after the age of eight or nine it became clear to anyone with any sense at all that there was no Blue. The Color simply does not exist.

Sheigh felt her anger growing, but held herself in check. "As queen of my kingdom, I do not deem it wise to discuss matters of state with one to whom I have not yet been introduced. Nor do I tolerate disrespect from anyone with any sense at all, unless the present company finds himself excluded from that category." With that, she reined in her horse, waited, and dropped back to the rear of the small group,