Then, when the young commander thought things couldn’t get worse, a strong wind began to blow from the north. It should have been a good sign-having the wind at their backs-but the wind blew the dust tramped up by the troops pursuing them into Wilam’s face. It billowed out like a dirty, brown fog that obstructed his view. The wind blew for three hours before arrows fell from the pursing force. They struck with no warning, landing all around the rear of the retreating column. Two hit Wilam’s horse and he was thrown when the animal reared in pain. He fell hard on the unforgiving ground, his head whipping back and hitting so hard he was knocked unconscious.
When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. He was in a tent, the wind making the canvas structure flutter loudly. Nearby was a man Wilam took for a healer. He wasn’t in armor or a uniform of any type. Of course, that could have been because he was sleeping, but the man slept in a camp chair, slumped over uncomfortably, and Wilam could feel the bandage wrapped around his aching head. He tried to remember what had happened, but the last few moments before he lost consciousness were lost.
His mouth was so dry his tongue felt twice its normal size. His eyes seemed full of grit, and as he raised his hands to rub his eyes, his arms felt heavy.
He groaned and the healer woke up. The man uncovered a lamp, casting light all around the tent and hurting Wilam’s eyes further. He squinted in the sudden light.
“You’re awake,” the man said in surprise. “That’s good.”
“Water,” Prince Wilam said, his voice croaking.
“Yes, of course. Here you are.”
The man slid his hand gently behind Wilam’s neck and lifted the prince’s head slightly before dribbling water from a long handled dipper into his mouth. Wilam felt like a helpless child, but the water was cool and sweet. He slurped at it greedily. After several moments, he lay back. He felt better after his drink, and truth be told he wanted more, but he was too tired. His gritty eyes burned with fatigue.
“How long was I out?” he asked.
“Just a few hours,” the man said. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. Stay awake, the king will want to question you.”
“Question me about what?” Wilam asked, and then as if a dam had burst in his mind, the memories came flooding back. The healer didn’t bother to answer, but hurried from the tent. Wilam lay in shock as he realized what he had done. He remembered going to Lodenhime with Mansel and Quinn. They had been returning to Yelsia, but the witch had cast her spell. He remembered building her army, remembered killing her steward in the Castle on the Sea. He recalled sacking the Grand City and killing innocent people who were trying desperately to flee their homes. He recalled his confrontation with King Oveer and how he’d slain the sovereign ruler of another kingdom.
Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered what he had done. Shame, as bitter as bile in his mouth, settled in his heart. He wished for death and felt around him for a weapon or instrument with to end his life, but there was nothing but blankets and bandages.
Then the tent opened again and three men entered. One was the healer who had given Wilam the water, the next was a man the prince didn’t recognize, and the third was King Zorlan. He no longer looked as pampered and disinterested as he had in the Grand City when he had arrived for the Council of Kings. Now he looked stern and focused. It was a look Wilam had seen often enough from his father-a look he had tried to imitate many times.
“See, he’s awake,” the healer said.
“Good,” King Zorlan said. “Prince Wilam. My how the tables have turned. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Wilam just stared silently at the king. He didn’t know if he should tell them what he knew or not. His loyalty was divided. His first duty was to Yelsia and his people, although the witch’s spell had made him somehow forget that duty. Before him was one of the kings who had invaded Wilam’s homeland, causing untold damage to Wilam’s people and their homes. For that alone Wilam wanted to resist aiding King Zorlan in any way. On the other hand, he knew that Gwendolyn was dangerous. He didn’t want to see the Grand City destroyed in a useless war, but he didn’t see how that could be avoided. The men left in the city had specific orders and there was no way to break the witch’s spell. Wilam had no idea how he’d managed to break her influence now.
“How noble,” said King Zorlan. “You don’t want to talk. That’s just what I expected. Unlike our brothers, I knew you would be a good king-perhaps not wise, but noble at least. You have that stubborn character that most kings have, the kind that won’t allow you to change. And you shouldn’t feel bad that I defeated your army in battle. Our cavalry are unstoppable.”
“It wasn’t my army,” Wilam said, his throat still so dry his voice was a ragged whisper. “The witch had us all under some type of spell.”
“How convenient for you,” said King Zorlan. “And quiet political too. Passing the blame is a crucial part of good leadership. Tell me more about this witch of yours?”
“You can’t get close to her,” Wilam said. “You have to surround the city and cut off their supplies. It’s the only way to beat her.”
“You see, that’s your problem. You rely too much on traditional tactics. That’s how I knew how to beat you on the field of battle. I could see your plan the moment my scouts reported your position. Perhaps in Yelsia you could have found a place to make a stand, but out here, in the wide-open plains, your tactics were antiquated. Flanking you was a little too easy, and after my troops had been given plenty of time to rest, pursuing you immediately was not difficult either. Now you advise me to lay siege to the city, but you see you’ve already given me the information I needed. This witch of yours is the key, can’t you see that? We don’t need to lay siege to the city. No, that would take months and put thousands of lives at risk. What we need is a little more information about this witch, so that we can kill her. Then, her spell will be broken. I’ll send King Oveer back home with a slap on the wrist and Osla will be absorbed into Falxis.”
“I knew that was your plan,” Wilam said in disgust. “You have no honor. You are breaking the treaty-”
“No, King Oveer and King Belphan broke the treaty when they pushed for war on Yelsia. I just knew how to turn those events to my advantage.”
“You were driven out of Yelsia.”
“True, our wizard deserted us when yours bested him in battle. That was a sight to behold too. There hasn’t been anything like it in centuries. Still, the old man had enough strength left to kill Belphan. I saw the opportunity to improve my fortunes and I took it. There’s nothing in the treaty about that.”
“King Oveer is dead too,” Wilam sneered. “I guess that means fate is handing you another kingdom.”
“Perhaps…” King Zorlan said. “Oveer is dead, are you sure?”
“I killed him,” Wilam said.
“Oh, you are a nasty boy, aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“Of course you were. Oveer was a pompous, power hungry fool. A bully of a king, always looking for ways to get more than his share. You did the Five Kingdoms a favor. How did you do it?”
Wilam looked away. He was ashamed of what he’d done. He agreed that King Oveer had been a pompous, power hungry fool, but that didn’t make what Wilam had done any less dishonorable. He had murdered men because of some misguided passion for a woman he couldn’t even remember. He could visualize Gwendolyn, at least everything but her face. In his mind she seemed to be in a silhouette, her face an indistinct blur.
“Come now, Prince Wilam, don’t fret. Your secrets are safe with me. In fact, if you help me defeat the witch and take Osla, I’ll help you defeat King Ricard. You shall be king of the northern kingdoms and I shall rule the south. What do you say? Let’s work together.”