OUT MAY 2025
A queen without a throne, a sorcerer without magic, a usurper bent on genocide...
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Read the first three chapters of THE QUEEN OF VORN for free
1. Home Comforts
Town of Clitheroe, Lancashire, UK, Earth (Geo-33G)
Emma pulled into the drive of a small white cottage, with a strong sense of relief. She was at her parents’, and she had a lot she needed to talk about. She closed the car door behind her. A drop of rain landed on her nose, another plopped onto her head as she glanced up towards the dreary looking sky and sighed. A smile crept up her cheeks. It had been blazing sunshine when she’d left Ripon this morning, but on this side of the Pennines it never seemed to stop raining.
She locked the car, dropped her keys into her handbag, and reached for the catch on the wooden picket garden gate. Emma crunched down the gravel path towards the green-painted door. She gave the heavy knocker a rap and turned the handle. It was open, as always.
‘Mum?’ Emma called as she closed the door behind her. ‘Dad?’
The comforting smell of home cooking wafted down the hall and her mouth began to water. She inhaled deeply.
‘Emma!’ Her mum strode towards her, wiping her hands on her apron as she went, and they hugged. ‘You’re early!’ she announced as she let her daughter go.
Emma smiled. ‘I set off little early, I suppose, and the traffic was surprisingly light.’
‘You didn’t speed on the motorways, did you?’ her mum said in her well-practiced school-teacher tone.
‘Um, seventy-seven isn’t really speeding, is it? It’s only ten percent over.’ Emma bit her lip.
Her mum shook her head in despair. ‘Want a brew?’ she asked, leading the way to the kitchen. The kettle was already going, steam curling into the air. Emma settled into a chair at the table.
‘So, how’s the new job?’
‘Fine,’ she said, even though she knew it wasn’t really. The work had gotten dull fast, but she didn’t want to get into that right now. ‘Easier commute, at least.’
‘Have you heard from Tom recently?’ her mum asked, changing the subject.
Emma’s smile faltered. ‘Um, not for almost a week. Last time he called he said he was heading out to visit a FOB and said he might struggle to make calls.’
‘You’re talking army again!’ her mother objected. ‘What on Earth is a fob?’
‘Oh, sorry, we’ve been together that long I suppose I’ve picked up a bit of the lingo,’ she said with a smirk. ‘A FOB is a forward operating base,’ she continued. ‘He was going out to visit some of his soldiers. I’m hoping he’ll call today, he reckoned he’d be back in Camp Bastion by now.’ She caught the wobble in her last few words just in time.
‘So that’s why you’re early.’ Her mother poured the water into two waiting cups, added the milk then joined her daughter at the table.
‘You don’t mind if I chat to him while I’m here?’
‘Of course I don’t!’ her mum snapped. ‘One call a week? You would want to miss that. Don’t prisoners get more calls when they’re locked up?’ Her mother gave her a sympathetic look. ‘And how are you doing with all of that?’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied. The truth was, her stomach twisted into knots every time the phone rang. Emma chuckled weakly but craned her neck toward the garden, trying to distract herself. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Off to Blackburn for something from B&Q,’ her mum said with a sigh.
‘Ah.’ Emma sipped her tea and stared out of the window at the clouds, her mind already drifting to Tom — and the dreams. They’d become more vivid, more unsettling. A welcome distraction from her constant worry about him, but also something she wasn’t ready to face.
She set her mug down and ran her hand through her mahogany waves, glancing from her dark locks to her mum’s dirty blonde flecked with grey. Her blue eyes sparkled back from amidst a sea of freckles. She’d always been able to talk to her mum about anything, but she’d never mentioned the dreams; it had felt like a betrayal, somehow.
She took a deep breath. ‘Mum?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘I’ve been having strange dreams.’
Her mum chuckled. ‘Haven’t we all? The other night, I was flying over Clitheroe Castle on a magic carpet!’
Emma couldn’t help but smile. ‘Seriously?’
‘Oh yes, and then I landed by the library to sort out my home insurance renewal.’
Emma laughed. ‘I’d say I might have got my weird dreams from you then, except that…’ her face dropped. Her mum was her mum, she was the only mum she’d ever known. It felt wrong somehow to remind the woman that she wasn’t her real mother.
The woman who’d raised her reached over the table and rested her hand on Emma’s. ‘You never know, maybe nurture has more to do with the adults we grow into than you might think.’
Emma narrowed her eyes. ‘I can’t see how that extends to dreams.’
Her mum shrugged, took a sip of her tea, and smiled. ‘So what’s been going on in these dreams?’
‘It’s not so much as what’s in them, it’s how real they feel that makes them really weird. You know how when you dream the memory usually fades really quickly and however vivid, you always know it was a dream?’
‘I still recall my magic carpet dream pretty well.’
‘But you know it was a dream.’
‘Of course.’
Emma took another sip of her tea, stalling for time while she gathered the courage to continue. She finally lowered her mug and took a deep breath. ‘What’s different about these dreams is that after I wake up, they don’t feel like memories of a dream, they feel like they’re real memories, like I’m somehow recalling my early childhood.’ She felt her body tense.
‘I suppose it’s possible those memories could be coming back,’ her mum said softly, ‘when you came to us, you said you couldn’t recall anything at all of your birth parents, but it always did seem odd that you could block out every memory up to the age of seven. Do you want to tell me about your dreams?’ She gave Emma a warm smile. A smile so beautifully understanding that Emma felt terrible – how could she betray her lovely mum?
She bit down on her lip, holding it captive until she found the nerve to release it with a slow exhale. ‘Sure,’ she said, though her voice wavered. ‘But there’s no way they’re real memories.’ Even as she spoke, the uncertainty gnawed at her, leaving her feeling anything but sure.
Her mother tilted her head. ‘How do you know they aren’t some kind of flashback?’
Emma parted her lips to speak, but the words didn’t come. The scene of her last dream shot into her head, and her eyes glazed over as she re-lived the moment. She shook her head to clear the fuzz, then forced herself to speak. ‘Well, in the dreams I’m a little girl, I’d guess maybe five or six. But I live in a castle, and there’s soldiers about the place with swords at their hips, all the women wear fancy long dresses, and the men look like they’ve stepped out of a period drama.’ She blurted the words as quickly as she could while she still dared to say them out loud.
‘Oh.’ Her mum’s eyebrows twitched upwards, and she looked at Emma in a way that gave her the strength to continue.
‘In one of the dreams, I’m being taught to use magic and in another I’m in a carriage with the King, and there’s people lining the streets, cheering at us.’
‘How do you know he’s the king?’ her mum asked.
‘I just know, but I also know he’s my dad. So in these dreams, I’m guessing I’m a princess. I told you, it’s completely nuts.’
Her mum took a long sip of her tea. ‘I guess it’s just your brain’s way of dealing with whatever you blocked out. Maybe it’s inventing a childhood for you?’
‘I suppose…’ Emma looked out of the window again. This time she gazed across the blooms and bushes before resting her eyes on the gnarled oak at the end of the garden, the one she’d loved to climb as a girl.
‘Maybe you could try hypnotherapy to try to get your real memories back,’ her mum took her hand again and squeezed it, ‘but are you sure you really want to know the truth? There’s a lot worse things than being a princess, darling.’
‘No, I’m not sure,’ she replied, her gaze still distant. A few silent moments passed before the sound of a chair sliding across the tiled floor trickled into Emma’s consciousness.
‘I’m just going to see to the roast, whenever you’re ready to talk, you know I’m here,’ her mum’s voice floated into her ears. Emma managed a nod.
She stared at the tree. Her eyes followed the branches, the sound of her own laughter echoing in her mind as she recalled throwing foam balls at her dad from the boughs of the tree. He’d dodged this way and that, he’d throw some back, she had even managed to catch a couple.
Her phone began to ring. She jumped, then rummaged in her handbag for it. The screen said private number.
‘I think it’s Tom,’ Emma announced.
‘Send him my love, Emma!’
‘I will,’ she called over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. ‘Hello?’ she answered, her fingers gripping the phone as she strode to the middle of the empty living room.
‘How are you doing?’ came the reply.
‘Tom!’ she slumped onto the sofa. ‘I’m good, I’m at my parents. How are you? Are you back in Bastion?’
‘Erm, not quite. I’m still in the FOB.’
‘You said there were no phones there!’ she protested.
‘Well, there are, but they’re just satellite phones and there’s no booths like there are at Bastion. To be honest, I didn’t really want to hog the phone from the guys, but most of them are out at the moment and I know I said I’d call today.’
‘So how come you’re still there?’ she asked him, tensing as the words left her mouth.
‘My flight was due on Friday, but then there was a sandstorm, so the choppers were grounded, then on Saturday, er, I guess the RAF were too busy drinking tea and eating toast. I’m due to get picked up in a few hours.’
Emma let out a sigh of relief. She’d visualised so many terrible things that could happen in a war zone, and Tom was living in one. So every time something was even slightly out of the ordinary her mind did somersaults.
She shuffled her bum back on the cushions. ‘So what have you been up to?’
‘Got here Tuesday, saw the guys, brought them some Haribo, dealt with Sapper Heneghan’s welfare issue. Wednesday, I managed to get out on patrol –’
‘You went out on patrol!’ She gasped. ‘Was there any action? Did anyone get shot?’
‘Calm yourself down, everyone was fine. There were some kids who threw some stones at us, but other than that, it was pretty chilled,’ he chuckled. ‘I say chilled, it’s over forty degrees out here, nothing is very chilled.’
Emma was nearly in tears. ‘Why would you go out of the base when you don’t need to?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I heard someone stepped on an IED and got blown up just a couple of days ago!’
‘I know, but that was at the other side of the province. It was some grunt from the infantry. Guess he was just unlucky.’
‘You could have been unlucky! It could have been you, Tom!’
‘Emma, you really need to calm down. I’m fine. Everyone here is fine. There’s been no shots fired in anger for at least a couple of weeks and –’
A loud bang blasted through her speaker. ‘What was that!’ She shot to the edge of the sofa.
‘Er, nothing. Just an oil drum exploding in the heat. Gotta go, love you, bye.’
The line went dead.
2. Shell Shocked
Helmand Province, Afghanistan, Earth (Geo-33G)
A cloud of dust erupted from the gate. Tom froze, still gripping his satellite phone, eyes glued on the growing haze of dirt, even as the storm of gravel rained down on him. Then the rounds began to fire.
‘Stand to!’ the Sergeant Major’s guttural voice boomed across the FOB.
The command wasn’t meant for Tom, but it gave him the jolt he needed. The surge of adrenaline shot down his spine as one boot after the other slammed into the compacted earth. His hand squeezed the pistol grip of his rifle while the other pumped the air, phone still in hand. He sprinted towards the tent, where he’d left his body armour and helmet, then skidded to a halt by the flap and ripped at the zip. Tom dived towards his kit and threw it onto his body, then remembered to breathe.
The screams of agony began, and they weren’t far away.
Tom threw the phone on the empty camp cot and cocked his rifle. He took a few tentative steps towards the tent flap and peered outside.
The machine guns in the sangars opened fire on whatever threat lay beyond the walls of the FOB. Link rattled and rounds cracked from the barrels of the guns towards an unseen foe. Boots pounded here and there, orders were yelled, and still men screamed.
‘Shit.’ Tom spat out a mouth full of dust and set off blindly towards the chorus of action, his heart pounding in his chest. A hand tapped his med pouch; he knew basic first aid and could help the casualties at least. He was an officer from the Royal Engineers, he was just on a visit, fighting off whatever threat the FOB now faced was infantry business.
He extended his stride. His left hand reached for the handguard of his rifle to steady the barrel while his eyes looked down the sights. The dust cloud grew thicker, the screams grew louder, he almost tripped over a man on the ground.
Tom dropped to his knees. ‘Are you alright?’ The question sounded ridiculous as soon as he opened his mouth.
‘My neck,’ the soldier croaked. A crimson tide seeped between his grubby fingers.
Tom’s eyes darted up and down the man. He had a gash on his leg, a sea of scratches on his face and cuts on his arm, while a pool of blood grew beneath his head and shoulders.
‘You’re gonna be fine mate, just a scratch.’ Tom’s fingers fumbled at the Velcro catch on his med pouch before he tore it open and grabbed the field dressing. He ripped it open with his teeth and spat out the wrapper.
He reached a tender hand towards the soldier’s fingers and began to prise them away from the wound. ‘Let me see.’
The soldier’s eyes met Tom’s.
‘What’s your name, Private?’
‘Howarth, Sir.’
Tom pulled the fingers free of the wound and surveyed the damage. The cut was deep, it oozed blood, but nothing gushed. He slapped the field dressing over the wound and held it firm.
‘I think the shrapnel’s missed your artery,’ he said, beginning to wrap the bandage straps round Howarth’s neck. ‘Think you’ll live, but you’ll have an awesome scar.’ Tom managed a grin, and Howarth mirrored it.
The rounds still cracked, the woosh of a rocket propelled grenade hissed overhead, solders yelled back and forth, but the rate of fire began to decrease.
Boom.
The flying grenade found its mark somewhere beyond the walls of the base. The dust inside began to clear. Boot steps pounded towards Tom.
‘Cas stat!’
Tom looked up to see a soldier peering down.
‘I’ve Private Howarth, shrapnel injury to his neck, significant blood loss, other minor wounds on his leg and arm.’
The soldier had pulled out a notebook and was madly scribbling. ‘T1?’
‘Maybe T2, but I’m no medic.’
‘I’ll put T1. MERT’s coming for Soltysiak, anyway.’
‘Cheers, Simpson,’ Howarth croaked.
The MERT was a flying ambulance, staffed with a team of doctors and medics who’d start putting you back together as soon as you were in the air.
Private Simpson scuttled off towards another shape, one that was groaning while two men knelt over him. Tom tied off the bandage and sat back on his heels.
‘How’s that?’
Howarth patted his neck. ‘Reckon I’d be dead by now if the artery was hit, suppose I’ll live. Can I have some morphine?’ He began to pat at one of his pockets. Tom took his wrist and rested it on the ground.
‘Sure, but you stay still, let me get it.’
Tom took the soldier’s morphine from his pocket and injected it into his good leg. ‘That should do you, you’ll be off with the fairies in no time.’
Howarth smiled. His eyes drifted towards a spot in the sky past Tom. ‘Apaches are here, no wonder the shots have stopped. Bet the cowards are legging it.’
‘Try not to talk, mate, don’t want those vocal cords massaging those veins. You need to keep that blood inside you.’
Howarth gave the slightest hint of a nod.
‘I’m gonna nick your field dressing now, you’re not gonna bleed to death from that cut in your leg, but it will make a mess of the MERT if I don’t get it wrapped up.’ Tom began to check Howarth’s pouches to find it. I should have used his first, he thought to himself as he rummaged. I’m shit at this stuff.
‘Sir,’ Howarth croaked.
‘I told you not to talk!’
‘There’s a message on the net, all able men are to report to the CSM to secure the HLS.’
Howarth still had his radio on. As just a visitor, Tom was deaf to the Platoon Commander’s orders.
‘Got it. Give me thirty seconds to slap this on your leg and I’m gone.’
Tom had found the field dressing and made short work of wrapping it round Private Howarth’s leg. He clambered to his feet, pulling his rifle from the dirt as he went.
‘Enjoy your holiday in Bastion.’ Tom leant down and gave the soldier a gentle pat on the shoulder, then turned to set off to the RV point.
‘Sir!’ Howarth rasped.
Tom paused.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Taylor, Captain Thomas Taylor. I’m the second in command of a Sapper Squadron.’
‘Bastion walla?’
‘Yep, most of the time. Might pop in to see you in hospital, if I get chance.’
‘Thanks for patching me up, Sir.’
‘Any time.’
Tom trotted off towards a group of soldiers who waited in the shade of the gabion basket blast walls. The rounds had ceased now, and the only sounds were the whup-whup-whup of the rotor blades whirring overhead and the calls and chatter of the soldiers.
Tom spotted the Company Sergeant Major with a notebook facing the group. ‘CSM, Captain Taylor here,’ he announced on arrival.
The senior soldier looked up from his notebook. ‘Sir.’ A crooked smile squeezed one of his cheeks. ‘I bet you’re glad your flight was cancelled now, got you a chance to see a bit of action, eh?’
‘I couldn’t be more thrilled, CSM,’ Tom replied with a smirk. He was still drunk on adrenaline, but it would make a good war story at least.
‘We’re four men down, and with two patrols out and R and R in full swing, I’m short of guys to secure the HLS. Fancy pretending to be an infanteer until the MERT’s been and gone? We need all the rifles we can get.’
‘No problem. Where do you want me?’ He spouted the words with a confidence he didn’t feel. They’d just come under attack from people who wanted to kill him, and he was about to venture out where they could see him.
Tom was given a quick brief about what he needed to do. While he was waiting to be given the order to move, he managed to discover what had happened. A suicide bomber had detonated just outside the gate and its hinges had been blown. Tom guessed it was a fragment of errant shrapnel from the gate that had sliced Howarth’s neck. A ground attack followed, and insurgents had flooded towards the FOB, but the Apache attack helicopters were quick to the scene and the insurgents had fled.
Another soldier named Private Soltysiak had been much closer to the gate than Howarth, he’d taken a massive hit from the blast and was in a bad way; two other men were out of action, but their wounds weren’t serious.
The judder of the dual rotor blades of the Chinook helicopter thudded through the air. The order was given, and the section commander led his team out of the FOB towards the Helicopter Landing Site, or HLS as most called it.
The mangled mess of the shattered gate emerged as Tom rounded a wall of gabion baskets. The taste of metal and smell of burning flesh still lingered over a bloody stain in the dust. Tom took a little jump over the mark, just like the man ahead had. He tip-toed round the curls of blasted steel and out beyond the safety of the walls, his eyes bulging at the land beyond the walls of the FOB as he went. Thankfully, they were hidden from the seasoned infanteers around him by his tinted ballistic eye protection.
With hands squeezing his rifle, and its butt pressed into his shoulder, he followed the guy in front into the open, pounding heart reminding him that this shit had suddenly got real, very real. He looked beyond the edges of the HLS to the open farmland, eyes darting everywhere looking for insurgents. Waves of heat snaked away from the irrigation ditches, blurring the horizon into the landscape; an empty expanse of brownish-yellow dotted with spikes of green and sliced with darkened ditches.
The relentless sun drew streams of sweat. Tom’s parched tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He reached for the hose of his Camel Back, patting his chest, but it wasn’t there.
‘Shit,’ he muttered to himself. He’d left his day-sack behind; he just had his pouches on his body armour. He looked over to the approaching MERT; at least he wouldn’t be out here for long, he thought.
The pace quickened as the section commander began to jog. He hand-railed the wall of the FOB as he led them round the HLS.
Tom heard a woosh. The tell-tale sound of a rocket propelled grenade flying though the sky. Huh? His eyes darted overhead. He saw the flash of the missile an instant before he heard the boom.
A deafening ring exploded in his ears as his body was swept from his feet. The sides of his boot skidded over the earth while his shoulders were punched to the ground. The burning prickle of a hundred grains of gravel and rocks seared into his arms, legs, and cheek. Something bit though his body armour. He felt the sting a second before he hit the ground. His arm cracked as he landed, his hip smashed into a rock.
He gasped, ate a mouthful of dust, and spat it out with a mighty scream. He lay on the ground and looked down in horror at the shaft of metal protruding from his chest, just a millimetre from the side of the Kevlar plate in his armour.
Shit.
3. Power Struggle
Camp of the Northern Alliance of Hosta, Ratica (south of the border with Geshlamp), Dunia (Aura-14G)
With a wave of her hand, the tent flap was torn from its seams. Queen Lila stormed past the startled guards and into the King’s quarters.
‘Joth!’ Her word shot like a bullet towards her startled son.
King Joth pulled the bed sheets down just enough to scowl at her, ‘Mother! Can’t you see I’m busy?’ A woman’s chuckle emanated from somewhere under the bed covers. Joth smirked and buried his head again.
Lila narrowed her eyes as fury boiled in her blood. Her hand snapped towards him, power coursing through her fingers. The sheets tore away, exposing two nude figures.
The naked girl stared wide eyed at the queen. She scrambled from the bed, frantically clutching her crumpled dress. Joth, however, leaned back against his pillows, defiant. He folded his arms and glared at his mother.
‘How dare you interrupt like this,’ he growled, ‘I am the King, you have no right!’
‘You are an insolent King!’ she shot back. ‘Thousands of soldiers stand ready for your command to lead them to battle. They grow weary and every second we waste gives those wretched goblins time to organise or flee.
Joth tilted his head and curled his lip in sarcasm. ‘Sorry to inconvenience your genocide, Mother.’
A spray of spit whistled through Lila’s gritted teeth as she hissed, ‘You will get dressed, you will mount your horse, and you will ride to the head of your army.’
‘I’m growing weary of your orders,’ he spat, ‘I’m the King!’
‘And I’m getting tired of your excuses, If you want to play king, act like one. Attend court, listen to petitions, visit your subjects, and follow your army all the way into Geshlamp instead of scuttling off home the moment the attack starts.
‘I wouldn’t bother launching an attack,’ he snarled, ‘I’d leave the goblins be. They’ve never done me any harm.’
‘Goblins are vile creatures who don’t deserve to live!’ Lila barked.
Joth shrugged, his lip curling into a sneer ‘If you say so.’
Lila’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Get dressed, and address your army, or I’ll remove you from your throne and let Aran take over.’ The mention of his younger brother struck a nerve, and for the briefest moment his composure cracked. Lila saw it. A hint of a smile togged at one corner of her mouth as she turned to leave.
A sudden prickle of magic tickled her spine. Instinctively, she threw up a shield, spinning on the spot. It was not a second too soon. A flash of blue light exploded from his fingers. The swirling magical ball of energy shot across the tent and smashed into her shield, dissipating around the edges in a stream of jagged rivers.
The crackling magic faded to nothing. Lila stood frozen, her breath coming fast and hard, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Slowly, she thawed her limbs before taking a few deliberate steps towards her son.
Joth’s face had grown pale. He shuffled backwards on the bed, pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms over his head. ‘Mother, no,’ he whimpered, ‘it was an accident!’
His pathetic pleas did nothing to calm her fury. Lila raised her hands and let her magic surge. She pulled more magic to her chest. The swelling rush of energy pulsed through her veins, prickling every part of her body in ecstatic fervour, sparking at the ends of her fingers. It felt good draw in magic, it felt better unleash it.
Blue lightening shot from her hands, but not at Joth. The girl in the corner, still fumbling to dress, screamed. Lila didn’t even look at her, her eyes never leaving her son. An instant later the girl exploded. Bones, blood, and guts splattered across the room as Joth screamed in horror.
Lila smiled — a slow, menacing curve of her lips. She savoured the terror in his eyes. Without a word, she lifted him with her magic. He squirmed as she dragged him closer, his body paralysed with fear and hovering in mid-air. She had twice the power of her half-blood son.
‘Take that as a warning, my son. Try to kill me again, and it will be the last thing you do. You may be stronger than most sorcerers in this land, but you will never defeat me.’
She flung him across the tent, sending him sprawling into the pile of gore. ‘Get a bath, get dressed, and get on your horse. You have ten minutes.’ She then walked serenely out of the room, a wide smile still lingering on her face
*
Lila’s black charger snorted and scraped the ground with his hoof. She stroked its neck, her gloved fingers smoothing over the coarse hair. ‘Soon,’ she whispered. ‘It better be soon.’ Her gaze swept down the endless rows of waiting soldiers. A wall of red livery gleamed in the late morning sun — the proud banners of Vorn fluttering in the crisp wind. Thousands of swords, shields, and spears glinted like a sea of steel. Yet, as her sharp eyes scanned the formation, her irritation surged.
She spotted a young man, barely out of boyhood, with tufts of unshaven fluff clinging to his jawline. Why hadn’t this soldier shaved? She made a mental note to find his sergeant major and order a flogging. The young man stared straight ahead, past his queen with nervous rigidity. One hand gripped the hilt of his sword, the other his shield, both trembling slightly. Lila’s lip curled in disdain. Too young. Too soft. How long before his arms tire, before he drops that shield and becomes goblin fodder?
She snorted and looked again down the line and let out a sigh of relief. At last, her son’s standard-bearer was making his way down the far flank of the army, the deep blue and silver colours of the royal insignia rippling with the breeze. Joth followed, a trumpet announcing his arrival, and the whole army came to attention with a roar of stamping feet. Joth sat astride his horse, the picture of regal authority. His armour, polished to perfection, caught the sun in blinding flashes. Lila noticed the stiffness in his posture, the faint shadow of tension etched on his face. He was putting on a show, just as she’d taught him.
He reached the front of the formation and met her gaze. His expression was cool, almost daring her to critique him in front of his soldiers. Lila inclined her head and eased her horse back a few paces, granting him the stage.
Joth raised a gauntleted hand, his magic amplifying his voice. ‘Soldiers of Hosta!’ he bellowed, his voice crisp and clear. ‘Today is a momentous day. Today is the day we launch our campaign against the goblins, those vile creatures who plague our northern neighbours in Ratica,’ a cheer rang out from the battalion on the left flank, ‘our allies in Mediss,’ another cheer erupted from a battalion on the right flank, ‘and those cowards in Eropt.’ The whole army launched into a chorus of jeers at his jibe at their absent neighbour.
‘Eropt may not have joined us, but with our brave allies in Vacso,’ swords were drummed against shields in amongst a group of solders near the rear, and ‘Mulber’, spears were raised and more cheers followed, ‘and of course our own soldiers of Vorn,’ the biggest eruption of support yet spilled out from the mass of soldiers in the middle, ‘the goblins don’t stand a chance.’
Lila looked on at her son with a degree of pride. At least she’d managed to train him to make a decent speech. Good. He’s learned how to rile them up. But words alone don’t win wars.
‘For years they have pillaged the human lands,’ he continued, ‘taken our cattle, burned our villages, murdered our people. For years the brave soldiers of the north have fought back, but like the rats they are, goblins run, they hide, and they evade us. But no longer. Today we march and rid the north of the goblins once and for all. Today we begin our campaign to rid Dunia of every man, woman, and child of this vile race. Today we take the fight to them!’
The whole army raised their swords and bellowed with calls of hurrahs and jubilation. Hilts everywhere were thumped on shields, the clattering racket boomed across the plains.
King Joth raised his hands and swept them to the sides, his magic muting his crowd. Baffled soldiers mouthed like goldfish or scowled at the silence as their swords hit their shields. Lila glared at her son, her pride seeping away. He looked about to speak again, so she urged her horse forwards closing the distance to her son.
‘Enough,’ she murmured under her breath as she reached his side. Joth glanced at her, and for a moment, his jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Lila raised a hand, muting his amplified voice with a flick of magic.
She turned her attention to the soldiers. ‘We launch this attack not with arrogance,’ she declared, her voice sharp and commanding. ‘We launch it with strength, precision, and discipline. The sorcerers of Vorn stand ready to assist you. I stand ready to assist you.’
She released her spell, letting the murmuring army hear the power of her tone. Her gaze swept over them, and silence followed like a ripple through water.
Lila turned her horse to the open plains. Beyond the rows of soldier, the land stretched toward the border of Geshlamp. It was an untamed wilderness, dotted with gorse, twisted trees, and patches of thick, thorny shrubs. It seemed barren, almost empty—but Lila knew better. The goblins were there, watching, waiting.
She dismounted, handing her reins to a waiting servant. Lila stood alone and raised her hands. She fingered the air, feeling the magic all around and drew it into her core. She closed her eyes as she amassed it inside, building her power, making ready to unleash hell.
Her fingers moved through the air in practiced patterns, gathering energy into her core. It built steadily, an intoxicating flood of power that swirled through her veins. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation, and let it grow.
When her eyes snapped open again, they glowed with blue fire. She thrust her hands forward, unleashing the magic in a blinding surge.
Bolts of blue streaked across the plains striking the borderlands of Geshlamp in an instant and hitting the land beyond. A flash engulfed the landscape, and like a living thing, it surged to the left and then to the right. The gorse and shrubs were the first to go, incinerated in bursts of ash and flame. Trees toppled, their blackened trunks crumbling into dust. The air filled with the sound of crackling energy and the faint cries of birds too slow to escape.
The flash swept north.
The wave of magic engulfed the land like a tsunami. The flood of blue swept as far as the eye could see, then dissipated to nothing. When it was over, the once-green borderlands had become a lifeless expanse of charred soil and blackened remains.
The army stood still in silent awe. Lila stumbled, her knees weak from the exertion. A servant rushed to her side, catching her before she collapsed. Her vision blurred as exhaustion overtook her.
In the distance, Joth’s amplified voice rang out: ‘Soldiers of Hosta, attack!’ The thunder of thousands of marching feet filled the air as the army surged forward, their war cries echoing across the barren plain, as Lila’s eyelids grew heavy and darkness and silence consumed her.
