This post is inspired by the Scholar and Scribe November Invitational - the challenge is to write a story based on a theme of family in the action genre. Hopefully I've managed to do both with this one !
Winning a gold in the October Invitational makes me one of the panel of judges for this one, so it seems reasonable to ask this post to be excluded from the actual competition (it doesn't seem fair to judge myself !).
However it is a tale I've been wanting to flesh out for a very, very long time, and it seems to fit here, so I've written it mostly for me but in the hope that others will get some enjoyment from it 😀
I've already made a couple of related posts if you want a bit more of the backstory, although both posts are set after the events in this one. They are The Whole Multiverse is a Prison and Worldbuilding Prompt #654 - Stealing Dreams
"Let's see if they are ready to surrender. Tell everyone to hold their fire. Fetch an emissary, I'll go up there myself."
The faces of the senior officers surrounding the queen paled in shock. Lord Alexion broke the silence. "Your Majesty, you can't do this, it's far too dangerous ! Who knows what they are capable of ?"
She waved him down with a gesture. "You told me it was too dangerous when we started this fight. You said that I should stay in my palace and let you all lead the campaign. Queens don't fight battles you said. Well I do. If kings can fight, so can queens. You saw it with your own eyes during the Civil Wars. This is no different."
"But they are warlocks, your Majesty. Aliens who don't obey our rules of war."
"Hah ! Rules of War my ...," she stopped before finishing an impolite and distinctly un-regal saying.
They knew what she meant; the Civil Wars had been a bloody affair made worse when King Pelops of neighbouring Lowgin intervened. He'd occupied the land, and she had led the resistance in person. The generals around her represented many of the Great Houses. Ancient families she had saved from extinction, or had even pardoned at the end of the wars. She could so easily have had them all executed, but instead had chosen to help them rebuild. For this, they called her "Arpa the Gentle", but they were smart enough to recognise that her policy was one of ruthless pragmatism.
At this point, the emissary was led in, ending the discussion. His white uniform was designed to stand out on the battlefield. He also carried a large white banner with two golden goblets embroidered on it. It was supposed to signify the idea of the two parties settling matters over a friendly drink, a concept which sometimes led to a certain dry amusement among the troops.
Queen Arpa nodded briefly, and addressed her staff. "Just in case, have a company of rifles in stealth suits follow at a decent distance, and some drop troops from the Border Patrol ready."
Holstering her laser pistol and sheathing her sabre, Arpa allowed the emissary to lead the way out of the hollow protecting the command post and up the hill to where the warlocks waited. Her auburn hair and close-fitting sky blue uniform contrasted with his white tunic and helmet.
Queen Arpa - image created by AI in Nightcafe Studio
The hillside was covered with bodies, testament to the bitter fighting which had driven her enemies to their final stand. Many were burned beyond recognition, and the sweet, sickly smell of cooked flesh filled the air.
Nearing the crest, most of the bodies were enemy ones in earth-coloured uniforms, her own people subverted by the mind tricks of the warlocks and turned against her. Her scientists had been slow to develop the helmets and amulets which protected against such powers and turned the tide of the war.
A bolt of fire crashed into the earth next to the pair, hissing as it erupted from behind an earthwork at the summit of the hill.
"Keep walking, they're just trying to send a message," she told the emissary curtly, sensing the tension in his bearing.
They stopped a dozen paces from the earthwork; no further fire was aimed their way.
The emissary spoke then, his voice firm despite his obvious concern at the situation. "Invaders, you are offered terms by the mercy of Arpa of Colam-Craydn, Queen of Aloss by right of ancient descent and conquest, and by acclaim of the people. Surrender and your lives will be spared."
A harsh, barking laugh sounded from the earthwork as four figures rose from behind it. The stories had told of four warlock brothers; Firorn, Triors, Zli-Klak and Jharn. It was clearly true. Each was different, but they were clearly related. Their garments were shades of red, orange and russet. Small flames flickered around but did not burn them.
Firorn, Triorn, Zli-Klak and Jharn - images generated by AI in Nightcafe Studio
The oldest of the brothers, grey-haired Zli-Klak, chose to answer the summons. The expression on the emissary's face was one of relief. He'd clearly expected the answer to be another fire bolt.
"We claim this land as ours, Arpa the Usurper. We've come from a place of magic to this world of yours with no magic. We are invincible. We four brothers will rule your land. Your little trinkets can stop us taking your minds, they can't save you from being burned by our fire."
It was the queen's turn to laugh. "I am no usurper ! I am the daughter of a family which has served this land for a thousand years. I was chosen by my people, as the closest heir after the old king's direct line became extinct. You are beaten, forced back to this single hilltop, the armies you stole dead or dispersed. So surrender or die, it's your choice."
Jharn raised his hands, a fireball forming in the space between them. Arpa knew the attempt to parley was over before it had really begun. She shoved the emissary down behind a burned corpse, diving the other way and drawing her pistol.
The fireball hissed through the space the two had been occupying, as Arpa snapped off a quick beam from her pistol. It didn't hit anyone, but was a good signal to her troops that things had gone badly wrong.
All around, soldiers in sky blue uniforms rose from hiding. Their stealth suits could not sustain the illusion once they started shooting.
"Never mind that !" Arpa called to them, drawing her sabre. "Fix bayonets and charge !"
She knew that getting pinned down in a firefight on the downward slope of the hill was death. The warlocks would throw fire and it would be a slaughter. A charge was the only way.
But the parley had enabled them to get close. Arpa's soldiers launched themselves up the hill. Each warlock responded in his characteristic manner. Jharn threw fireballs. Firorn fired bolts of fire like a deadly sniper. Zli-Klak lifted his hands and the earth erupted with flame. Only Triorn didn't create some kind of inferno. He waited at the top of the slope, a halberd held level and ready, tongues of flame licking up and down it.
Arpa led the charge herself. She might by the queen, but her men knew she was a warrior first. They braved the storm of fire without hesitation.
As she crested the battered defence works, Arpa and her troops saw that the warlocks had very few men left. A couple of dozen at most. They looked slow and confused. Perhaps the warlocks' mental control was slipping. The tide of Royalist soldiers swept over them and they were gone.
Fire hosed across the top of the parapet. Arpa threw herself down into the trench beyond it. Rolling upright she saw Jharn, his hands outstretched, fire pouring from them as he swept right and left. Raising her pistol, she took deliberate aim. She fired just as Jharn saw her and started to sweep the flame in her direction.
The laser beam hit him square in the chest and he dropped. As he hit the ground, he started to fade out.
Then her pistol went flying, smashed out of her hand. It was Triorn, his face twisted with rage. He had seen her slay his brother, and wanted to vengeance. The burning halberd swung down again, and Arpa only just rolled clear, a single lock of her auburn hair clipped off by the deadly weapon.
The third swing caught her. It was just the flat of the weapon, but she felt the heat, and it knocked her to the ground. Triorn had inhuman strength, and had put every ounce of it into that blow.
She found herself lying flat on her back, groggy and stunned, watching the halberd raised for a killing blow she didn't have the strength to avoid. It started to swing downwards, perfectly lined up to behead her. She tried to raise her sabre to parry, but she knew it was useless.
Then a sword point appeared in the centre of Triorn's neck, pushed through from behind in an explosion of blood. A look of shock filled the warlock's ruddy face. As he dropped, it revealed the green uniform of the Border Patrol, surmounted by the youthful and grinning face of the captain wearing it. He offered a hand to help her to her feet.
As she stood, she saw the last vestiges of Jharn's body fading, and Triorn's starting to follow. She wondered where they were going. Presumably back to the dimension they originated from. Zli-Klak was half-buried under a mass of soldiers pinning him down as his hands and feet were bound with iron cuffs. There was no sign of Firorn.
Looking at the young captain who hade saved her life Arpa asked, "What is your name, soldier ?"
"Captain Devaningsi, My Lady." He blushed, clearly unsure what to say next. It wasn't often a junior officer saved his queen.
"Well, Captain Devaningsi, you have my gratitude, You saved my life. Your descendants will name this day as the date a new Great House was founded."
