Different Worlds

CHAPTER 5 : THE WAR

The first horn had stopped.

The second sound remained.

It seemed to hang above the Great Hall, suspended beneath the vaulted ceiling among the banners and the smoke-darkened beams.

Three notes.

Then two.

A mistake.

Or a warning.

The keep changed around it.

Servants abandoned trays of bread and steaming porridge on the long tables. A maid carrying a pitcher of milk froze in the middle of the aisle. Near the western doors, a guard drew his sword with a harsh scrape of steel against leather.

Then the doors opened.

A messenger stumbled inside at a run.

His boots slipped against the polished stone, and he caught himself only long enough to reach the center of the hall before dropping to one knee. His breath came in ragged bursts. Snow clung to his shoulders. There was blood on one sleeve—not enough to tell whether it belonged to him.

Ethan stood beneath the carved crest of Avelor.

Fay was beside him.

Desmond clung to the side of her dress, one small hand twisted into the fabric. His other arm held his wooden horse against his chest.

“Speak,” Ethan ordered.

The messenger bowed his head.

“Your Majesty.”

“Speak.”

“The northern road is closed.”

Ethan’s expression did not change.

“By snow?”

The messenger lifted his eyes.

“By men.”

For a moment, no one moved.

The silence that followed seemed to draw the warmth from the hall.

Ethan’s gaze sharpened.

“How many?”

The messenger swallowed.

“We could not count them.”

Thomas appeared in the doorway behind him.

He was already dressed for council, his dark coat fastened to the throat, his hair neat despite the sudden alarm. His ledger was tucked beneath one arm as if he had brought it out of habit rather than necessity.

“The outer villages?” Thomas asked.

The messenger’s face tightened.

“Burned.”

Fay felt Desmond’s fingers curl more tightly around her dress.

The boy looked from the messenger to Ethan.

“What does burned mean?”

No one answered.

Ethan turned toward the guards.

“Close the eastern gate.”

“Already done, sire,” the guard captain replied.

“Double the watch on the inner walls.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Send riders to the river settlements.”

The messenger shook his head.

“The river road is gone.”

“Then send them through the fields.”

“The fields are occupied.”

Ethan drew in a slow breath.

The keep seemed to have become smaller around him. The high ceiling, the great windows, the long banners—all of it suddenly felt too close, as though the ancient walls had begun to contract beneath the pressure of the army beyond them.

Thomas looked toward the messenger.

“They came early.”

Ethan turned to him.

“They came when they thought we were sleeping.”

Thomas’s face remained unreadable.

“We were.”

Ethan’s eyes settled on him.

“Not for long.”

A deep sound rolled through the stone.

It was not thunder.

Thunder belonged to the sky. This sound came from somewhere beneath the earth—or from something so enormous that the distinction no longer mattered.

The floor trembled.

Dust sifted from the rafters.

Desmond covered his ears.

Fay felt the vibration travel up through the soles of her boots.

“Ethan—”

“Take him upstairs.”

His voice was quiet, but it carried across the hall.

Fay turned toward him.

“No.”

Ethan’s eyes found hers.

“Fay.”

“No.”

She stepped closer, keeping one hand on Desmond’s shoulder.

“You don’t get to send us away and call that protection.”

For a moment, something raw moved behind Ethan’s eyes. Fear, perhaps. Or the effort of forcing fear back into the place where he kept it hidden.

He looked down at Desmond.

The boy stood very still, frightened but determined not to let anyone see how frightened he was.

Ethan lowered himself until they were eye to eye.

“Listen to me.”

Desmond nodded.

“The keep is going to be noisy today.”

“Why?”

Ethan glanced toward the great doors.

“Because some people outside have forgotten how to knock.”

Desmond’s mouth twitched.

It was almost a smile.

Ethan touched the side of his cheek.

“You stay with Mama. You do exactly what she says.”

“What if I want to stay with you?”

The question struck deeper than the boy could have known.

Ethan’s hand remained against his face.

“Then you will have to want something else.”

Desmond looked down.

Ethan rose.

Fay took the boy’s hand, but she did not look away from her husband.

“Come back.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened.

“I will.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

He stopped.

Fay’s voice dropped.

“Come back to us.”

The expression on Ethan’s face softened.

He held her gaze for a long moment.

“I heard you.”

Then he turned toward the armory.

The keep erupted into motion.

────────

The armory smelled of oil, iron, leather, and old smoke.

Weapons lined the walls in orderly rows. Spears stood upright in wooden racks. Swords hung beneath shields bearing the crest of Avelor: a crowned mountain split by a river. Some of the shields were bright with fresh polish. Others were scarred from battles fought before any living soldier had been born.

Ethan entered with the guard captain and a group of soldiers close behind him.

He removed his plain outer coat and handed it to a waiting servant. Beneath it, he wore a dark tunic and a leather vest that had seen better days.

The guard captain held out a breastplate.

“You should wear this.”

Ethan looked at it.

“I am wearing it.”

“That is a vest.”

“It has served me well.”

“It will not stop an arrow.”

“Neither will an argument.”

The captain did not laugh.

Ethan noticed.

After a moment, he took the breastplate.

A young soldier approached carrying a sword. He was barely twenty, with a narrow face and a fresh scar across one eyebrow. His hands shook around the hilt.

Ethan noticed that, too.

“Your name?”

“Marek, sire.”

“How long have you held that sword?”

Marek glanced down at it.

“Since yesterday.”

Ethan took one step closer.

“Then do not hold it like you own it.”

The young man looked confused.

Ethan reached out and adjusted his grip.

“Hold it like you intend to come back and return it.”

Marek nodded quickly.

“Yes, sire.”

Ethan moved toward the table where his belt and coat had been placed.

He tried to fasten the buckle.

The leather slipped beneath his fingers.

He tried again.

The metal caught for half a second before coming loose.

He pulled harder.

The buckle sprang apart.

Behind him, someone inhaled sharply, perhaps to hide a laugh.

Fay entered the armory.

Every head turned.

Ethan looked over his shoulder.

She stood in the doorway with her hair loose around her shoulders and a determined expression on her face.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said.

Ethan straightened.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

She crossed the room toward him.

“You always pull the strap first.”

“I know how to dress myself.”

“Then why are you losing a fight with a buckle?”

A few soldiers looked away.

Ethan handed her the belt.

Fay fastened it with swift, practiced movements. When she finished, she straightened the edge of his vest and brushed a stray thread from his shoulder.

“There.”

“I had it.”

“Of course you did.”

Her fingers lingered near the fastening.

Ethan caught her hand.

For one brief moment, the armory seemed to recede around them. The soldiers, the weapons, the shouted orders—all of it blurred beneath the quiet force of his touch.

“You should be upstairs,” he said.

“You should be somewhere safer.”

“There is nowhere safer.”

“Then don’t pretend this is about safety.”

Ethan’s gaze searched her face.

“What is it about?”

Fay did not hesitate.

“You being afraid.”

The words landed harder than she had intended.

Ethan’s eyes flickered toward the soldiers.

“Everyone is afraid.”

“You don’t have to hide it from me.”

He looked down at their joined hands.

“If I show it to you, I may not be able to put it away.”

Fay stepped closer.

“Then don’t put it away.”

A distant impact shook the keep.

Dust drifted from the ceiling.

The soldiers looked upward.

Ethan released her hand.

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

“Stay with Desmond.”

“I know.”

“Fay—”

“Come back.”

This time, Ethan did not argue.

He only nodded.

────────

Beyond the outer walls, the enemy army gathered across the fields.

Their banners were dark against the snow, black and deep red, moving in the wind like torn pieces of night. Smoke rose from the northern villages and drifted low over the valley. It stained the morning sky a dirty gray.

The walls of Avelor were crowded with soldiers.

Archers climbed into position along the battlements. Men carried buckets of oil and boiling water up narrow staircases. Others dragged timber toward the gates, reinforcing the old wood with beams thick enough to have been cut from the oldest trees in the kingdom.

A bell rang from the watchtower.

Its sound rolled across the keep.

Ethan walked along the battlements, the guard captain at his side.

“The western tower has lost its roof,” the captain reported.

“Can it hold?”

“For a while.”

“Then we need only survive the while.”

The captain looked toward the valley.

A column of riders emerged from the smoke.

At its center sat a tall figure wearing a black helm. The rider raised a sword, and the army behind him answered with a roar that traveled across the snow-covered fields.

Ethan watched them without speaking.

“They want us to see them,” he said.

The guard captain tightened his grip on his sword.

“They want us to be afraid.”

“No.”

Ethan’s eyes remained on the black-helmed rider.

“They want us to believe they have already won.”

A horn sounded beyond the field.

The keep answered.

Three notes.

Correct.

Then the enemy horn sounded again.

Two notes.

The wrong call.

The guard captain turned toward Ethan.

“What does it mean?”

Ethan’s face had gone still.

“It means they know our signals.”

“How?”

Ethan looked back toward the keep.

Toward the palace.

Toward the ancient halls where the Book of Houses rested beneath the crown emblem.

“Someone told them.”

────────

Fay walked quickly through the inner corridors with Desmond beside her.

The boy wore a heavy coat over his clothes. His wooden horse was tucked beneath one arm, its painted head sticking out beneath his chin.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Somewhere quiet.”

“The keep doesn’t have quiet.”

“Then somewhere less loud.”

A crash sounded above them.

Desmond flinched.

Fay stopped and knelt before him.

“Look at me.”

He did.

“Do you remember what Papa said?”

Desmond’s brows drew together.

“That people forgot how to knock.”

“That’s right.”

“Are they going to break the door?”

Fay hesitated.

“They’re trying.”

“Will Papa let them?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Desmond studied her face.

“Then we’re safe.”

Fay wanted to say yes.

She wanted to give him the certainty he was asking for. She wanted to tell him that Ethan was the king, that the walls were strong, that the soldiers knew what to do, that the ancient keep had survived a hundred winters and a hundred threats.

But she had seen the messenger’s face.

She had heard the sound beneath the stone.

She had seen fear in Ethan’s eyes.

So she gave Desmond the only truth she could.

“We’re together.”

The boy considered this.

Then he reached for her hand.

They continued down the corridor.

Behind them, the palace moved with frantic purpose.

A servant rushed past carrying bandages. Another carried a bucket of water. A third hurried in the opposite direction with a bundle of arrows pressed against his chest.

The palace was no longer a home.

It was becoming a machine.

────────

The nursery was warmer than the corridors, but the warmth could not disguise the trembling of the walls.

Mara waited beside the inner-room door.

She was a broad-shouldered woman with silver threaded through her dark hair. She had the calm, hard expression of someone who had already decided that fear was not useful and had no intention of wasting time on it.

“There you are,” she said.

Desmond hurried toward her.

“Mama said we need somewhere quiet.”

“I have a room where no one is allowed to shout.”

A tremendous impact shook the keep.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Mara looked up.

“Usually.”

Desmond looked at Fay.

“I don’t want to stay.”

Fay crouched in front of him.

“I’ll be right outside.”

“No.”

“Desmond—”

“You said together.”

The words broke something inside her.

Fay placed both hands around his face.

“I am not leaving the keep.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She had no answer.

Mara stepped forward.

“Your mother will be just beyond the door.”

“Can I see her?”

“If you stand on the chair.”

Desmond considered this carefully.

Then he nodded.

Fay kissed his forehead.

“Keep your horse safe.”

“He keeps me safe.”

“Then keep each other safe.”

Mara took his hand and led him into the nursery.

The door closed.

Fay remained in the corridor with her palm pressed against the wood.

On the other side, Desmond’s voice rose.

“Mama?”

“I’m here.”

“Tell Papa I said not to get hurt.”

Fay closed her eyes.

“I will.”

────────

The first attack began in the afternoon.

A rain of arrows crossed the sky.

They struck the walls with a sound like hard rain against a roof. Some shattered against the stone. Others buried themselves in wood, leather, and flesh. Men ducked behind the parapets. Several fell without making a sound.

Ethan stood near the outer gate, shouting orders over the chaos.

“Hold the line!”

Beyond the smoke, a battering ram advanced across the field.

The enemy moved behind tall shields, their boots crushing the snow into black mud. Their banners snapped above them. The ram swung forward and back, forward and back, carried by dozens of men.

The guard captain raised his sword.

“Archers!”

A volley flew.

The enemy shields lifted.

The ram continued.

A stone launched from a catapult crossed the sky.

For a heartbeat, it seemed to hang above the keep.

Then it struck the western wall.

The impact threw men from their feet.

Ethan slammed against the stone parapet. Pain burst across his forehead, and the world went white. He could not breathe. His knees buckled beneath him.

The guard captain caught him by the arm.

“Sire!”

Ethan pushed himself upright.

“I’m standing.”

“You are bleeding.”

Ethan touched his forehead.

His fingers came away red.

“Then I am also correct.”

The captain stared at him.

Ethan looked toward the gate.

The wood shuddered beneath another impact.

The hinges screamed.

“Bring the oil.”

────────

Fay sat on the floor outside the nursery with her back against the door.

Mara stood nearby, a knife tucked into her belt. Several frightened servants had gathered along the opposite wall. One woman held a crying child against her chest. Another whispered a prayer under her breath.

The floor shook.

Fay looked up.

“How long can the gate hold?”

Mara’s eyes remained on the corridor.

“Longer if we don’t ask it questions.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Another impact rolled through the keep.

A ceiling beam cracked.

The servants gasped.

Fay rose.

“Everyone away from the wall.”

They obeyed.

A young girl stared at her with wide eyes. She could not have been more than eight.

“Are you the queen?”

Fay glanced down at the plastic bracelet still tied around her wrist, a small remnant from another world.

There was no crown on her head.

No house in the Book of Houses.

No certainty.

“I don’t know,” Fay said.

The girl’s face crumpled with fear.

“But you live here.”

Fay looked toward the nursery door.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re the queen.”

Fay had no answer.

────────

By late afternoon, the outer gate had begun to split.

The battering ram struck again.

Wood cracked.

The sound traveled through the lower halls like a scream.

Ethan looked toward the guard captain.

“Fall back to the second gate.”

The captain stared at him.

“If we fall back, they reach the lower yard.”

“Then we make the lower yard expensive.”

The captain nodded and began shouting orders.

Ethan drew his sword.

The men around him gathered close.

“Listen to me!”

The noise slowly settled.

“They have numbers,” Ethan called. “They have fire. They have men who have been told that fear is the same thing as courage.”

He raised his sword.

“We have the walls.”

A soldier shouted.

“Avelor!”

Others answered.

“Avelor!”

The enemy ram struck.

The gate gave way.

The first enemy soldiers surged through the broken opening.

Ethan stepped forward.

The battle began.

────────

By nightfall, the keep had become a place of smoke and shadows.

Torches burned in iron brackets along the corridors, but their flames leaned toward the windows as if something outside were breathing against the glass.

Fay walked through the inner passage carrying a bundle of blankets. Mara followed with a lantern.

Behind the nursery door, Desmond slept.

Or pretended to.

“Mama?”

“I’m here.”

“Is it night?”

“Yes.”

“Did Papa come back?”

Fay looked at Mara.

The older woman lowered her eyes.

“Not yet,” Fay answered.

“He said he would.”

“He did.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”

Fay sat beside the door.

“Because sometimes coming back takes longer than people want.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a pause.

Then Desmond asked, “Can you sing?”

Fay closed her eyes.

She remembered Ethan in the stables, his voice low and reluctant, Desmond joining in with more enthusiasm than accuracy. She remembered the three of them on the hill above the valley, the child asleep against her side while Ethan watched the sunset.

She began softly.

“Go on and take the low road home…”

Desmond’s breathing steadied.

Fay continued.

“I’ll be the light left on the water…”

Mara watched her.

“Where did you learn that?”

“From him.”

“The king?”

“Yes.”

Mara frowned.

“He never sings.”

“He does when he thinks no one is listening.”

The torches flickered.

Far beyond the walls came the sound of metal striking metal.

────────

The enemy had breached the outer gate.

Fires burned along the walls. Bodies lay beneath torn banners. Smoke rolled through the lower yard, turning the torchlight red.

Ethan fought among the remaining guards.

His movements were still controlled, but each one had begun to cost him more. His armor was dented. Blood darkened the sleeve of his tunic. His breath came hard through his teeth.

A soldier fell beside him.

An enemy blade rose toward the man’s throat.

Ethan turned and blocked it.

Steel rang against steel.

He drove the attacker backward, then struck him down.

Across the yard, the guard captain shouted.

“To the inner stairs!”

Ethan looked toward the palace.

The upper windows glowed faintly through the smoke.

He thought of Fay.

Of Desmond.

He took one step toward the stairs.

An enemy soldier charged from the smoke.

Ethan turned too late.

The blade struck across his shoulder.

Pain tore through him.

He fell to one knee.

The guard captain killed the attacker before he could strike again.

“Sire!”

Ethan gripped the stone.

“You need a physician.”

“I need the stairs.”

He forced himself upright.

Blood ran beneath his armor.

“Get the men to the inner door.”

“And you?”

Ethan looked toward the palace.

“I am going there.”

────────

The battle sounds grew closer.

Fay had moved the servants into the center of the inner room. Mara checked the nursery door while the keep shook around them.

“Mama?” Desmond called.

“I’m here.”

“I can’t hear Papa.”

Fay’s face tightened.

“You don’t always hear people when they’re doing brave things.”

“Is he doing brave things?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want him to.”

Fay sat beside the door.

“Neither do I.”

Desmond pressed his hand against the other side.

Fay placed her palm against the wood.

Their hands met through the door.

“When he comes back,” Desmond said, “can we have breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“With honey?”

“With honey.”

“And can he sing?”

“He’ll sing badly.”

“He sings good.”

“He sings terribly.”

Desmond giggled.

For one brief moment, the war could not enter.

Then a white light appeared beneath the door.

Fay stopped breathing.

The light spread across the floor in a thin, impossible line. It moved without flame or heat, bleaching the stones pale. The room filled with a cold radiance.

The servants screamed.

Mara drew her knife.

The nursery door trembled.

“Mama?” Desmond cried.

“Stay back.”

The light grew brighter.

A sound came from the other side.

It was not an explosion.

It was not a voice.

It was a long, low note, like wind moving through an empty hall.

Fay reached for the door.

Mara seized her arm.

“Don’t.”

“My son is in there.”

“I know.”

The light vanished.

The room fell into darkness.

Desmond began to cry.

Fay threw open the door.

────────

Desmond was on the floor beside his bed.

His wooden horse lay several feet away.

The room was cold. Frost covered the windows from the inside, spreading across the glass in branching white patterns.

Fay rushed to him.

“Desmond!”

He threw his arms around her.

“The light came.”

“What light?”

“The white one.”

Fay looked around the room.

Above the bed, on the stone wall, was a dark mark.

A narrow vertical shape.

The outline of a door.

Mara entered behind her.

She saw it.

The color drained from her face.

“That wasn’t there before.”

Fay reached toward the mark.

The stone was warm beneath her fingertips.

A whisper passed through the room.

Fay.

She pulled her hand away.

Desmond looked up at her.

“What did it say?”

Fay stared at the dark outline.

“Nothing.”

Mara crossed herself.

“It said your name.”

────────

The battle reached the inner courtyard before midnight.

Ethan and the remaining guards retreated through the smoke while the enemy pressed behind them. The guard captain slammed the inner doors shut.

“We have minutes,” he said.

Ethan looked up at the keep.

One of the upper windows glowed white.

“No.”

The captain turned toward him.

“Sire?”

“We have less.”

Ethan started toward the palace.

The guard captain caught his arm.

“You cannot go in there.”

“My family is inside.”

“Your family is behind three doors and a hundred men.”

“Then I have three doors to reach.”

He pulled free.

────────

The armory was empty when Ethan entered.

Weapons had been taken from the racks. Blood stained the floor. A broken shield lay near the wall, its crest split down the center.

Ethan removed his helmet.

His breathing was ragged.

He crossed to the small mirror hanging beside the weapons table.

His face was pale. His shoulder was soaked with blood.

He reached for a cloth.

His right hand trembled.

He tried to close his fingers around the fabric.

They moved.

Then stopped.

Ethan stared at his hand.

He tried again.

Nothing.

A distant scream echoed through the keep.

“No,” he whispered.

He forced the fingers closed with his left hand.

The right hand opened again.

He looked at it with disbelief.

Then he wrapped the cloth around his shoulder using his teeth.

When he reached for his sword, his right hand could not close around the hilt.

He switched it to his left.

The armory door opened.

The guard captain stood there.

“Sire. The inner hall is lost.”

Ethan looked up.

“Where is the queen?”

“With the child.”

“Then get them out.”

“The western passage is open.”

“Take them through it.”

“And you?”

Ethan glanced at his right hand.

He hid it inside his coat.

“I will follow.”

The captain knew he was lying.

He bowed anyway.