by JA Andrews
“What troubles you?” bellowed Douglon over the fire. “Afraid you’ll burn your pretty hair?”
The borrey snarled and dropped to all fours as it paced.
That fire wouldn’t last long on the rocky ledge. Once the fire powder burned up, there would be no fuel to keep it going. Already, the flames were shrinking. If Alaric could get closer, he could add more energy to the fire, make it bigger.
“Come, pretty boy,” Douglon called, “come meet my axe. Do you fear a little fire? Like a common dog?”
The borrey hissed, its long claws reflecting the firelight. The flames between Douglon and the creature sank lower.
The borrey crept closer.
From the edge of the wall of fire, Brandson started throwing stones. The borrey paused to glare at him, but every stone flew wide of the creature. Douglon shouted at it again, drawing its attention back to him. The flames were shrinking quickly. In a matter of moments, the borrey would leap across them.
Brandson was still throwing rocks. The blacksmith had never looked so incompetent. The stones would not have done the borrey any real harm, but Brandson had thrown a half dozen already, and each had sailed over the creature’s head, landing an arm span behind him.
“Where’s your aim, boy?” Douglon shouted, taking a step back toward the wall.
Brandson swore and scrambled about for another rock.
Alaric reached the ledge behind the borrey. He started to gather some energy to add to the fire. He could see nothing living around him, though, and he himself was exhausted. He was too far from the borrey to steal any of his. He began drawing from his own energy when Brandson threw a rock in a high arc toward the Keeper.
“Alaric! Get back! The powder!” Brandson pointed to Alaric’s feet.
Alaric looked down an instant before the stone landed and saw the sparkle of fire powder. He dove behind the nearest boulder.
There was a deafening explosion when Brandson’s stone hit the fire powder. Alaric lay there stunned, the world strangely muffled and a dizzying pressure in his ears. He shook his head to clear it and scrambled to his knees. Leaning around the boulder, he saw an arc of flames behind the borrey trapping it in a cage of fire. Alaric’s hearing began to return, and he heard the borrey scream in rage as it spun around, finding itself encircled in flame. It stepped forward, hissing and spitting at Brandson.
Tucked in behind the boulder with Alaric was a stand of brown scrub brush. It was alive, barely, but that was something. Alaric drew the vitalle from the scrub brush and pushed it toward the fire. His hands seared as though they were in the flames themselves, but Alaric forced himself to focus on the fire, pulling every last bit of energy from the scrub brush. The flames rose higher and brighter. Douglon and Brandson stepped back and shielded their faces.
The next moment, lines of fire powder leading in toward the borrey ignited and streams of flame shot toward it. Alaric poured all the energy he could find into the fire, his outstretched hands clenched as the pain seared through them.
The borrey turned, cringing away from the fire. It raised its head and let out a piercing shriek. One last pile of fire powder ignited right next to the borrey and it screamed again. Looking around frantically, it raised its hands to the sky and let out a howl. The flame flickered brightly for a second, then a thunderous clap reverberated through the air. Alaric felt the boom deep in his chest.
The borrey was gone.
Alaric cut off the flow of energy, and the ring of fire weakened. Through the flames, Brandson peered at him. Alaric lifted his hand slightly in a wave.
Brandson threw his arms into the air and let out a shout. Douglon bellowed something and pounded Brandson on the back.
When the flames died out, Brandson crossed over the blackened lines on the ground to clap Alaric on the shoulder.
“Don’t know where the rotten beast went,” Douglon said with a wicked grin, “but we sure pissed it off.”
Brandson looked around. “Where did it go? Where’s the rest of the powder?”
Alaric shook his head, “No need for that. You two have managed to pull off the only solution to a Borrey attack. You sent it scurrying back home, far, far away.”
Brandson grinned.
“In that case, well done us.” Douglon glanced at the black scorch marks then at Alaric. “Thanks for the help with the flames.”
Alaric nodded. A line of pus and blood ran out from under one of his bandages. “It’s a good thing the flames didn’t need any more help.”
Douglon looked down the slope, “Where’s the elf?”
“She’s… waiting down in the valley. Where’s Milly?”
Brandson cleared his throat and his eyes flicked toward the tower. “Uh, she wouldn’t stay inside, so…”
“We had to tie her to a post.” Douglon shook his head. “For a little thing, she put up a good fight.”
“She was pretty mad.” Brandson pulled up his sleeve, showing long, red scratches running up to his elbow. “I guess we should go untie her,” he said, not moving.
Douglon grunted and looked through the arch in the wall, not moving, either.
Alaric heaved himself up. “She’ll be fine now that the borrey’s gone.”
Alaric followed the others into the Stronghold. The air inside the wall was thick with dust, and their feet crunched on loose rock spilled across the courtyard from the collapsed wall. A shriek and sounds of a scuffle came from inside the leftmost tower.
“Milly!” Brandson shouted as he rushed inside followed by Douglon.
Alaric dragged his feet forward after the others, trying to hurry.
A loud clang rang out. “Stay back, you… you… you…” Milly yelled.
Alaric made it to the doorway of the tower. The inside was dark and stale. Brandson and Douglon stepped inside and Alaric followed, slumping back against the wall next to the doorway. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw Milly brandishing a frying pan.
“Milly,” Brandson pleaded, “we had no choice. It was for your own good.”
“Tying me to a rock?” she shrieked. “In a room with a monster?”
“We saved your life,” Douglon pointed out. “Where’d you find a pan?”
“The monster was outside the walls,” Brandson said, his arms spread out in a placating sort of way as he inched closer to Milly. “Put down the pan. Please. It’s okay. We fought it off.” A little bit of pride crept into his voice.
“Outside?” she asked. Her voice rose an octave. “Outside?”
She took a long, shuddering breath, then, as though talking to children, she said, “While you two heroes left me tied up in here, this monster”—she waved the frying pan at a lump on the floor—”crept out of the dark and tried to kill me! If you hadn’t tied such pathetic knots, I’d be dead!”
The form on the floor shifted and groaned. A hand rose and grabbed its head. Alaric could make out a beard and deep-set eyes.
There was a creak of leather as Douglon approached, holding his axe. “Get up slowly.”
“Drop your axe, you meathead,” the figure grumbled. “You’re so slow with it, I could sit up, eat a meal, and saunter out of the tower before your blow ever fell.”
Douglon’s eyes narrowed. “On your feet! Now!”
The figure raised its head, wincing. It was a dwarf. With a moan, his head fell back to the floor.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to kill me here, cousin. It seems I’m not quite ready to rise.”
Alaric slid down the wall to sit on the floor. If he weren’t so exhausted, he would laugh.
Douglon gestured to the dwarf on the floor. “Everyone, meet my cousin, Patlon.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alaric sat against the wall of the tower, exhausted. The split blisters on his palms throbbed. The more his eyes grew accustomed to the dim room, the more he could tell that Patlon must have been staying here. There was a large fireplace along the far wall with a scattering of cooking supplies near it. Milly stomped over to it and d
ropped the pan with a clatter, while Douglon hoisted Patlon up against one of the thick posts supporting the ceiling.
Milly took the rope out of Douglon’s hands. “If you tie him up, he’ll be out in no time. You can’t just tangle ropes together and call it a knot.”
Patlon let out a low chuckle as Milly tugged and tied the rope. “He’s always been terrible at knots.”
“You’d best shut your mouth, cousin,” Douglon said. “You’re not well thought of here.”
Brandson rummaged through Patlon’s cooking wares and brought a piece of thick-crusted bread to Alaric. “You look a bit worn out.”
When Alaric lifted his hand to take it, Brandson’s eyes widened at the bloody bandage. “Here.” He tore off a piece of the loaf.
Alaric took it gratefully and sank his teeth into the bread. It was dry and coarse and possibly the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.
Brandson and Milly unwrapped Alaric’s hands one at a time before rewrapping them in clean bandages. Alaric ate the last bite of bread and flexed his hands. It was going to be days before his hands were useful.
Leaving Brandson, Milly, and Douglon to watch Patlon, Alaric began the long walk back to the clearing with the Ayda tree.
When Alaric reached the tree, one thin branch brushed across the top of his head.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” he answered. “I didn’t realize you could control your branches. I suppose it makes sense, though. The branches are sort of your fingers, aren’t they?” Where sunlight trickled through the pale green leaves, her bark was glimmering silver. “What kind of tree are you?”
The tree quivered a little.
“You invented it, didn’t you?”
It quivered again.
“Well, don’t drop any seeds. I don’t think the world is ready for a forest of Ayda-trees.
“We scared off the borrey. But then we found Patlon hiding where they stashed Milly. I don’t know if I can trust the dwarves not to kill each other, so let’s change you back.”
Alaric reached out his hand toward the trunk but paused at the thought of putting his blistered palm on her trunk. As far as he knew, he wasn’t going to contribute any energy to this process, just provide Ayda with an image of herself, something she could focus on. Still, it took some effort of will to put his aching palm on the trunk.
“All right,” he said, “I’ve got you fixed in my mind.”
He stood still for several moments, eyes closed, mind focused on an image of Ayda. When nothing happened, he glanced up. She was still a tree. A tree reaching toward the sun and swaying in the breeze with more exuberance than the others.
“Ayda! Pay attention.”
The tree settled down a bit. Alaric focused on Ayda as an elf again.
No energy flowed out of his hand, but where his skin touched the trunk, the warmth of his hand leeched out, leaving his fingers ice cold. He gasped and tried to pull his hand away, but it was fixed on the tree. His fingers grew white until they were as pale as the trunk.
The coldness moved up his arm, the warmth being leeched out from deep within muscle and bone. It crept higher, and Alaric tugged on his arm with his other hand.
A branch snapped down and swatted the Keeper across the cheek. Alaric looked up at the tree, realizing that he had lost his focus.
He froze. The tree was not turning back into Ayda. Instead of resolving down into her body, the branches were stretching out farther, solidifying into a disjointed tangle of limbs, eyes, and gaping mouths. Directly above his head, a tortured face emerged out of the wood, its mouth open in a silent scream. Branches stretched out into clawed hands and twisted legs. Eyes bulged out, wide and sightless.
Alaric stared in horror until another branch stung him across the arm. Squeezing his eyes shut, he dragged his focus back onto the idea of Ayda, desperately holding an image of her as an elf in his mind. The cold seeped into his chest. He clung to the image of Ayda as his knees buckled and he dropped to the ground.
The darkness stirred sluggishly and warm hands pulled at him. He dragged his eyes open to see Ayda, once again an elf, standing over him.
“Now I know why we use elves instead of humans as our anchors,” she said, her voice far away. “I almost sucked the life right out of you.” She knelt down next to him.
He couldn’t breathe, his body was heavy and dull, and blackness flowed into the edges of his vision. Ayda took his numb, white hand and held it close to her mouth. She breathed across his fingertips. Warmth surged up his arm like a wave. It flowed into his chest, and Alaric’s lungs drew in a rush of air.
Alaric sat up as though he’d just woken up from a long sleep. His vision was clear, and every trace of exhaustion was gone. Only the burns on his hands still hurt, and even that pain was deadened. He looked up at Ayda. She was fair and glittery and normal. Or as normal as Ayda could be. “What happened?”
“I drew too much out of you,” Ayda said as she sat down beside him.
“I didn’t know I was contributing to the process.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” Ayda said. “I just needed an image to grab on to.”
Alaric rubbed his fingers, which were now back to their proper color. “Well, the grabbing hurt more than I thought it would.”
“It shouldn’t have. Sorry. I wasn’t paying quite as much attention as I should have been. You see, there was a lovely sunbeam that I had caught in my upper branch, and…” She paused and smiled at Alaric’s glare. “I didn’t notice how hard I grabbed.”
“Do you know of any other time when a human was used for an anchor? What if I hadn’t been able to bring you back?” Alaric asked. “Were you just willing to live out the rest of your centuries as a tree?”
“You aren’t just a human, you’re a Keeper. That makes you slightly more useful. And you make it sound like it would be bad not to change back. I like being a tree.” She looked exactly as she always had, with no trace of disjointed limbs or eyes.
“You were terrifying,” he told her. “I thought the anchor was just a focus because trees are distractible. What were all the arms and legs and faces? I didn’t know you could change into anything other than…you.”
“I suppose in a way that is me, too.”
She was a monster with dozens of limbs and heads? Alaric opened his mouth to ask more, but at the dark expression on Ayda’s face, he paused.
“Now,” she said briskly, “it is easy to get distracted as a tree, but did you mention Patlon?”
Alaric groaned and stood. “Oh, I almost forgot. He was making camp inside the Stronghold. I’ll be amazed if they haven’t killed each other yet.”
They started across the clearing.
“You seemed surprised that I was at Prince Elryn’s changing,” Alaric said. “It was during my years at court, so I attended with Queen Saren. I don’t remember meeting you there, but there were a lot of elves.”
Ayda continued walking for a moment before answering. “I wasn’t there.”
“Really? Were there many absent?”
She shook her head. “Only one.”
“Where were you?”
She ignored the question. “You understand what the ceremony meant?”
“It named Elryn heir to the elven throne. Sometime you need to sit down with me and explain the elven royal family tree. The Keepers are always annoyed that we can’t pin down exactly how you are all related, and no elves ever explain it. But Elryn is King Andolin’s eldest son, right? Isn’t it your custom for the eldest child to be the next ruler?”
Ayda laughed, “The custom is not mine, but it is what my people do. We aren’t as bound by the idea of inheriting the throne as you humans are, but more often than not, the crown is accepted by the eldest child.” She shrugged. “I had a role to play in the ceremony that I wasn’t interested in. So I left and let someone else do it.”
Alaric snorted. Elves didn’t shirk responsibilities. Whether it was because of a sense of communal consciousness or just a cultural tra
it, they accepted their roles in elven society without complaint. True, there was little structure to the elven culture, but Alaric had never heard of one refusing to do what was asked of them.
“Ayda, sometimes when you talk, you sound more human than elf.”
“That’s what my father said. He blamed it on my mother.”
Alaric looked at her in surprise. “Was she human?”
Ayda’s peal of laughter rang through the trees. “Do I look like my mother was a human? You’re a Keeper, so you must have heard of Ayala.”
Alaric stopped. “Queen Ayala was your mother?”
Ayda nodded and stopped as well. She turned toward him and smiled a patient little smile.
“If she’s your… then you…”
Ayda nodded encouragingly.
“Princess Aydalya?” he asked in amazement.
“At your service,” she curtsied. “I am Aydalya, daughter of Queen Ayala. First born of King Andolin, elder half-sister to the crowned Prince Elryn.”
“Elder!” He stared at her for a long moment. “You should have been named heir!”
“That was the role I didn’t want.”
Chapter Twenty
Princess Aydalya? Not only had he found an elf, he’d found the only living elf princess. What was Princess Aydalya doing wandering around the northern edges of the kingdom with a bunch of treasure hunters?
“My brother was the better choice for heir,” she continued. “His mind was built for ruling and planning and listening.” Ayda reached up and touched a leaf. “Mine is… less steadfast.”
“More human?”
Ayda laughed again, “That’s what my father would say.”
“So, your mother was captured by goblins and rescued by the human, Boman. She then lived with him for the rest of his life.”
