Moss Gate

by Alex Linwood

  Portia drifted in and out of consciousness. She dreamed of being trapped in a cave below ground. She was lying on her back on the cold ground, her arms and legs unable to move. The ceiling was so close it tickled her nose. She panicked and tried to scream, but no sound came. In those dreams she hyperventilated until she passed out, a strange pressure on her chest.

  One time she revived enough to know she was in a soft bed. Cool sheets covered her body. She wanted to touch one, but her arms were so weak she could barely move. It was night, and the room was lit only by one small candle. There was someone in the dim room with her. She focused her eyes and saw Fife in his chair. He gave her a smile. She tried to smile back, but the darkness overcame her again. She closed her eyes.

  Sometime later, she woke again. It was morning this time. Fife was gone, if indeed he was really there and it wasn’t just a hallucination. Instead, a young page sat in a wooden chair by the window. He was staring at her with wide eyes. Portia got the sense he had been staring at her nonstop while she slept.

  She blinked at him. He leapt to his feet. Before she could speak, he ran out the door. His footfalls echoed down the corridor. She was not in her tower. This room must be part of the main castle.

  A few minutes later, a nurse came into the room, a large white apron covering her dress. She clucked at Portia and came over and put a hand on her forehead. Whatever information her hand told her, the nurse was satisfied. She left the room without a word to Portia and returned in a few moments with a tray holding a cup of tea and a bowl of broth. She set them down on the bedside table next to Portia.

  The broth smelled delicious, but Portia didn’t have the energy to sit up. When she didn’t move, the nurse clucked her tongue and pulled Portia upwards, propping pillows behind her.

  “You okay love?”

  Portia nodded, the effort of such a small movement exhausting.

  The nurse pulled the chair vacated by the page close to the bed and sat on it, then spooned the broth into Portia’s mouth. Portia was too hungry to be humiliated by being fed like a child. She drank the broth. It was warm and soothed her throat as she swallowed.

  When the broth was done, the nurse laid Portia back down and left again. Portia quickly fell back to sleep.

  The next time Portia woke, she was startled to see not only Lady Harper but also King Magnus. They sat in chairs next to the bedside and faced her, their concerned looks scaring her more than her illness. This time she was gratified to realize she had the strength to sit up on her own and she did so, facing both the king and Lady Harper.

  “Have you been here long?” Portia asked.

  “I have come and gone several times over the week,” Lady Harper said. “The master healer thought you would recover more fully today after eating yesterday. That is why the king is here now.”

  Portia feared she might have done something wrong, but they didn’t look angry. “I don’t understand why I’m so sick,” she said, finally. She didn’t want to sound like a petulant child.

  “You’ve been poisoned,” King Magnus said quietly. “You tried to do magic, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with poison?”

  “There is a special kind of poison, prohibited for centuries now, that only goes into effect if it’s victim tries to use magic. The longer the poison has been circulating in the victim’s blood, the stronger it gets. You are lucky in that you only had a small dose and used your magic soon after being exposed.”

  Poisoned? “How?”

  Lady Harper leaned in and touched Portia’s bandaged shoulder. “From the knife wound. It was confirmed by testing the blade on the ground next to you. Luckily, I knew all the weapons you had with you so I could testify to the lords that it was not your blade. Do you remember anything about who attacked you?”

  Portia shook her head.

  King Magnus cleared his throat. “We guessed you had disarmed the attacker and taken his own blade. Is this true? And if so, were you lucky enough to hit him with it?”

  Portia nodded. “I got him much better than he got me. But he was able to escape, and I collapsed to the ground. I don’t understand how that could be.”

  “Because he didn’t use magic,” Lady Harper said.

  Fear gripped Portia’s heart. She couldn’t collapse or be sick if she used magic. It was too important, especially now. She wasn’t even proficient at the healing spell she needed to learn. “Is this permanent?” she asked, panic in her voice.

  “No, not permanent,” the king said, “but you will be disabled for a while. The timing could not be worse. This was intentional. Someone knows what you’re learning and wants to stop you. Stop us.”

  “How long will this last?” Portia asked. She sat up in the bed. She could feel panic pulling at her.

  Lady Harper looked away. That did not reassure Portia. The king looked at her and clenched his jaw. Finally, he spoke softly. “We don’t know. Most incidences we know of where this poison was used, the victim did not survive. Our healers have little experience in treating it. And any who might have experience with this banned drug will not come forward to share their information with us, for it is a capital offense to own it, much less use it.”

  The king rose from his seat and paced the room. He stared out the window. Portia picked at the blanket in front of her. She did not want to interrupt his thinking. She realized there were no other attendants. This too must be a secret from many others.

  He finally turned to face her again. His face was set. “Rest well, young Jack. Fife is waiting for you to return to your training. As we all are.”

  With that, he nodded at Lady Harper and left the room. The noise of guards rising, their armor jostling, drifted down the hallway into Portia’s open door. The king’s guard must have been waiting down the hall. Portia had never seen so many armored guards within the halls of the palace before. They must be on high alert now.

  Lady Harper brought over a small sketch for Portia and laid it on her lap. “This is from Fife. He wanted to give it to you personally but could not stay until you awoke again. He apologizes for what happened to you. He feels responsible. But I… You will talk to him soon enough, I am sure.”

  It was a sketch of Portia and Fife. Merit had drawn it the last time Portia had stayed there for lunch. Portia had mentioned she was missing her locket of Elyas and Fife offered her a replacement. Portia held the sketch up. She didn’t even recognize herself—she looked like an adult in it.

  Chapter 16

  Several days passed, Portia’s strength returning slowly. She woke each morning, opening her eyes to see the sketch of her and Fife propped on her nightstand. It was a welcome way to begin the day. The rest of the time passed in boredom. It took some convincing to even let them allow her out of bed. She was specifically told to not practice her magic until she was given permission by the physician.

  But Lady Harper did bring her the translated book. Portia finished it and then picked at her bedcovers and stared out the window, considering what life had been like during the last invasion. She felt helpless without her magic. When no one was looking, she got out of bed and did push-ups and sit-ups and stretches. She could at least strengthen her physical body.

  The physician came in on the seventh day, a glum old elf with always mismatched clothes. Today was orange polka dot pants and a red-striped shirt. Her perennial frown was a sharp contrast to the lively attitude of her outfit. “Good morning, young thing. Shall we try your magic today and see if you explode?”

  From anyone else, Portia would have thought this was a joke, but the physician’s face was serious. “I hope I don’t explode.”

  “Me too. I’m planning on an early nap, and cleaning up would take too much time.”

  Portia scrunched her forehead. This was not reassuring.

  The physician held out a thimbleful of water. “Turn this to ice. Only this thimbleful.”

  Portia focused on the tiny metal thimble holding a few drops of water. The water cry
stallized and expanded, rising to the top of the thimble. It was a clear blue, solid piece of ice.

  “Excellent. Now how do you feel?” the physician asked.

  Portia felt nothing, or rather she felt just the same as she had before she had used her magic. There was no drain of her energy. She didn’t feel weak. She smiled in satisfaction.

  “Excellent. I see you feel good. Now we know it takes a week. Had no idea. I don’t lose patients too often, so it’s good to not start with the king’s pet. Course there was that one time with the court jester, but that king liked me enough to overlook one dead jester.” The physician prattled on, her volume lowered to a mumble, and she packed up her bag and walked out the door without even a wave to Portia on her way out.

  King’s pet? Portia shook her head to get the image out of her mind. She was no one’s pet. Surely the king did not think so.

  The next morning, Portia was summoned to the throne room. She had been allowed to go back to her tower the previous night. Her clothes had all been cleaned and pressed, but nothing else had been disturbed. She dressed in her finest green outfit and went to meet the king.

  When she got there, it was filled with nobles, as it had been the first time, as well as a large contingent of guards. Sergeant Lyren stood close to the throne. The noise was immense. The sounds overwhelmed Portia after a week in the quiet healer’s area.

  After Portia was announced, King Magnus motioned for her to step forward. “We have had the records searched. The poison that was used in the attack on you was from a single source—one that should have been destroyed a century ago. Sergeant Lyren has taken my charge to verify its destruction and to rid us of any that might be left.” The king paused for a second, his eyes dark, then continued on. “The lords believe you should go as well, since only you can identify your attacker. They believe it is your duty as Friend of the Elves to do whatever you can to protect us.”

  Portia nodded acceptance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Wellesley and Lord Conwood smirking in her direction. Of course they wanted her to go—they probably hoped she would never return. She wondered if they had a direct connection with the elf who had attacked her. “My pleasure, Your Majesty. That is a most wonderful idea. I applaud Lord Wellesley and Lord Conwood for their quick thinking.”

  Lord Conwood scowled but didn’t deny it. Nor did Lord Wellesley. Portia smiled at them both sweetly. She had guessed correctly.

  “I do have a boon to ask in return as a Friend of the Elves. May I make such a request, Your Majesty?”

  King Magnus tilted his head. “You may.”

  “It is only this. If indeed this poison was not destroyed, and we are successful at destroying it now as well as identifying those who used it, I ask that the friendship that has been extended to me be extended to the other humans, so that in a time of crisis, if in the dire situation that they need to flee their lands…” Portia said, bowing her head low, then added more softly, “I ask that they be allowed refuge in Rocabarra.” She did not dare look up.

  The room exploded in angry conversations. She could feel the upset radiating from the lords. They did not want any humans in the inner city, much less letting humans being allowed to flood into Rocabarra.

  “That is a lot to ask for such a little one,” the king said, his face expressionless.

  “It is, Your Majesty. But please hear my reasons. If this poison is not destroyed, it could be used at the critical moment we need magic the most, the moment we must heal a splinter. If that happens, then all is lost—for humans, elves, or any other who inhabit this world. Can you name a price for preventing such a catastrophe?”

  King Magnus rubbed the arm of his throne, thinking. He was not yet won over.

  “And if we succeed in this, it will be less likely that any such help will be needed,” Portia said.

  “This is true.” The king considered Portia, then the lords glaring at him. He closed his eyes, then opened them and nodded. “Very well—”

  Angry shouts interrupted the king. He motioned to his guards, who pounded the butts of their spears down on the floor, creating a loud banging that reverberated in the hall. Silence fell in the throne room.

  “I am still king here,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “You have asked the Friend of the Elves to prove herself, and she has agreed. She has asked a boon in return for risking her life, which is her right, and I have granted it. There will be no more said about this.” He glared around the room. Several lords fisted their hands in anger, but none dared defy him.

  Sergeant Lyren cleared her throat. King Magnus acknowledged her with a wave of his fingers. She stepped forward towards the throne. “If I may be so bold, if Portia is to come with us, I ask that her weapons be upgraded. It puts us all at risk if she is vulnerable and must be protected more than would be needed if she was properly outfitted.”

  “Your point is well taken, Sergeant Lyren. Please take her to the royal armory before leaving. I would have this quest started today. It has been left too long.”

  Two guards escorted Sergeant Lyren and Portia to the royal armory several floors beneath the throne room. One stayed to keep a record of what was taken, but Sergeant Lyren knew she had access to all that was there, and the glint in her eyes showed her excitement.

  She first pulled Portia over to the sets of full armor. Luckily, Portia was still small enough that many of the suits designed for elves would have fit her, but Portia shook her head at the heavy metal plate, and instead pointed towards the piles of leather reinforced doublets with leather pieces for the arms and legs. It would be much easier to move and fight in such trim gear. Portia did not envy the guards their metal armor.

  While she was trying on the dark green leather she selected, Portia’s eye caught a sword hanging on the wall. It was the narrower blade the elves used, which would be lighter and perfect for her. The blade itself shone a brilliant copper color, one she’d never seen on a weapon before. Emeralds dotted the hilt, and the scabbard below it was wrapped in green leather. It felt familiar to her. Without thinking, Portia went to it and pulled it off the wall. The guard reacted abruptly, but Sergeant Lyren held a hand out to stop him. Portia didn’t notice.

  She gave the blade a few trial swings. It balanced perfectly in her hand. Portia’s experience with swords was limited to the practice with Professor Aelric—that story to Mia and Ella had not been completely made up—but while she was still more proficient with knives, she felt there was more potential with this sword. It felt a part of her. She was loath to put it down.

  “You have exceptional taste, young human,” Sergeant Lyren said. “Do you want that blade?”

  “Yes, very much… But I think it’s best that I don’t take it, for I am more comfortable with knives right now.” Portia sighed. “I should prepare for this immediate quest. I don’t feel ready yet with the sword.” She reluctantly put the blade back on the wall. The guard relaxed.

  “That shows a great deal of wisdom, young human. Most impressive. So, if that is not your chosen weapon, let us examine the knives that are here.”

  “I’m comfortable with the knives I have,” Portia said.

  “Are you sure? It is not often that a king offers you access to his armory,” Sergeant Lyren said, prompting Portia to look at the knives. “At the very least, yours should be sharpened.”

  The knives laid out on the table were varied, often in pairs. Portia saw a set of curved daggers with ebony handles. She picked one up and felt its balance. It was finely made.

  “Remember, you will not be able to use any magic. You must be comfortable with the weapons you choose, for they’ll be all that’s between you and your enemies.”

  Portia stilled. For as long as she could remember, she’d had access to her magic when she needed it. This quest would be dangerous indeed.

  Sergeant Lyren leaned in and picked up the matching knife to the one in Portia’s hand and handed it to her. “The king would be happy for you to use these. Please take them.”
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  Portia accepted them and put them on her belt.

  Sergeant Lyren and Portia met up with the rest of the soldiers for the journey outside the castle. The soldiers had stags waiting for them. Portia was proud of herself for being able to mount her stag on the first attempt, lacing the leathers around her legs on both sides before the deer could get any ideas about throwing her off. She smiled in delight at her accomplishment. Sergeant Lyren laughed.

  No one spoke as they traveled through the inner city, the outer city, and then finally entered a forest nearby. The stags rode through the densely packed trees at full speed, ducking around trunks and under branches. They seemed to have an innate sense for how tall the riders were and never ran towards a branch that would strike one off their backs. Portia was grateful for this, since the animals went so fast it could hardly be said that she was guiding hers. It was more accurate to say she was hanging on tightly in order to not be thrown off into the wind. She was also grateful for the hat and goggles that Sergeant Lyren had handed to her before they started off.

  Several hours later, they reached a lake, its blue waters shimmering in the sunlight. It was visible for some time before they reached the edge of the forest, shining brightly through the trees. Sergeant Lyren motioned for the group to pull up before they lost the cover of the forest.

  A scout dismounted his stag and crept ahead to the edge of the tree line. He looked over the lake for several minutes and returned just as quietly. “There is activity by the lake. The tower appears intact.”

  Sergeant Lyren scowled. “The records stated this tower was destroyed. It was a holding place for the poison, and the headquarters for those outlaws who created it. Did no one verify it was actually destroyed?”

  “Perhaps they did, or they didn’t. Or perhaps the record keeper was bribed,” Portia said. She knew from personal experience how many weak spots there could be in a story, especially one that was over a century old.

  “This is true. Whatever the record says, the tower is here and intact.” Sergeant Lyren motioned to the two scouts of the party. “Go find out what activity there is. We will wait here.”