The nightmares claimed him through the night, but the innocents he’d failed to protect all had golden hair, and brown eyes flecked with gold.
Chapter Eight
Warna woke well before dawn, with a raw throat and scratchy eyes.
She rolled to her side, flipped her pillow and burrowed down into its coolness. She’d left the shutters on the small window opened, and moonlight filled the room.
Her heart lay numb and cold, a terrible empty feeling in her chest. It was all gone, and she’d known it before Verice had confirmed her fears. Known it by the dead look in her father’s eyes as he’d kissed her mother’s coffin. When word had come of the deaths of her brothers. When she’d held her grandfather’s hand, and sung him to sleep for the last time.
‘Your life is your own, Warna of Farentell, to make of it what you wish.’
All well and good for him to say so, but the thought filled her with dread. It might be freedom in his eyes, but to her it looked like a great, yawning maw of ‘unknown’. She’d no skills to speak of, and while Lord Verice thought her songs were special, Warna knew full well they were not.
What did she want? She wanted what she’d had. A home, a future planned for her, a family who loved her and were loved in return. She’d looked forward to building a life with a husband of similar mind, and a family of her own.
Exhausted, drained, she closed her eyes, and fell back asleep with just enough consciousness for a simple prayer. “Lord of Light, Lady of Laughter, hear my prayer. Grant me grace and strength, Lord. Grant me wisdom and peace, Lady. Show me the way…”
In the morning, Warna stepped out into a crowd of waiting men and horses. “What’s going on?” she asked Constable Ricard quietly.
“It’s your escort,” Ricard responded just as quietly. He carried the woven lidded basket that held her clothes on his shoulder. “Lord Verice ordered it doubled.”
“Looks more like I’m being escorted to my execution,” Warna said.
“That’s not funny,” Verice ground out from behind her.
Warna jumped, startled. “M’lord,” she started, then paused when she saw his eyes. “If you’ll forgive me, you look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I’ll sleep better when you are safe,” Verice growled. “Constable, you will have command.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Ricard heaved her basket up onto the back of one of the horses, and secured it. He gave Warna a nod. “Be well, miss.” He lowered his voice. “The Lord and the Lady go with you.”
“With you as well,” was all she had time for as Verice took her elbow, and guided her to a horse.
“You can ride?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said shortly. She reached for the saddle and mounted quickly, glad she’d chosen tunic and trous for this day.
Verice mounted the horse next to hers. He’d braided his hair, and now wrapped it around his head and put on a helmet. “Narthing, you have point. No ceremony.”
“Aye,” Narthing called from the front of the group. “Mount up,” was the command, and all obeyed. Warna felt dwarfed by the maels around her as they took to their horses.
“Forward,” Narthing called, and the group started out, hooves chiming on the stones as they walked toward the great gates. Warna admired the huge doors, which swung open silently, pulled back by the great chains she could hear rattling overhead.
But as her horse’s head cleared the gate, some force pushed her hands back, as if she was against a wall. “What is—?” she exclaimed. Her horse continued on, but her body was forced back, pushed back by some kind of barrier. The pressure slammed her knees and chest, and she felt the horse walking out from beneath her—
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her from the horse before she fell. She gasped, clinging as Verice turned his horse away from the gate, cursing under his breath.
“What happened?” she asked. The warriors milled about her, some stopping her horse. Narthing was calling commands to halt.
“Nothing,” Verice growled in her ear. “Let’s get you back on your horse.”
She became conscious of his arm, holding her up, pressing her body against his. She flushed. “Thank you for the rescue, m’lord.”
Verice said nothing, just lowered her to the ground as her horse was brought back.
Warna re-mounted, settled herself in the saddle and grasped the reins tightly.
Verice hovered, whispering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite understand.
She urged the horse forward at a walk, and the animal plodded forward patiently, passing through the massive gate without a problem.
Confused, she concentrated on staying in the saddle as they rode forward, at least until she happened to look up. Then the view took her breath away.
She’d caught a glimpse of it when she’d tried to throw herself from the balcony of the keep, but it had only been a glimpse, and she’d been...distracted. But now, the walled city below the castle was spread out before her. The whole thing gleamed white and shining in the sun. The odd thing was, there seemed to be green within the walls.
It didn’t take long before they were at the walls, answered the challenge, and through the gates. Warna discovered, to her delight, that there were trees, and even gardens, some with flowers, some with vegetables. The buildings weren’t piled on top of one another, like in the towns she’d seen in Farentell. These storefronts and homes seemed crisp, somehow. Everything planned, and in its place. It was lovely, but it felt so different from her home.
The people were the same, going to and fro with tasks and chores. Warna’s group didn’t draw much attention as they passed down the wide street at a trot.
She glanced over at Verice, who rode straight and tall, his helmet hiding his face.
He met her eye for a moment, then looked away.
They continued on for a while, then Warna grew conscious that the group seemed smaller than when they’d started. When two more warriors pulled away from the group, she knew she was right. She stopped staring around, and focused on where they were going.
Two more warriors stopped at a fountain, announcing that they would water their mounts. That left two riding beside them. Verice continued on, slowing their pace. “It’s not far,” he offered quietly.
Which was good, because Warna hadn’t been in a saddle for some time, and she was starting to feel it.
“Here,” Verice stopped in front of a bakery and dismounted. “Best sweet buns in town.”
Warna dismounted as well. The warriors with them took the horses, seemingly headed to a smithy down the way. Verice took her lidded basket from one of the horses, and motioned her to a door.
He ushered her in to a small room with a long counter. The three women inside looked up from their work. The oldest one smiled and walked forward.
“Lord Verice,” she dusted flour from her hands, and curtsied, even as she darted Warna a glance filled with curiosity. “We were told of your coming, Lord.”
“Which door?” Verice asked.
The woman laughed. “You know him, m’lord. Tis through the necessary.” She paused, with a twinkle in her eye. “Might be wishing to grab a cloak.”
Verice shook his head, which just made the woman chuckle. He shifted her basket to one hand, and headed through a side passage, down to a door. Warna followed.
They passed through a cloak room, and here, Verice gathered up a heavy woolen cloak. “Here,” he said. “Put this on.”
“But,” Warna objected.
Verice ignored her, setting the basket down and sweeping the cloak over her shoulders. “Trust me,” he said, clearly amused by her confusion.
Warna huffed out a breath, but left the cloak in place. Verice picked up the basket and led the way.
The door opened into a kitchen garden with a privy beyond. Verice opened the door with its moon carving, and bowed her through.
Warna had brothers; she gave Verice her best ‘what-are-you-up-to look’. But he just shook his head in de
nial of any trick. “Watch the first step,” he said as she entered.
She found herself on a high mountain trail, ice and snow glittering in the moonlight, the fierce wind stealing her breath.
Chapter Nine
Warna staggered, for she had stepped from bright warm day into crystal cold night. She felt Verice’s warm arm wrap around her waist.
“Told you.” His breath was warm on her ear as the cold wind swirled tiny snowflakes around them.
The path was clear, but not the peaks. Hard, sheer spikes of stone, decorated with the rims of frost sparkled under the moonlight. What stars could be seen were bright in the midnight sky. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
She breathed in. The air seemed thin and insubstantial, as if her breath was not enough to sustain her. And the bitter cold cut right through the cloak. A gust of wind hit them, carrying sparks of icy snow that stung her face.
But Verice stood behind her, warm and strong. She wasn’t afraid; although a glance back showed that there was no door behind them. “Where are—”
The rock face farther down the path split open, spilling warmth and light. “Verice! How good to see you,” an elderly elf with wisps of white hair poked his head out the door. “And company! Even better. Come in, come in!”
Verice guided her the few steps up and through the door. “Wolfe, it’s good to see you.”
It was a small room, that smelled of leather, soap, and bread. It was lined with shelves, and cloaks hanging from pegs. Warna watched where she stepped. The floor was cluttered with boots tucked under benches, and parcels and baskets at her feet. Winter woolens spilling from the shelves.
There was a scrabble of nails on wooden floors, and they were surrounded by a pack of large smooth-haired dogs, noses lifted to take in the scents, tails high, barking in their excitement. Warna laughed, trying to scratch as many ears as she could reach.
“Now, now, stop that, settle down,” The old elf closed the door, cutting off the cold air. The dogs ignored him as they milled about, knocking into Warna, scattering parcels and tipping over baskets.
“Sit,” Verice commanded.
The dogs all sat, tongues lolling out of their mouths, uttering muted whines of excitement and happiness. They were various hues, running from dark brown to soft gray, long noses and all leg.
“They’re beautiful,” Warna said, as Verice took her cloak. The whole room reminded her of home so much. Her brother’s hunting dogs, her father’s boots. She blinked away her tears, reaching out to pet the closest. The animal wiggled all over, darting pleading looks at Verice. “Down,” Verice said, shaking his head.
The dog yipped as it collapsed onto its side, rolled over and begged Warna to rub its belly. Warna laughed, and obliged.
“Shameless,” Verice said gruffly, as he gave the others attention.
“None to blame but yourself,” the older elf snorted. “Since they’re your dogs.”
“They are?” Warna glanced up to find him staring at her, his gaze flicking to her ears. Suddenly self-conscious, she stood.
“They were,” Verice straightened. “Wolfe, may I present—”
“No, no, let’s wait until Kalynn is with us,” Those considering eyes were now twinkling with some inner joke. “Come up, come up,” The elf smiled at Warna. “We’re on the roof. It’s a bitter night, but perfectly clear.” He led the way to a door opposite, which opened onto a spiral staircase. “Kalynn will want to hear every word.”
Verice gestured, her lidded-basket still on his shoulder. Warna followed the elf up the most cluttered staircase she’d ever seen. The staircase was narrow, the stone steps all worn in the center from years of use. The light was warm, welcoming and steady, but it was as if the very stones glowed, since there were no torches she could see. Even the wooden doors they passed glowed yellow with age.
On each side of every step was a basket, crock, chest, with piles of books and scrolls adding to the clutter. All filled with such a variety of things that Warna’s head was spinning before they’d gone a single flight. Baskets of crystals, of rocks, of yarn and cloth. Beads in one, and gold coins in another, none of which she’d ever seen before. Shells, and feathers and dried plants all haphazardly piled in various boxes and containers.
The walls held swords and daggers, shields and lances, all displayed with animal skins spread out between them. At one point she saw two crossed lances, and between them a large rib bone decorated with beads and feather and a strip of bells.
She actually stopped before one beautiful tapestry, showing a warrior-woman on the back of what at first appeared to be a winged horse, carrying a glowing blue sword. But a closer look showed that it was more of a hawk-horse, with fierce eyes and clawed front feet. Still, it took her breath away, the details of the feathered mane, and the light in the woman’s eyes.
“Airon,” Verice said behind her, re-balancing her basket. “They are called airons. Fierce fighters, and rulers of the skies.”
“It’s lovely,” Warna said, but then she jerked her head at a further thought. “They really exist?” She stared at the skull hanging next to it, covered in etched engravings. “Is that a dragon skull?” she breathed.
“Wyvern.” Verice said.
“Are you coming?” Wolfe asked from the stairs above. “Watch your step,” the old elf said, as Warna hastened up. “I fear I’ve fallen behind in my cataloging.”
There was a snort from Verice. Warna glanced back to see him shake his head.
The dogs swarmed around them, heading up the stairs, knocking things over as they scrambled past.
“Here now,” Wolfe said irritably.
“Don’t blame them,” Verice said.
“It’s my tower, lad,” Wolfe retorted. “Age has its privileges.”
“Age is not an excuse to avoid cleaning,” came a female voice from above.
Warna climbed up the final flight of stairs and found herself emerging onto a rooftop. She stopped dead, and Verice had to urge her up the last few steps.
There were chairs in the center of the roof, clustered around an area rug and a table. Chairs with padding, the kind that Warna had heard of but never seen. But that wasn’t what commanded her attention. It was the night sky above them, clear and crisp, with stars scattered over a velvet sky, and the moon low over the mountains that surrounded the tower.
Yet the air was warm. She took a breath, and laughed at the wonder.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” a low female voice asked. A woman stood at the table, smiling at them, dressed in embroidered robes of red and gold. Her skin was the color of dark honey, and her white hair was piled on the top of her head. Her eyes were the same silver as Verice’s and filled with welcome. Warna couldn’t see her ears, but she had the same air as Wolfe, and she looked as what Warna had imagined elves to be, when reading her childhood tales.
“May I present to you Warna of Farentell,” Verice said, coming to stand next to Warna. “Warna, these are my friends and mentors, Mage Wolfe, and Seer Kalynn.”
Warna would have curtsied, conscious of her tunic and trous, but Kalynn stepped forward and took her hands. “Come, sit. Farentell, eh? That’s a barony in Palins, is it not? Next to yours, I believe, Verice.”
“It was,” Verice said. “Farentell has fallen to the Usurper now. Warna came to Tassinic, fleeing the conflict. She is under my protection, now.”
Kalynn drew Warna to one of the stuffed chairs. She sat, trying not to notice the startled looks on the faces of Wolfe and Kalynn. The dogs had followed them up the stairs, and were settling all around them, sprawling on the rugs.
“Protection?” Wolfe asked sharply.
Kalynn silenced him with a glance. “You are most welcome, Warna. It’s not often we have visitors.”
“As to that—” Verice set his burden down and settled on a chair next to Warna’s. “I’ve come with two requests. I’d ask that you shelter Warna for a time. For her own safety, she cannot continue to stay at the castle.”
&n
bsp; “Continue?” Kalynn asked sharply.
Wolfe now silenced her with a glance. “She’d be welcome, of course.”
“And the second, lad?”
“I’d like Charrin to hear her sing, and evaluate her skills in music,” Verice said. “I believe that she has a gift for music that should be nurtured and protected.”
Wolfe and Kalynn both stared at Verice. Warna concentrated on the dogs, avoiding the looks of dismay on their faces.
“Verice, are you sure that’s wise?” Kalynn asked quietly. “Charrin is still healing, and I am not sure that he would…” Her words trailed off as she glanced at Warna again. “I am not sure this is advisable.”
“At the very least, its damned insensitive, lad.” Wolfe shook his head. “There are other Bards who could evaluate her abilities.”
“Yet you’ll shelter her,” Verice pointed out.
“Of course,” Wolfe said. “And we’d resolve any issues that came up as a result. Might even do him good, to live with a—” He stumbled over a word. “To have other people around. But to ask Charrin’s opinion about her talents is just asking for—”
“Whose talents?” A warm, baritone voice floated over to them. Warna turned to see another elf coming up the stairs slowly, with a stick in his hand. She drew in a sharp breath. Unlike Verice and Wolfe, this elf’s hair was black, a silky curtain down his back. But his face—
An ugly, raw gash crossed both eyes, empty sockets sightless and staring.
Chapter Ten
Warna caught her breath at his scars, then regretted her rudeness. It hadn’t been loud, perhaps he’d not heard—
The blind elf turned his head slightly. “Who is that?”
“Charrin,” Kalynn rose gracefully from her chair, and moved toward him, her robes swishing against the stones. “Verice has brought a guest who will be staying with us for a while. Her name is Warna and she is of—”
“Why are you speaking the human tongue?” Charrin stood stiff and straight, not advancing further into the room.
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