by K. C. Julius
Leif’s eyes widened. “Me? But I was never any good at school, master, and you know how hard it is for me to remember things!”
“On the contrary! You have an excellent memory for things that are important to you. It’s just that someone once told you otherwise and you persist in believing it. You’re fully capable of taking on the task charged to you. It will be your responsibility to cultivate a connection not only between you and Rhiandra, but also between her and the elven and human races.” The wizard placed a reassuring hand on Leif’s shoulder. “I have absolute faith in your success.”
Maura’s furrowed brow reflected Leif’s own worry. “Can you tell us, master, how we are to prepare for our trial?” she asked.
The wizard sighed. “Yes, well… it must be with great patience and perseverance.”
“Persev…?” Leif stumbled over the word.
“Determination, lad,” said Master Morgan, “which you have in abundance. To begin with, you’ll need to get to know them, while observing all the proprieties. Dragons are sticklers in this regard.”
Seeing Leif’s expression, Maura said, “Master Morgan means dragons like nice manners.”
Leif relaxed a bit then, for his gran had taken great care to instruct him in proper behavior.
“After you’ve been admitted into their presence,” said the wizard, “we’ll just have to see what they have in mind for your trial. In any case, you must accept. In the meantime, it’s important for you both to cultivate a skill at arms.”
Maura looked alarmed. “The only weapon I’ve ever been trained to use is my dagger, master.”
“And now you will learn to use others,” said Master Morgan. “I’ve arranged for you to begin while I’m away. Hopefully you won’t need to proceed with the binding until I’m back in Mithralyn.”
That conversation had taken place weeks ago, and now the wizard had returned with the cousins and a tutor. Leif and Maura had indeed received much training at arms in the interim, although neither yet felt a great degree of confidence in their skills.
Leif came out of his musing when he realized the dance had ended and a new one was beginning. Frandelas reluctantly released Halla to his brother Crisp, then turned slowly as if seeking someone.
Suspecting it was Maura, Leif slid off the wall and snatched up her hand. “Let’s find Master Morgan,” he said. “He’s sure to have interesting news of Drinnglennin, and perhaps he can tell us more now, as he promised.”
He suddenly remembered his promise to the wizard, to make the newcomers feel welcome, and glanced over to where Whit now sat alone, looking decidedly miserable. “Maybe we should see if he wants to join us?”
Maura followed his gaze. “He does look a bit lost by himself there.”
Whit looked wary as they approached, but he brightened when they suggested seeking Master Morgan. Crossing the bower in awkward silence, the three of them found the wizard in the hanging gardens, deep in discussion with Elvinor. As they drew closer, it became clear by the grim press of Master Morgan’s lips and the elf king’s solemn expression that their conversation was of a serious nature.
By tacit agreement, they skirted the fountains and settled on a stone bench shielded by trailing tendrils of ivy. Maura laid a finger to her lips. The voices behind them were low but discernable.
Elvinor’s tone was censorious. “For millennia, we gave the race of men a chance to prove their commitments to a better world. They have greatly disappointed us.”
“This is no longer the time to dwell on differences,” said the wizard. “We may all soon be fighting for our right to live as free and prosperous folk.”
“I’ll not risk all that we’ve preserved for the continuation of Konigur’s line.”
“I’m not asking you to,” said Master Morgan. “But there will come a time when you must decide whether to ally yourselves with men once more. I only ask that you consider the consequences if you don’t.”
There was a long pause before Elvinor replied. “I shall do this,” he conceded. “But Morgan, I must first ask you. What of the Strigori?”
At the mention of the dark wizards, gooseflesh rose on Leif’s arms, and he felt Whit shift uncomfortably beside him.
“I’ve heard rumors. It could be that Lazdac is on the rise,” said the wizard. “He is the last of them.”
“That makes him all the more dangerous. Do you plan to seek him?”
“I have never stopped.”
Elvinor’s voice dropped. “Even after what he—”
“Especially because of this!” said the wizard fiercely, and Leif looked at Whit, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “But first, I have a more pressing charge to which I must attend.”
“So you’re leaving at once?” said Elvinor.
“I shall depart at first light. And now, this seems as good a time as any to ask our young audience to join us.” He swept aside the trailing ivy screening the three eavesdroppers. “We shall need one of you to fetch Halla.”
* * *
Leif found the comely girl surrounded by a number of admiring elves.
“Are you sure you don’t have elvish blood?” Frandelas was saying. “You’re attractively tall for a human maiden.”
“Begging your pardons,” said Leif, stepping between them, “but Lady Halla’s presence is required elsewhere.” He took up her hand and gave a gentle tug.
“First you spirit away one fair partner, and now you must claim this one?” protested Frandelas.
Haleno, Leif’s mentor in dance, laughed. “Frandelas tells me I’ve failed you, and yet I saw you cavorting around quite impressively just moments ago.”
The other elves smiled knowingly.
Ignoring them, Leif tugged a bit harder. “Master Morgan would have a word,” he whispered.
Upon hearing this, Halla rose and followed him across the bower. Drifting after them, Queen Ystira’s lilting voice made him slow his steps:
Let us, my love, to a myrtle grove
To lie in dew-kissed splendor
Upon the dark soul of the soil
Exchanging whispers tender
Upon the rustling fallen umber
Here to pass our winter slumber…
The song stirred Leif with its beauty, and he promised himself he’d ask Aenissa to teach it to him later. Glancing at Halla, he saw that she too was captivated by the lay. He felt a bit less intimidated by her because of it. They stood together for a moment listening to the queen’s clear voice, and he thought he caught the shimmer of a tear in Halla’s eyes.
“Are you missing someone too?” he ventured to ask.
Halla drew a sharp breath. “No,” she said, “only some place. But it is lost to me now.”
And then she turned and stalked toward the garden.
Although he longed to linger under the spell of the music’s haunting strains, with a wistful sigh, Leif followed her.
Chapter 31
Leif knew well of elves’ acute hearing, so it came as no surprise that Master Morgan led them to a secluded alcove far from the festivities.
Before he entered, Leif felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into the wise eyes of the elven king. “I shall excuse myself,” said Elvinor, “but I want you to know I’m very proud of you.”
Leif felt his cheeks warm with pleasure.
When they were all gathered, Master Morgan, his expression solemn, began. “You all know some of the reasons you are here in Mithralyn. Leif, for example, came to be united with his father, King Elvinor. But there is more purpose to his presence, as there is to each of yours. I must warn you that some of what I will tell you this night may cause you pain, for you’ll need to revise your understanding of who you are.”
He paused as if to entertain any protest. When none was forthcoming, he carried on. “I did consider meeting with each of you privately, but
together you must stand against those who will most certainly prove to be formidable foes. There are stirrings in the world that portend an old evil on the rise. There is more at stake here than the Einhorn Throne. I feel that as you begin your shared challenging journey, you should take comfort in knowing you are not alone.”
The wizard’s gaze fell upon Leif. “Aeleif Elvinor, you know you’re the son of Lira Landril of Valeland and Elvinor Celvarin. As the only offspring of the elven king, you’re here to learn the ways of your father’s folk, for as his human son, you can play an important role in rebuilding trust between men and elves, when the latter’s existence is again known in the world. This time draws near.”
Leif found it hard not to fidget under the eyes of the others, and was grateful when the wizard’s attention shifted to Maura.
“You, my dear, have recently learned you’re not the daughter of the man you grew up believing to be your father, and this has certainly caused you heartache. You have also recently lost a beloved younger brother. I want to affirm my promise to you to learn what has become of him, and I appreciate your willingness to stay in Mithralyn while I do.”
A brother! thought Leif. Maura hadn’t said anything about this, although it had been clear to him from their first meeting that she was suffering from some sorrow. He reached for her hand, and she gave him a quick, tight smile.
“What you don’t yet know is the identity of your father,” continued Master Morgan.
“I know that I’m illegitimate.” It was the first time Leif had ever heard bitterness in Maura’s voice. “The result of a dalliance between a feckless lord and my deceitful mother.”
“Your mother may have had good reason for her deception,” said the wizard. “Your father was not just any lord.”
Leif felt Maura’s grip on his hand tighten.
“Do you wish to know who he was?” Master Morgan asked.
“Was?” she echoed in a small voice. “You mean…”
“I do. Sadly, he fell in the last battle of the Long War. His name was Prince Storn, and he was the younger brother of our High King Urlion.”
“That’s—that’s not possible!” Whit sputtered. “Prince Storn was my great-uncle. He would have been too—”
“Old?” suggested the wizard. “You forget that Prince Storn, like Urlion, was descended from the ancient Konigur line, associated with magic of its own, so he was blessed with a much longer life than ordinary men.” He turned back to Maura. “It was your father himself who told me of your existence before we rode together into battle.”
Leif turned excitedly to Maura. “But that means you’re of royal blood!”
The news didn’t seem to please her. “Even if this is true,” she said, “my mother is a Lurker.”
Leif saw the shocked look Whit shot her, but Halla brightened. “Really?” she said.
“According to my mother,” Maura replied. “Although I’ve little faith in her word.”
“My dearest friends are of the å Livåri,” said Halla. “As for my mother, she wants to force me into an unwanted marriage. I’ve no trust in her either.” The girls’ eyes met, and Leif felt the tension in the alcove ease slightly, although Whit muttered something under his breath. Halla raised her chin as if steeling herself for the worst. “I take it I’m also to learn some unsavory information about my heritage?”
The wizard gave a slight nod. “I’ve personally found no proof, but there are those who believe you are of the House of Konigur through both your parents.” He turned to Whit. “As, some suspect, are you.”
Whit’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting,” he said between clenched teeth, “that my mother was unfaithful to my father?”
“I’m only relating the conjecture shared with me by one who is in a position to know. You’ve nothing for which to feel ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” Whit growled. “My mother has spent the better part of her days in prayer. It’s unthinkable that she—It’s not true!”
“It’s entirely possible it’s merely an old rumor,” said Master Morgan calmly. “If it’s false, it shall be refuted. But I’m obliged to disclose it to you to explain, in part, why you and Halla are here. Will you hear me out?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Whit nodded, taking great care to avoid eye contact with anyone.
Master Morgan sighed. “I felt it best to state this directly, and I regret if it has upset you. I was charged by the Tribus to bring together the most likely heirs to Urlion’s throne. That is one reason the three of you are in Mithralyn, along with Leif.”
“I still don’t understand,” said Halla, her fine brows drawn together. “My Aunt Rhea and my mother are related to Urlion through their mother, Princess Simone. Are you saying that both our mothers, Whit’s and mine, bore children to their cousin, Urlion?”
“Personally, I think it’s very unlikely,” said the wizard, “for it has also been rumored that Urlion’s seed is cursed. For all of the High King’s philandering, only the Princess Grindasa claims to have borne fruit from it. But at least one member of the Tribus believes it’s possible that one of your mothers did as well.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t my mother,” snapped Whit.
Halla’s emerald eyes flashed. “You’re saying it was mine?”
Master Morgan held up a cautioning hand. “There’s nothing to be gained from idle speculation. But the two of you, before all others, must know that this rumor creates potential danger for you.”
“But even supposing this to be true,” said Maura, “that would make them both base-born, like me, ruling us all out as Urlion’s legitimate heirs.”
Whit shook his head. “Under Drinnglennin law, an heir may be made legitimate by royal decree. This is what Princess Grindasa has been trying to convince Urlion to do for her son, Roth.” He looked up at the wizard. “If you’re gathering possible heirs, why isn’t Roth here as well?”
“Because,” said Master Morgan, “he’s not at risk. It’s through Roth that the Nelvor stand to gain even more power.”
He gave them all a moment to let this sink in.
Halla was the first of them to understand the implication. “So it’s the Nelvor who threaten us? That’s why we’re here?” She looked suddenly very fierce.
“That, and because it’s imperative that you learn to know and trust one another,” said the wizard.
Whit frowned. “Why?”
“Because you will have need of one another in the coming storm. The security of the realm, indeed perhaps the Known World, may well depend on your combined talents.”
Halla laughed abruptly. “I find that hard to believe.”
“But believe it you must,” said the wizard. “And regardless of that, there’s reason to anticipate civil unrest when the High King makes the Leap, and the Nelvor have made no secret of their intention to see Roth of Nelvorboth declared Urlion’s heir. To ensure this, they’ve been flaunting their impressive forces in the capital too confidently for our liking. So it’s not farfetched to think they would take drastic steps to eliminate any competition for the High Throne. Hence the need to protect you.”
He drew a long breath. “And then there is the gift that Maura and Leif have been given—a gift that carries with it a tremendous responsibility. They will require your support, Halla and Whit. Indeed, you are the only ones who can help them secure what they seek. The next stage of their journey begins tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Leif’s heart gave a bump, and for a moment, he thought the wizard was about to reveal the presence of their dragons. He wondered what Halla and Whit had to do with completing the bindings.
He was relieved when Maura voiced his question herself. “May I ask how Halla and Whit are supposed to help us with our… gifts?”
“You may,” said Master Morgan, his expression softening. “To begin with, Whit has a wide breadth of knowledge, which will se
rve you well in the next stage of your progression. And Halla has been well trained and is skilled at arms; she can help you hone your own. The time will soon come when you’ll need such skills to protect yourselves and to defend the realm.”
“Couldn’t they just be instructed by you? Or the elves?” Whit protested. “I came here because you promised to teach me magic, not to play tutor!”
“For once, I have to agree with Whit,” said Halla. “Surely there are others here who are better qualified than me to teach warcraft.”
The wizard remained adamant. “As descendants of the house of Konigur, you two are the best, indeed the only acceptable choices.”
“Acceptable?” sputtered Whit.
But apparently Master Morgan felt he had said all that needed to be said, as he turned and left the alcove without another word.
Whit spun toward Maura. “Can you tell us what this is all about?”
“I—I can’t really say.”
Maura shot Leif a pleading look, but he was still struggling to digest what the wizard had implied.
They were to meet their dragons tomorrow.
* * *
After Whit and Halla stormed off—in opposite directions—Maura and Leif returned to the bower together.
“Are you frightened?” he asked her, taking up her hands.
Maura had gone very pale. “Aren’t you?”
He was terrified, but saying so would give no comfort to his friend. Instead, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We have to keep reminding ourselves that our dragons picked us—that, as Master Morgan says, they need us. That has to count for something.” He squeezed her hands encouragingly. “We can do this, Maura,” he promised her, “and just think! Once we’re dragonfast, we’ll be legends in our own time.”
Tears brimmed in Maura’s eyes. “I don’t want to be a legend. I just want to find my brother Dal and… oh, I don’t know what after that!” It was clear that what the wizard had revealed about her father had upset her—and that she didn’t find the idea of being dragonfast very alluring.
