by K. C. Julius
“Such as what?” Maura asked.
Roth released a sigh. “Well, fighting for money is hardly the most honorable of professions, is it? And Glinter broke the law by taking his ship out of Toldarin. Unfortunately, all aboard the Bailerin are subject to penalties upon their return.” He lifted her hand and stroked her fingers. “You were rather fond of Borne, though, weren’t you?”
Maura’s cheeks grew warm at the suggestion. “I barely knew the man,” she replied. When Roth looked as if he would say something more on the topic, she pulled her hand free and changed the subject.
Now she slid the book of poetry firmly back into its place and moved to the long windows facing the rain-washed courtyard below. Admit it, she thought, gazing out at the rain. You were fond of Borne.
She only now realized how dearly she wished he hadn’t left court, for he was the only one who’d known her as a girl from Branley Tor.
Well, that girl is no more, she reminded herself.
She returned her attention to the shelves and pulled out another book at random. It was a tale by Piers Wolff, entitled A Song of Seasons. No doubt a silly saga of courtly love, but it would pass the time. She lifted the cover and began to read as she slowly retraced her steps back to her chambers.
The sound of voices jolted her out of Master Wolff’s world of troubadours and maidens fair, and she looked up to discover she’d made a wrong turn. She vaguely recognized where she was—recalling she’d been in this corridor once before with Leif. They’d taken this route to the tourney grounds during the Twyrn.
The speakers were coming her way, and although she couldn’t discern their words, they sounded angry. She debated whether she could make it to the end of the corridor before they crossed her path, for she had no desire to witness an unpleasant scene.
“Why did you not tell me as soon as you knew of this?”
Maura’s heart lurched. The voice was Roth’s.
“I thought the child might prove useful in some way,” his mother replied soothingly.
Maura felt a further twinge of dismay, knowing she would soon be accosted by Grindasa about missing breakfast. When she spied the door to the storeroom Leif had wanted to investigate, she dragged it open and slipped inside, offering a prayer of thanks to any gods listening that it remained unlocked.
She was pulling the door shut when she heard Roth say, “He’s a dangerous obstacle. He should have disappeared the moment Vetch came across him in Restaria.”
Maura froze then, the door still slightly ajar. Who were they talking about, and what did Roth mean by “disappeared”?
“The boy speaks Drinn, and his mother, too,” said Grindasa. “I imagine Vetch felt it prudent to bring them home.”
“His mother? This is worse than I imagined.” Roth uttered a crude oath. “Who is she? Where is she?”
“Calm yourself, my son. Together, we will see this matter dealt with, but it must be handled delicately.”
Maura would later wish that she’d pulled the door closed, so that she had never have heard her fiancé’s callous reply.
“Why?” Roth demanded. “Doesn’t his throat slit like any other?”
Chapter 8
Leif
“It’s out of the question!” Master Morgan paced furiously back and forth between Leif and Elvinor, his long cloak swinging behind him. “It would be beyond foolhardy to trespass in the dragons’ secret refuge. They would never let you leave!”
Leif ignored the thrill of alarm the wizard’s ferocity evoked. “Rhiandra would be with me. She says she must go—that it’s a matter of life and death. Surely as one of them, she can bring her dragonfast with her to Belestar.”
“It will mean your own death should you accompany her!” Master Morgan spun toward Elvinor. “I beg you, sir, dissuade your son from this reckless course of action, or better yet, forbid him to pursue it!”
Elvinor’s response surprised them both. “It’s true there is great risk in this venture, but I trust Leif to make his own choices. He is dragonfast, Mortimer, which means his first loyalty lies with Rhiandra before all others, including you. If he truly believes he must make this journey, I cannot find it in my heart to discourage him.” The elven king folded his elegant hands before him. “As a matter of fact, Leif discussed this venture with me before the two of you flew to Helgrinia, and I already gave him my blessing. The dragons must be convinced of the elves’ good intentions toward them, which is why I am offering them safe haven in Mithralyn. Without it, they may well depart over the Vast Sea. There is little enough magic and mystery left in the world. And with the rise of Lazdac, the dragons may be all that stands between us and chaos.”
The wizards, seeing he would have no support from Elvinor, turned to Leif and tried another tack. “What of your oath, Leif? To the one true king?”
Leif forced himself to meet Master Morgan’s stern gaze. “I will honor it when and if I am called on to do so. But since that time has not yet come, I want to help Rhiandra.”
In his heart, Leif hoped the call from Drinnkastel would never come. He had no cause to feel antipathy toward King Roth, invested only days before. It wasn’t the new king’s fault that Maura had chosen to stay with the Nelvorbothian in Drinnkastel rather than return with Leif to Mithralyn. That had been her decision—and it still rankled, as did the fact that she’d sent no word to him since they’d parted nearly a month ago. Yet he still hoped that once the formal mourning period for Urlion Konigur came to a close, she would come back to the elven kingdom. If not for him, then for Ilyria.
He suspected the bronze dragon was as unhappy with Maura’s absence as he was, but he couldn’t say for certain: Ilyria had been in deep seclusion for months, and Rhiandra said she would only reappear when they flew north to Belestar.
Master Morgan stood with his back to Leif, looking out over the coloring forests of the elven realm. When he turned at last, the wizard appeared to have recovered his usual calm. “It seems you are determined on this course of action. If I thought the dragons would allow it, I’d go with you.” He released a resigned sigh. “Promise me you’ll be on your guard at all times, and never stray from Rhiandra. The dragons won’t harm you, as long as she is by your side, but if not… who can be sure?”
Leif was relieved to have the wizard’s blessing, however grudging. “I’ll take care, master.”
He turned to his father, who offered him a close embrace. Whatever lay ahead, Leif would carry with him the loving affection that had grown between them over the past months. He felt honored that Elvinor was entrusting him to serve as the elven emissary to the estranged dragons, and hoped he would be equal to the task.
“Before you go,” said Elvinor, “I have something for you, my son.” He lifted a silver cloak from a chest and draped it over Leif’s shoulders. It was as light as a feather. “Don’t let its weight deceive you,” said the elf king. “The cloak is woven from seiden, a fine grass that grows only in Mithralyn and is harvested by faeries under the full moon. It will serve to keep you warm on your northbound journey.” He then reached into the chest once more and drew from it a sword. “And I want you to have this as well.”
Leif accepted the weapon and slid it free of its scabbard. The blade radiated a wondrous light. It was so beautiful he couldn’t imagine sullying it with blood.
“Thank you,” he said softly. He saw there were runes inscribed on the blade. “Tân ddraig elduri,” he murmured, then looked up in wonder.
“Yes,” Elvinor said, “this sword goes by the name of Dragon’s Fang. A most appropriate choice for you. It was my first blade, and my father’s before me.”
“Thank—thank you for thinking me worthy of it, Father,” Leif said when he’d found his tongue. “I will cherish it always.”
Master Morgan clapped his hands together. “A seiden cloak and an elven blade—I confess I’m feeling reassured to know you’ll have th
ese protections with you. I guess all is settled then.” He raised an eyebrow at Elvinor. “What would you say to a proper elven banquet for our young adventurer before he and the dragons depart?”
“What is your pleasure, Leif?” the king asked. “Roast pheasant, marigold ice, and butternut stuffed cabbage rolls? The morels are in season as well.”
Leif grinned. “I’ll miss Mithralyn’s larder.”
“We shall feast tonight,” Elvinor promised, “and again when you return home.”
Home. Leif realized he had grown to think of this mystical realm as a home. He belonged here in a way he never had in Tonis Vale. All that’s missing to make Mithralyn perfect, he thought, is Gran.
In truth, there was one other person whose presence would complete his happiness, but he doubted Maura felt the same way about living among the elves. Perhaps that was why she needed to stay in Drinnkastel. To find out where she truly belonged in the world.
He only hoped it would be someplace not too far from him.
* * *
When Leif arrived the next evening at the glade, having bid his father and the wizard farewell, he found Rhiandra alone. He listened with a sinking heart as the bluewing explained why.
“Ilyria is not returning with us to Belestar. She has seen something ominous in her dreams, and fears she will attract danger to you if she comes along. She worries, too, that our siblings will think she has been abandoned by her bindling, which will make a mockery of our purpose. It will be up to us, you and I, to present a convincing case that it is safe to bind again, and to remind my siblings that with binding comes something we have sorely missed: a heartfelt connection with humankind.” Her tone held both pride and affection, and Leif glowed with pleasure, knowing Rhiandra shared his deep sense of kinship.
“I don’t think Maura has abandoned Ilyria,” he said, more confidently than he felt. By now the late king had been interred, and the transfer of power to his Nelvor successor had proceeded without incident. There was nothing more to keep Maura in Drinnkastel—nothing except her own desires.
Leif knew he should inform his father and Master Morgan of this change in plans, but he suspected they would reconsider their blessings on this journey north if they knew Ilyria was not going. It was best to depart as soon as possible. It would take them over a week to reach Belestar as it was, for they would have to lie up during the daylight hours to keep Rhiandra concealed until they reached the open seas.
As the last light faded from the sky, they took flight over the night-shrouded land. Crouched astride Rhiandra’s broad back with the wind streaming in his face, Leif was grateful for his new cloak and for the sunstone he wore inside his tunic. Dragonflight was a chilling experience even in the mildest of weather, and beyond the borders of Mithralyn, autumn had arrived.
Leif was excited to finally see the great frozen land at the top of the world that his grandda had told so many tales about. Of course, Grandda hadn’t known it was the home of dragons; his stories about the mysterious isle of Belestar, and the treacherous seas that surrounded it, involved great white bears twice the height of a grown man and enormous tusked sea cows with oily pelts that sang to ships as they passed.
After the first night of flight, they sheltered on an unscalable peak under the shadow of Amueke, the highest mountain on the Isle. Clouds covered the skies to the south, but northward the wide Eisendell Valley spread before them. Somewhere down there was the bridge Leif and Master Morgan had crossed a lifetime ago. From his perch above the world, Leif grinned, recalling how frightened he’d been.
When they crossed from over Branley Tor into Valeland, he begged Rhiandra to circle west toward Tonis Vale before they rose above the Mynnyd Range. Even though there was nothing to be seen of the shrouded land below, he felt comforted knowing he was closer to his old gran than he’d been for nearly a year.
“I’ll be back for you one day, Gran,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Before dawn of the fourth day, they passed the northernmost tip of Drinnglennin, Rhiandra racing against the light to reach a small island where they could shelter until darkness fell again. Leif doubted any human had ever set foot on this rocky outcrop strewn with shells and sea wrack. And surely none would want to linger here, he thought, not with the continuous din of birds’ whistles and shrills piercing the air.
Rhiandra left for a brief time to hunt, then returned, folded her wings, and almost immediately fell into a deep slumber. Leif knew he should try to sleep as well, but he couldn’t imagine the possibility in the midst of the unceasing noise. So instead he set off to explore, provoking great flocks of birds to rise and wheel above him, shrieking their displeasure. Shards of broken eggshells were everywhere, as were countless abandoned nests. When Leif scrambled over a rise and burst into a colony of lolling sea lions, he was so startled that he slipped into the shallows, shouting as the freezing water flooded his boots. The seals roared in response and humped into the sea.
Leif removed his sodden boots, then stretched out in the sun to wait for them to dry out. He managed to doze a bit in the golden afternoon light, but the birds and the blustering wind scouring the island kept him from true sleep.
As the day waned, he made his way slowly back to Rhiandra, allowing the treasures of the tide pools to distract him along the way: sea stars, purple-shelled snails, golden slugs, and tiny creatures he dubbed “sea dragons” for their long snouts and curling tails. Wide swathes of fiery orange lichens adorned the rocks near the shore, and a spreading meadow lay inland, crowned with delicate white and yellow flowers that bent and swayed in perpetual dance with the swirling air.
By the time he’d returned to the sleeping dragon, his pockets were spilling with shells and pebbles, petals and strands of wrack. He spread his bounty out on the ground to admire it. But his pleasure faded when he realized this might be one of the last times he would experience a day such as this, a sweet echo of the life he’d left behind in Tonis Vale. He was no longer a child without care for the morrow. Being dragonfast entailed more than soaring through the clouds, and the vow he’d sworn placed a sober responsibility on his shoulders.
Beside him, Rhiandra stirred in her dreams, reminding him there was also much to look forward to. In repose, the bluewing was impossibly beautiful, and Leif felt his heart swell as he drank in her magnificence. Her azure scales shimmering with reflected flecks of light, as though she was clad in shards of the sea itself, and she emanated a vibrant energy, even in sleep, to which he thrilled, his blood singing. He felt both awe and tenderness for every part of her—her razor-sharp talons, her delicate frilled ears (about which she was exceedingly vain), the single, pearled horn curving up from her forehead like an elegant crown, and her long, sinuous tail.
Who would have believed that this was the turn my life was destined to take?
Leif knew he should be feeling proud and brave and honorable and all of those other traits associated with the dragonfast who had gone before him, but he still feared he was woefully unprepared for the calling. He’d learned to wield a sword and shoot a bow in the months he’d spent in Mithralyn, but he’d always prefer setting a new song to memory or deciphering the runes of an elven tale to the supposed glories of battle. The truth was, he didn’t feel so very different from the boy he’d been the day he’d left Valeland with Master Morgan. Despite his heart’s blooding and the successful completion of the trials the dragons had set for Maura and him, becoming dragonfast hadn’t miraculously transformed him into a warrior.
The words inscribed above the lintel of the wizard’s cottage sprang to his mind. The sharpest weapon is a finely honed mind. He knew the truth of this now, for in Mithralyn, he’d learned the value of knowledge. His father’s library had opened up wondrous worlds to be explored between the pages of books. And he had taken heart in Master Morgan’s parting words to him.
“You’re better prepared than you may think,” the wizard had proclaimed.
“More importantly, your heart is true, to yourself and those you care for. Be guided by it, and you cannot go astray.”
Watching the sea birds circle, Leif wondered if a steadfast heart would be enough to convince Rhiandra’s kin to bind and return to coexistence with men and elves. He would have felt much more confident of success if Maura had been with him. He didn’t want to think it, but it did feel as though she’d abandoned them.
That evening, they resumed their journey earlier than usual. No vessel could survive the rough waters of the White Sea in this season, so there was little fear that Rhiandra would be spotted. As she winged through wispy clouds, Leif closed his streaming eyes against the bitter wind.
They flew on for hours. At this point they’d come so far north that Rhiandra could continue flying even into the grey dawn light, for no human lived in this part of the Known World. She dropped low over the sea to spare Leif from the increasing cold, and he saw a necklace of islands below, the spangled sun igniting their cataracts and glittering lakes through pale veils of fog, the sea frothing against their cliffs banded with smoky mist.
On they flew, over majestic blue glaciers from which thundering rivers spumed, bearing massive plates of ice on their roiling backs. Leif spied great whales humping across the sea toward warmer waters to bear their young, and skeins of white geese winging south.
Over the following days, they stopped only long enough for Rhiandra to feed, alighting on juts of rock striving up out of the churning waters. Leif had a good store of waybread and dried fruits in his pack, but he ate sparingly all the same. He quenched his thirst at frozen pools they found along the way, using the heat of his sunstone to warm the ice so that he could crack through it. He saved the skin of elven crabapple wine—a healing elixir and pleasant stimulant—for a time when he might have real need of it. There was no telling how long it would be before they returned to Drinnglennin’s shores.
