by K. C. Julius
“Very much so,” Master Morgan confirmed grimly. “He’s installed himself in the Lost Lands as the Jagar’s new vaar. The bad news doesn’t stop there, though. The Strigori has used dark sorcery to create an invincible army.”
Lord Grathin raised his sandy eyebrows skeptically. “An army of the Jagar? These nomads are an undisciplined people; even if they’ve purchased modern weapons from the Albrenians, the Jagar won’t know which way to point them.”
“I assure you,” Master Morgan said heavily, “that any army Lazdac leads will be a lethal force. And this is no human army of which I speak, but beasts that are twice the size of men, with prodigious strength.”
This pronouncement was met with stunned silence. Then Wogan asked, “So is it Lazdac who’s loosed the dragons we’ve been sighting in the skies over Fairendell?”
“No dragon would serve a dark wizard!” Halla stated hotly. “Anyone who’s ever heard the tale of Chaos and Rendyl knows that.”
Lord Ennius sat back, his hands hooked over his chest. “Well, for whatever reason, the beasts have returned, and they’re ravaging crofts and cropland. They must be destroyed as surely as this Strigori army. I wonder, sirs, between these looming menaces and the Helgrins raiding our coastal cities, if this is the best time to make rebellion. With so many threats to the safety of the Isle—”
“This is the ideal time!” countered Whit. “Roth knows of Fynn’s rightful claim to the throne; otherwise why would he have ordered me to kill him? If that weren’t enough to reveal the rot in our new High King’s core, there’s the fact that he’s refused to recognize Lazdac as a threat. You heard what Halla said—his Albrenian kin have been trading with the Lost Lands for years. Why, for all we know, Roth could be in league with the Strigori!”
Lord Grathin held up his hand. “Can we return for a moment to the Helgrins?” He turned to address Fynn. “You were raised among them, my lord. Perhaps you can tell us what prompted that barbarian Aetheor to break the peace with these heinous attacks?”
Fynn felt a surge of anger, but he kept his voice level. “The Nelvor struck Helgrinia first. Over a year ago, my… the northern settlement of Restaria was put to the torch by Lord Vetch and his armada.”
“But that was in retaliation for the attack in southern Cardenstowe!” Sir Nidden growled, his high color evidence of the effort it had cost him to keep his mouth closed until now.
“There was no attack on Cardenstowe,” Whit reminded his fuming vassal. “Only an attempt to make it look as though there’d been one.”
Lord Ennius frowned. “Stonehaven was literally wiped off the map by a recent Helgrin raid.”
“I know,” said Whit. “Fynn… Lord Fynn and I were there. But the raiders were from southern Helgrinia, and were not of his foster clan. Aetheor Yarl…” He turned to Fynn. “My lord, this is your news to share.”
“Aetheor Yarl is dead,” Fynn said quietly. “His nephew, Aksel Styrsen, murdered him and has unlawfully named himself yarl in Aetheor’s place. My… Aetheor’s son, Jered, is the likely choice to lead the Helgrins, and he’s an honorable man. I am… I know Jered Aetheorsen well. If he still lives, then once he learns of the threat Lazdac and his monsters pose, I believe I can convince him to join forces with us against these invaders from the south.”
The gathered lords and knights stared at Fynn as if he’d just sprouted an additional head. Lord Ennius gave an incredulous laugh. “Drinnglennians and Helgrins joining forces? Only on the day a man can leap back across the Abyss to the land of the living!”
”My lords!” Master Morgan held up his hand to silence the scornful laughter that followed. “This is no laughing matter. We are at a crossroads, and we must be of one mind as to which path we choose. One will lead us to fall under the Nelvor’s thumb. More Albrenians will come, overrunning our capital, and the å Livåri will soon face the same persecution they did during the continental Purge. Already, ignorant superstition against magic and magical beasts is spreading across the Isle.
“We are offering another path—one which leads to higher ground under the banner of a young and just king—a Konigur king—whose humility and sense of justice will protect all that we hold to be good and true. And wouldn’t an end to conflict with the Helgrins, or better yet, a lasting alliance with them, give us all the lasting peace of mind we crave to sleep soundly in our beds?”
Grinner folded his arms over his chest. “If anyone can bring th’ Helgrins t’ heel, it’ll be Fynn here.”
“I agree,” said Whit.
“Your confidence in Lord Fynn is most admirable, Lord Whit,” Lord Grathin said, pointedly ignoring Grinner, “but I’m afraid we’ll need more than this to commit our people to a civil war against the mighty Nelvor. The High King’s forces have access to the armories at both Drinnkastel and Nelvorboth. Combined with Tyrrencaster’s men, they will be formidable, if not unstoppable.”
“We appreciate your reservations, sirs,” Master Morgan replied, “but we shall have our own advantage. Lady Halla?”
Without a word, Lady Halla excused herself. As the bemused lords watched her go, the wizard also rose to his feet. “If you would follow me, gentlemen?”
For the first time that day, Fynn felt a thrill of anticipation.
The wizard led them all to the rampart overlooking the bluffs. “My lords. I can tell you now that the dragons have returned to the Known World at this time because of the very conflicts we’ve been discussing. And while it’s true that some of these creatures are bent on furthering the mayhem, others have chosen to fight at our side.”
Master Morgan looked out over the parapet at the waves hurling into the cliff face below. Then Fynn heard a rushing that grew to a roar, and he cried out with the others as a great green dragon shot round the bluffs and raced past on swiftly beating wings, with a rider sitting as regal as a queen astride it.
“By the gods,” breathed Lord Ennius, while Lord Grathin proclaimed it “a wonder to behold.”
Fynn was too entranced by the beauty of the beast to speak, and his heart soared along with the dragonfast pair as they wheeled and passed back the way they’d come.
“Well, Nidden,” said Lord Wogan, a twinkle of glee in his eye, “what do you have to say to that?”
* * *
The mood of the lords was jubilant as they returned to the hall.
“How many dragons do we have with us?” Lord Ennius asked.
“To our knowledge,” replied Master Morgan, “there have been three bindings, all of these with Drinnglennians who have sworn to aid and succor the rightful heir to the High Throne in service to the realm.”
“I’d heard that the late king’s bastard niece mounted a dragon and took to the sky in the capital!” cried Lord Wogan excitedly. “Is she another?”
“Yes,” said the wizard. “Lady Maura is also dragonfast. She and her dragon were forced to flee the capital when Roth ordered the dragon shot from the sky.”
“And who is the third dragonfast?” inquired Lord Grathin.
“A lad from Valeland.”
Lord Ennius brightened. “One of my vassals? Who might this be?”
“He lived with his grandmother in a small croft in Tonis Vale, and was under my tutelage for nearly a year before he was chosen.”
“A commoner? And where is he now?”
Master Morgan, his eyes hooded, turned the goblet on the table before him slowly between his hands. “He and his dragoness went to… the dragons’ sanctuary some months ago to encourage her siblings to bind as well. We’re not sure what has become of them.”
He lifted his gaze. “But there is more. The dragons aren’t the only magical creatures who still dwell in the Known World, my lords. At the end of the Age of Before, when most of those possessed of magic sailed over the Vast Sea to the west, the woodland elves remained, in a hidden sanctuary they created here on the Isle. And they have
now committed to joining this fight, with King Elvinor himself at the fore, to defend Drinnglennin from the evil Lazdac would loose on the world.”
“Elves?” Sir Nidden sputtered. “Next you’ll be telling us faeries and dwarves will also swell our ranks!”
At a quelling look from Whit, the surly knight sank back into his chair.
Morgan spread his arms wide. “So, gentlemen. What say you to joining our cause? If you choose to go to Nolan at Lorendale with your former proposal, or to keep your allegiances with Roth Nelvor, you have our assurances that you will leave Cardenstowe unmolested. But if you decide to honor Urlion Konigur’s dying wish to see his true-born son succeed him, let us go now to the chapel and bear witness as the chief monter of Cardenstowe sanctifies Lord Fynn’s declaration of service to Drinnglennin.”
Lord Ennius was first on his feet. “I say aye.”
Lord Grathin and Lord Wogan rose as well. “Aye.”
Although Master Morgan had gone over what was to come next, a shiver of dread ran up Fynn’s spine. In the presence of these lords, he would take a formal oath to serve Drinnglennin as her lawful king. It was not to be an investiture—that ceremony would only take place once the Einhorn Throne was secured—but the ritual declaration of intention would be the first formal step toward this end.
He rose as well, and with the wizard at his side, they led the way to the chapel at the heart of the great castle. Walking under the leering gargoyles, Fynn prayed to whatever god might be listening that the vow he was about to take would be one he could keep.
The chapel was dark, lit only by the candles standing on either side of the altar. Shadows danced on the stone as Fynn walked slowly down its center aisle to stand before the black-robed man awaiting him. He knelt on the cold stones, barely hearing the words the bald-headed monter intoned over him. His thoughts were of the great Wurl, rising to the sky.
When the monter finished his prayers, Fynn rose to face the gathered noblemen.
Whit, the first to come forward, knelt before him with bowed head, then lifted his eyes. “When my friends swore to serve Urlion’s lawful successor without knowledge of his true character, I refused. At the time, I told myself it was out of caution, and then once Roth was invested and we saw his true colors, I was convinced that I alone had made the right decision to withhold my pledge that day.” He gave Fynn a rueful smile. “That was before I came to know you, Fynn Konigur. I kneel before you a willing vassal, proud to meet my obligations to you in any way I can. I offer you my sword, and my service, for as long as they are needed.”
Whit’s heartfelt words warmed Fynn’s nervous heart. “Your friendship is what I prize above all.” He held out his hand and raised the wizard up. “This, and the peace of mind it brings me that a mind such as yours serves the realm. I’m sure to have much need of your counsel.”
One by one, all the other nobles made vows of fealty and offered their swords. Lady Halla of Lorendale was the last, and when she knelt before him, Fynn knew at once what he must do.
He turned to Grinner. “Would you join Lady Halla, my friend?”
Grinner lowered himself beside her as Fynn drew his sword from its scabbard.
“Lady Halla, I’m told that in this land a woman can’t be knighted. But I’ve also been told you’re as skilled and brave a warrior as any man here. As a dragonfast, you’ve sworn to dedicate your life in service to your king and country.”
He turned to Grinner. “You, my friend, as an å Livåri and a commoner, are also barred from knighthood. Yet you’ve proven yourself to be honorable, loyal, and brave, and in so doing have demonstrated that these traits aren’t exclusive to the landed and titled. For this steadfastness, I thank you as best as I’m able.”
He laid his blade on Lady Halla’s shoulders, and then Grinner’s. “From this day forward, you shall be named Guardians of the Isle.”
It was hard to say which of the two looked more stunned, but pride shone on both their faces. His newly proclaimed vassals of the north reflected even greater shock that he’d granted such honor to an å Livåri and a woman, and Fynn realized then just how much work lay ahead if he were to change the old order of things in this realm.
So be it, he thought. Aetheor always said to lead by example.
An urgent clangor of bells broke the hush that had fallen, and the temple doors burst open. A squire rushed down the aisle, shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Helgrins! The Helgrins are coming!”
Chapter 31
Maura
Alone in her small chamber, Maura stripped off her boy’s disguise and sank down on the bed. The accusations Borne, like a man deranged, had hurled at her in the Censibas still rang in her ears.
Did your husband send you?
Maura couldn’t believe he seriously thought Roth might have sent her across the Known World after him. But considering how angry Borne had been, as if her presence in Tell-Uyuk was a personal affront, she doubted it would end here. She was in Olquaria under false pretenses, and his sense of duty might prompt him to report her to Comte Balfou at the very least, who might in turn feel obliged to inform the Basileus. And when the emperor learned that a foreigner, no less someone thought to be a queen, had infiltrated the Basilea’s seraglio… he would be within his rights to try Maura on charges of espionage.
She’d been so stunned and angered by Borne’s accusations that as soon as he marched her out of the stadium, she bolted into the crowded market. She hadn’t wanted to spend another moment in his company, and felt that under the circumstances, he deserved no explanation. But now, in the seclusion of her room, Maura knew she’d acted rashly. She’d have to clear up Borne’s misconceptions as soon as possible—regarding both her marital status and her reasons for being in the country.
But this meant she’d also have to tell him about Ilyria.
She decided to give Borne the night to calm down, then call on him in the morning. Relieved to have a plan, she prepared for bed. She was just bending to blow out the candle when there came a gentle rap on her door.
A young slave girl offered her a message on a silver salver, and Maura scanned the hasty scribble. Her presence was requested in the princess’s chambers at once.
With a sigh, Maura threw on her robe, then made her way across the seraglio. This late-night visit would serve her purposes, for she needed to excuse herself from her morning lesson with Yasiha so that she would be free to visit the barracks.
The princess herself swung open her chamber door, her eyes alight with excitement. She dismissed her maid hurriedly, although she was still dressed in her evening finery. She was aglow with radiance.
“I thought you’d never come!” Yasiha pulled her into the room, then spun away, holding her silken shawl wide as she did a little twirl of joy before throwing her arms around Maura.
Laughing, Maura gently disentangled herself from the girl’s embrace. “I take it you have good tidings to share?”
“The best of tidings! I am to be wed to my Ser Borne!”
Maura’s heart skipped a beat as she received this news, but she offered her friend a bright smile. “My congratulations! When was all this decided?”
Yasiha hugged herself with barely contained delight. “Only a few hours ago! We’ve received my uncle and aunt’s blessings for the match. The Basileus is giving us his small palace in Ekini Tephe as a wedding gift, from which we’ll command views of the entire city!”
She took up Maura’s hands once more, squeezing them tightly. “You shall be one of my attendants for the ceremony! And in the meantime, you must be my constant companion, so that I may learn as much as I can to please my Drinnglennian husband. And once I’m a married woman, you shall enter my household as my chief lady-in-waiting.”
Maura was tempted to tell Yasiha that she might be in gaol by the next day, if Borne decided to expose her. And even if he didn’t, she would be
leaving Olquaria in two weeks’ time, when Ilyria arrived with the dark moon. But she couldn’t bear to spoil the moment for her friend. “You do me great honor, Khadin. When… when will the happy event take place?”
“Our betrothal’s to be announced at the close of the yaraket, and then we’ll be wed next month. The wise ones say spring is the most auspicious time to marry.” Yasiha sighed with contentment. “It will be just as my aunt promised. That horrid Kurash will not have me, and Borne’s position with the Gralian embassy in Olquaria will remain secure.”
Maura felt a thrill of alarm. “Do you mean to say he would have been expelled otherwise?”
Yasiha waved her painted fingers. “Shareen Basilea wishes this match to be made, and she doesn’t take disappointment lightly.” She looked sidelong at Maura. “You mustn’t repeat to anyone what I just told you.”
“Of course not.” But Maura wondered what else Borne might have to accede to once he married into the imperial family.
Yasiha continued to wax lyrical over her upcoming nuptials, but Maura barely registered her words. When at last her friend’s elation gave way to weariness, Maura set aside her barely touched wine and called for a slave to attend to the princess’s bedtime rituals.
Maura herself was now wide awake, and as she crossed back through the darkened pavilion, the scent of jasmine drew her to the solace of the gardens. She sat on a stone bench staring up at the setting moon and forced herself to examine the disappointment she’d felt upon hearing Yasiha’s announcement, and her subsequent concern for Borne’s future in this land. He had been, at one time, someone she’d come to consider a friend—and she hadn’t had many. At the same time, she chided herself for not sharing in Yasiha’s joy over her match of true love. Maura had surely never experienced such headlong exhilaration when she was with Roth. What she had mistaken for love had been, in truth, mere gratitude for his attention. What a fool she’d been not to recognize the difference.
One thing was certain: she would not be joining the newlyweds’ household in their fine new palace. In fact, if it weren’t for her promise to wait for Ilyria, she would leave Tell-Uyuk at once. As it was, she prayed Borne would keep her secret safe until the dark moon.
