by K. C. Julius
“The veiled Llwella,” Halla said softly.
Asmara nodded. “In time, our friendship grew into something deeper.”
“And all was well,” said Morgan, “until the time came for the Chronicles to be consulted for its next prophecy.”
Asmara nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Yes. Once Urlion and the other Tribus members consulted its recordings of what had come to pass since it was last opened, our love would be revealed, and we knew that would spell the end for us.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Which is why I convinced Selka to help me steal the book.”
All turned then to Morgan, who had borne the blame for this theft. “A feat few could have achieved,” he said softly, “but possible for a Konigur princess and the most skilled sorceress in the Known World.”
Whit’s eyes flashed fire. “And you let Master Morgan take the blame—for all these years? He’d never have gone after Lazdac if you—”
“What’s past is past, Whit,” the wizard said firmly. “But I should like to know—what became of the Chronicles?”
Asmara and Selka exchanged a long look. “We tried to consult it the night before it was to be opened, right there in the Alithineum,” the sorceress replied. “But the magic binding it was too strong for me to overcome alone. My spell came back at me, and when I tried to reverse it, the Chronicles burst into flames. They spread as though driven by a gale through the stacks, devouring everything in their path. I rescued as many books as I could, but… ”
Whit pounded his fist on the table. “You started the fire? Have you any idea of the—”
“Whit—enough, please!” Master Morgan commanded. He released a long breath. “I appreciate your outrage on my behalf, but in truth, the destruction of the Chronicles is not entirely lamentable. It magically recorded all events that occurred in the realm, but offered no insights as to why they occurred. It gave no hint as to what passions drove people to love where they did, nor of what grudges and hurts spurred them on to betrayal. It took no account of circumstances. And throughout the ages, its prophecies have too often been interpreted to suit the purposes of the times, resulting in an unswerving, and in my opinion, unwarranted belief in the book’s powers of prediction.” He pushed himself to his feet. “It is gone now, and the world will continue to go on—that is, as long as we can defend it from the coming storm. This is what we need concern ourselves with at present, for we have not one, but two armies coming our way.”
“Agreed,” Fynn said firmly.
The old wizard folded his hands before him. “Lady Selka, may we count on your support in the upcoming battles? Even knowing that the odds of defeating both the Albrenian force and Lazdac are not in our favor, particularly as it has been revealed that both Audric and Celaidra are in league with the Strigori?”
The sorceress looked between the wizard and Fynn. “You would both trust me, after what I did to you?”
Master Morgan shrugged. “Who’s to judge the right of what we feel compelled to do to protect those we love?”
“We would welcome you to our cause,” Fynn said.
Selka dropped into a deep curtsey, and when she rose, her eyes were bright with emotion. “Then I shall be honored to fight at your side.”
Chapter 53
Leif
At Leif’s gentle knock, Maura opened the door. He caught his breath at the sight of her, for even in her grief, the transformation love had wrought upon her was undeniable.
She threw herself into his arms with a muffled sob. “Leif! Oh, thank the gods! You’re alive!” Keeping her voice low, she drew him through the chamber door.
At the sight of the injured man on the bed, Leif’s heart ached for her. Borne’s labored breaths were shallow and his blond hair was dark with sweat. Judging by the greenish tinge of his skin, he hadn’t long to live.
Maura knelt to place a cloth over his fevered brow. “I just gave him a tincture of clove—he was thrashing around so.”
Leif lowered himself to the floor on the far side of the bed. “The elven elixir had no effect?”
“Alas, no. But please tell Elvinor we’re grateful he sent it all the same.” She laid her cheek against Borne’s hand with such tenderness, Leif felt an intruder in what could be their final moments together.
“Shall I leave you—”
Maura shook her head. “No. I want you—we want you to stay. I don’t think I can bear to be alone when…” Her eyes widened. “Leif? What’s happened to your eyes?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Perhaps a story is just what we need.”
So Leif proceeded to tell her how the golden dragoness and her siblings had pursued him down the tunnel to the hidden nest, where he’d careened into her eggs and shattered them.
“As it happened, they were almost ready to hatch—I just hurried the process along a bit,” he said, his grin half-sheepish, half-proud. “At the time, though, I was a hair’s breadth from death, with the grown dragons all roaring for my blood. But before Syrene could finish me off, her four newborns intervened and plunged their sharp little talons into my heart.” He rubbed his chest at the memory of those piercings. “I thought I’d met my end. But I came to, and when I did, the other dragons had no choice but to accept me as one of their own.”
“You mean… as a dragon?”
Leif gave her a lopsided smile. “Well, as a mortal elf with four dragons bonded to him. Perhaps I should say near-kin.”
“So you and Rhiandra succeeded in your mission!”
“Not really. So far, only Emlyn has made a binding. Halla’s an excellent choice, though. She’s a born warrior, if there ever was one.”
“Unlike me,” Maura said. “No, it’s true,” she insisted, before he could protest, “but I wouldn’t change being dragonfast for anything. Well… almost anything.” She stroked Borne’s pallid cheek.
The dying man gave a low groan. “Water,” he croaked.
Maura took his hand and brought it to her lips. “At once, my love.” She lifted her gaze to the pitcher on the little table beside Leif.
Leif levered himself to his feet, but in his haste, he knocked over the jug and sent it crashing to the floor. Appalled at his clumsiness, and seeing the pooling water about to soak a pack sitting by the bed, he lifted the bag out of harm’s way, only to spy a drinking skin dangling from it.
He uncorked it, sniffed its contents, then took a cautious sip. “Here. It’s water,” he said, handing it to Maura. “I’m sorry about the jug.”
While Maura held the skin to Borne’s parched lips, Leif went to the wardrobe in search of something to soak up the spilled liquid. But he dropped the pile of linens in his arms at the sound of Maura’s sudden cry.
Fearing the worst, he rushed to her side.
She was bent over Borne, her unbound curls obscuring his face. Leif leaned past her, thinking to close the dead man’s eyes, only to meet Borne’s bright-blue, vibrant gaze.
“Well, look who’s back from the dead,” Borne said hoarsely.
Leif grinned. “Look who’s talking.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Maura said, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “It’s no joking matter.”
Leif widened his eyes to protest his innocence. “He started it.”
Borne raised his hand. “Hold on, am I seeing straight? What’s happened to your eyes?” Then, before Leif could answer, Borne attempted to lift himself to a sitting position, and had to be steadied. “Blearc’s bones,” he complained, “I’m as wobbly as a newborn colt. What the devil did you physik me with, anyway, my lapin lady?”
“Everything I could think of,” Maura said, sliding a pillow behind him. “But nothing had any effect.”
Leif raised the drinking skin and sniffed it again. “Except this, apparently.”
Borne gave a weak laugh, then laid his head back
against the pillow. “Witch water from Ile la Malfica. It seems I have even more to thank those women for.”
Maura raised a questioning brow.
“A story for another time,” Borne said, then murmured, “… perhaps. Right now, I’d rather you tell me what’s been happening while I’ve been malingering here in bed.”
“Lazdac Strigori and his creatures came ashore somewhere north of Stonehaven, or what remains of it, ” Leif replied. “I saw them myself when we flew south from Mithralyn. We made a patrol of the eastern seaboard before coming back up to Drinnkastel.”
“From where did you say you were coming?”
Maura placed her fingers gently against Borne’s lips. “I think that’s enough talking for now. You must rest, my love, and regain your strength. Your witch water may have neutralized the poison, but you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“If Lazdac’s monsters and the Albrenians are marching on Drinnkastel, I’ve no time to rest.” Borne tried to heave himself up from the bed, but this time, Leif pressed him back.
“The daylight is fading, friend. No one’s riding to war at this hour. Another night’s sleep will do you good, and my guess is”—Leif inclined his head toward Maura—“it will also save you much grief.”
* * *
Borne insisted on accompanying them the next morning when Leif and Maura joined King Fynn’s war council. The recovering champion was greeted with cries of amazement and elation, and the young High King embraced him with tears of gratitude in his eyes. At Borne’s request, Maura and Leif made no mention of the “witch water” that had effected his miraculous cure, but Leif had a quiet word with Whit, promising to enlighten him at a later time.
Lord Lawton, who was present, was put under arrest after Borne told them Roth’s sycophant had loosed the arrow that had killed Cole. Several of the lords were for stringing the murderer up at once, but Fynn commanded that if this land were to be ruled by law, they would all have to live by it, which meant Lawton would be tried before sentence was passed.
Once the commotion died down, Fynn bade his advisors, friends, and the ruling lords of the realm be seated. Leif found himself opposite a sorceress, introduced to him as Lady Selka, one of the Tribus. Her dark eyes held an intensity that he’d once have found unsettling, yet thanks to the heightened senses he now possessed, he detected a fragility behind the intimidating face she presented to the world.
King Fynn commenced the meeting by coming straight to the point. “My lords and ladies, Drinnkastel will soon be under attack by two formidable armies. The Albrenians will get here first, and we’ll have to deal with them swiftly if we are to be prepared for Lazdac Strigori and his drakdaemons. Otherwise we risk an onslaught on two fronts—one from the east and the other from the south. Master Morgan?”
The wizard took a moment to survey all who sat at the table. “In order to avoid this dual assault, we need to intercept the Albrenians before they can join up with Lazdac. Since we can’t be certain when the Strigori force will reach Drinnkastel, we’ll need to hold back a significant number to defend the capital, including Lord Whit and Lady Selka.”
Before Whit could protest, Halla interjected, “The army that engages with Palan’s force will have the help of the dragonfast. We can handle those bastards.”
”I believe so, too,” said Morgan. “Lady Halla, Lady Maura, and Master Leif will be in the vanguard of the attack against the Albrenians. Lord Ennius, you will command the ground forces, and Lord Lorendale, Lord Grathin, and the rest of the lords of the northern realms will receive their orders from you. If all goes as planned, the dragons should be enough to discourage Palan and send him packing back to the Continent.”
Lord Kenver frowned. “What of we lords of the southern realms?”
“You and your vassals will stand ready to defend Drinnkastel when Lazdac comes. Lord Whit and I will fight with you.”
“And who shall lead this army?” Lord Merrik of Palmador demanded.
Morgan looked to Fynn, who said, “We had charged Sir Borne with the command, but under the circumstances—”
“If you would still have me lead your troops, Your Majesty,” Borne interjected, “I’m ready and able.”
Fynn’s smile held more than a hint of relief. “You are a true champion, sir. If you are certain, I accept, and look forward to riding with you.”
“And the Lurkers?” said DuBleres. “Where will they be?”
They all turned to the Lord of Tyrrencaster, who sat with his arms folded across his chest.
“The å Livåri,” Fynn said, his tone reproachful, “will defend the capital as well.”
“I’ll not have them at my back,” DuBleres muttered.
“You swore an oath, sir,” Master Morgan growled, “to serve your king, and you will obey as he decrees.”
“I might add,” said Borne, “that as commander of His Majesty’s army, I’ll decide who’s at your back.” His blue eyes were ice-cold. “And you’d be fortunate to have any one of Baldo’s people fighting at your side.”
After a long tense moment, Lord DuBleres bowed his head stiffly.
Master Morgan sat back. “Then it’s settled, gentlemen. There’s much to do, and our dragonfast have reported that the Albrenians are currently crossing Nelvorboth.”
“In that case,” Fynn replied, “we should get busy.”
* * *
Over the next three days, the dragons shadowed the Konigur army on the march toward Wellberwick. On the afternoon of the fourth day, the dragonfast flew on ahead to scout out the opposition, while the four unbound dragons and Syrene’s wyrmlings, still undecided if the coming battles were theirs to fight, went to stay with Elvinor’s folk in the forests to the west of Drinnkastel. Although Leif regretted having to separate from the small dragons for the first time, his heart swelled as he and Rhiandra soared east toward the Erolin Sea. He had been preparing for this opportunity to honor his oath to serve Urlion’s heir ever since he and Maura had completed their trials.
His spirits were brought low, however, after his first glimpse of the Albrenians’ sprawling camp. It stretched across the Nelvorbothian fields as far as even Leif’s elven eyes could see. Acrid smoke from their fires hung in the still air as men the size of ants swarmed over the ground or crouched outside their tents.
The dragons did not linger above the enemy encampment. They wheeled back toward a copse of trees in the west, where they had agreed to come to ground and confer. As soon as they landed, Halla at once made a proposal.
“I think we should just burn them out now and save our army the trouble of a battle.”
Maura looked appalled. “Fynn gave Lord Ennius orders to offer the Albrenians the chance to reconsider this invasion, now that Roth has been deposed. If they intend to proceed after that, then we are to strike.”
“Did you not see the size of their army?” Halla laid her hand on Emlyn’s flank. “Not that we can’t deal with it.”
“And we will,” Leif affirmed, “but as planned.”
It was clear that Halla didn’t care much for his pronouncement, but she said no more, and they proceeded further inland to await the army under Lord Ennius’s command. Leif was keenly aware they were in Nelvorboth territory, and that though the lords of this realm had declared for the Konigur king, they’d been left little choice in the matter.
He was relieved when they came upon a dense forest that would offer the dragons concealment for the night. Halla and Maura went to bathe in a gentle stream running through the trees, leaving Leif to get a fire going. He was busy feeding kindling into the flames when he heard a low groan and turned to find Rhiandra stretched out flat on the ground with smoke the color of soot rising from her nostrils.
“Rhiandra, what is it?” he asked, hurrying to her. “Are you ill, or hurt?” He ran his hands over her azure scales, but could find no wound. Then he guessed what might be ailing
her. “You’re uneasy about tomorrow,” he said softly. In the coming battle, they wouldn’t be fighting against evil fae and their minions; they’d be pitting themselves against men and fighting to the death, and even though the enemy were invaders in their homeland, it was a sobering thought.
“In the days of the Before,” Rhiandra said, “the dragons of Drinnglennin and their dragonfast went regularly to war in defense of the Isle. For Ilyria and Emlyn, it will not be their first blooding of mortals. But those battles were before my time.”
Leif laid his forehead against hers. “I’m uneasy, too.”
Of the three dragonfast, only Halla had been to war, and she was the only one of them truly suited to the role of warrior. Her experience with the å Livåri freedom fighters and her months of captivity under Lazdac in the Lost Lands had hardened her, and he knew she wouldn’t hold back from the fray. But for Leif—and, he was certain, for Maura—the prospect of killing men was extremely difficult to come to terms with.
“It’s true,” said Ilyria, who had just emerged from the shadows of the trees and settled on one side of Rhiandra, “we have been to battle, but that does not mean that killing comes any easier to us.”
Emlyn trailed behind the bronzewing and came to rest beside their youngest sister as well. “Contrary to what many mortals are led to believe,” she said, “we prefer peace to war. But throughout history, we have again and again been forced to defend ourselves and our young against senseless attacks borne of ignorance and ungrounded fear.”
The sound of Maura’s and Halla’s laughter drifted toward them as the young women approached, still wringing the water from their hair.
