by Kal Spriggs
Even if one resisted such temptations, there were other beings, both of flesh and spirit, who would see them as prey, as concentrated morsels of energy. Often the more powerful spirits and spirit-touched fed upon the weaker, both as a way to eliminate threats and as a way to grow their own power.
“You,” she said and placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart, “have nothing to fear, my love.” She could feel his heart tremble beneath her hand. “You are named for the First King of your people, and there is no coincidence in that. The prophesy that was foretold on your birth... the spirit of Maghali Mede kindled your soul, shaped you to give you the potential for all that you have become. He did that because Andoral Elhonas would not allow him to manifest again... just as he prevents the Dark Spirit from manifesting himself. You are his champion, which is why you bear the Mede Khmali and the Medis Sakveri. They will be both symbols of his blessing, guides to you, and a means to protect yourself and your people.” She wished she could explain to him, how she could see it so clearly now... but only because of her own connection. “Just as the Dzmoba Suliskvet has given me it's blessing and mark... and as I have gained the Mantle of the Enchantress.”
She could feel that weight, something more than merely physical. A cloak of energy that seemed to press down upon her... just as she could feel the collective wisdom and knowledge of ten thousand cycles. The Mantle was a construct, like the stone guardians that protected the Eastwood and its people... but it had no physical form. Instead, thousands of cycles work had created a construct of energy, a working that stored the memories and experience of the previous Enchantress. Everything she had ever known, from the most intricate details of political maneuvering to the most mundane cooking recipe, all of it existed within the Mantle.
Amelia doubted any of the People of the Eastwood fully realized the full import of the Mantle, if indeed many of them realized it was more than an allegory. Amelia's predecessor had sent the Mantle to the one place it would be safe: within the Dzmoba Suliskvet. When I communed with it, she thought, when it recognized me as the new Enchantress, it released the Mantle to me. She still had difficulty coming to terms with the knowledge the Mantle gave her. Part of her still shied away from the power that had come with her position and resented the last Enchantress for leaving her with such a burden.
She would not have lived without the Enchantress's intervention. Amelia knew that now, knew that the dying spirit of the last Enchantress, mortally wounded by Xavien's attack, had spent her last effort in healing Amelia's wounded soul. In the process, she had shaped Amelia's spirit so that she would be her successor... and changed Amelia in a process that she had only begun to fully understand.
She saw his concern fade, replaced by determination. “The spirits do not give such blessings lightly. They would not give us these tools if the need was not paramount.”
Amelia shivered against him. She knew only too well the truth of which he spoke. Dzmoba Suliskvet, the spirit of the People of the Eastwood, sensed... something. A threat, a challenge more dangerous than any that had come before... one that would require every bit of strength and effort for them to survive. “We will succeed,” Amelia said, surprised by the iron she heard in her own voice.
“We will,” Simonel said, meeting her eyes and pulling her close, “together.”
As she burrowed close to him, she knew it was simple enough to say that now, when their threats seemed so far away. It would be altogether a different thing as they faced those threats.
But they would do that together. And knowing that was enough... for now.
***
“Ah, the new Queen,” a cultured voice spoke from behind Amelia as she walked back from the baths.
Amelia turned, somewhat surprised that anyone had managed to hide from her senses. Her surprise faded, though, as she met the gray eyes of Ivellios. The Viani's golden skin and silver hair had always struck her as different from the other People of the Eastwood. Now that she had the knowledge of the Mantle, she knew that those physical differences were only the tip of the iceberg.
“Warden Ivellios,” Amelia inclined her head slightly, suddenly aware of how alone they really were... and with full knowledge of exactly how dangerous the warrior was. He, alone of all of his people, had been selected to observe the People of the Eastwood in their self-imposed exile.
“I wonder if we might walk for a short distance, that I might finally have that conversation I've been meaning to have with you,” the Viani warrior said lightly. She remembered, now, that he had mentioned speaking with her at her petition to be granted adulthood. He had also voted in her favor, something that suggested he wasn't hostile.
Which didn't mean he approved of her, particularly now that she had risen to the position of Enchantress... “Of course,” Amelia said, realizing she had been silent too long.
“Excellent,” Ivellios said with a broad, friendly smile. He gestured at her to continue and he fell in beside her, his long legs easily a match for her shorter stride. “I must confess, I've always found the younger races of man to be of interest. I've heard much of how the world has changed in the long time since the Wold came here. I'd be interested to hear of your lands.”
Amelia bristled at the term 'Wold.' Quite without realizing it, she had become one of the People of the Eastwood and now she saw just how derogatory that word was. “I'm not really sure how to describe the Grand Duchy of Boir. It's... very different from here, yet similar in some ways. People have families, professions, raise children...”
“Grow old and die?” Ivellios asked lightly.
“We... they... aren't as fortunate as some others in that regard,” Amelia said. Part of the changes wrought upon her by Dzmoba Suliskvet was that she was every bit as immortal as the People of the Eastwood or the Viani. She would not age, would retain her youth until long after the bones of her father had turned to dust.
“Some would say that long life such as ours is a curse,” Ivellios said.
Amelia gave him a hard look, “You've not seen much of old age, have you?” She'd seen old noblewomen clinging to the dregs of their power, trying desperately to maintain some dignity as their bodies and then their minds began to fail them. Even the Starborn died of old age, the only benefit they had over other men was that it took longer to take them.
The Viani and her new people, they didn't need to face that.
“I've seen its ravages first hand,” Ivellios said softly. “My grandparents died of it before Maghali Mede changed my people.” His gray eyes went distant, “They died long before your people came to this world, long before the other races of man came to this continent... and sometimes I fear that they were the lucky ones.”
Amelia didn't really know how to respond to that.
Ivellios shook his head, “In any case, that wasn't what I came to speak to you about... and my interest in other lands can wait for another day. After all... we've plenty of time, do we not?” His smile was cynical, almost mocking, as if referencing their near-immortality were some sort of joke. “What I wanted to speak to you about was the Veil.”
Amelia nodded slowly, “You want to know if I intend to restore it?”
“Indeed,” Ivellios replied. “Few are privy to the knowledge, but the Veil served two purposes, not merely one. Not only did it protect the Wold's spirits from outside influence –”
“But also serves to discourage individuals from within from venturing beyond,” Amelia interrupted. “Yes, I know.” It was an unspoken agreement between the Enchantress and the Viani: that she would help to maintain the Exile, a magical reinforcement to the decree of the King of the Eastwood. And now, she thought, with Simonel and I married, the one is the extension of the other.
Ivellios's eyes narrowed, “Indeed, so you do have the power of the Mantle.”
Her face paled a bit as she realized that she had let that slip when she revealed her knowledge. In theory, one of the spirits might have told her, but she'd shown too much awareness of that fact for i
t to be knowledge gained second-hand.
“Do not fear, Enchantress,” Ivellios said. “I am not your enemy. For all that you now live among the Wold, you are still a child of the younger races... you did not partake in their betrayal.”
Amelia flushed, “Oh, and what of their children? Do they deserve this exile and imprisonment? What crimes have they committed? For that matter, what crimes are so heinous that ten thousand cycles of imprisonment is not enough to grant them parole?”
Ivellios cocked his head at her. “This is interesting... I had not realized that the Mantle could exert emotional influence over you.”
Amelia opened her mouth to argue, but then his words penetrated her rage. She stopped to examine her emotions and found, to her shock, that not all of her anger came from within. Some, indeed, did come through from the Mantle, where ten thousand cycles of resentment had festered. Some, though, came from her bond with the spirits of her new people. They, too, had their grudges, some of them well-founded, with the Maghali Khalakuri... and Ivellios was their representative.
Amelia shoved her emotions back and then forced herself to actually think.
What she realized, after a moment, was just how precarious a life Ivellios had lived. While the People of the Eastwood had resented their ten thousand cycle exile, they had at least had friends, family, each other... while their single watchman, the Warden Ivellios, had no one. Not once in all the memories given to her by the Mantle could Amelia find a single occasion where Ivellios had taken a guest from outside. In fact, seldom did she find memories where the Viani had been received with anything other than thinly veiled hostility by most of the People.
The only exceptions had been the Enchantress and the King... for even most of the Council had viewed him as an outsider and a reminder of their own failures. Amelia couldn't imagine living a single cycle amongst people that hated her. She shuddered as she imagined the weight of time that Ivellios had endured. For him, more than anyone, this would have been a prison, one where he had no allies, no friends, where he must be ever watchful for threats and betrayal... all the while knowing that he stood a watch without end.
No wonder he thinks his grandparents had it lucky, she thought with shock. “I'm sorry,” Amelia said softly. “I should not have allowed emotions to get the best of me... and I should be more respectful of what you have endured.”
She saw a flash of surprise go across his face and he froze for a moment. When he continued on, he spoke softly, “Clearly you've the intelligence and empathy for you position. But that brings us back to my question, with your clear intelligence, do you have a plan to restore the Veil?”
Amelia looked away. That was a question that she had struggled with since Dzmoba Suliskvet and the Mantle allowed her to know the full import of the defense. With the Mantle's knowledge, she had restored several of the safeguards which had lessened the attacks on the spirits of the Eastwood. Those defenses could be worked around, though, given time and energy, both of which her opponents had.
The problem was that the Veil had been built over hundreds of cycles, built bit by bit, the craft of one of the sharpest and most capable minds the world had ever seen. Amelia knew that with the Mantle's knowledge, she could replicate those efforts, but the process was not one meant to be rushed, not without a tremendous source of energy. While she had access to those levels of energy as the Enchantress, it would weaken the spirits of the Eastwood, possibly at a time when they couldn't afford such weaknesses.
“There is a way,” Amelia said finally. “It is not one that I would prefer to use.”
“I can imagine,” Ivellios said. “Know that since you stand against the supporters of the Kingslayer, that I am your ally in this. I'll seek to protect you as best as I can... while still enforcing the edicts of our truce.”
Amelia paused on the trail and stared at him in consideration. She cocked her head as she had a dark thought come to her. “The People of the Eastwood... many of the children who venture beyond the borders of their exile never return, are you involved?”
Ivellios recoiled, “I would never harm children, not even those of my once-enemies!” She could see that the mere thought of the accusation repelled him, which meant she thought she believed him.
“I had hoped you weren't... for that matter, the truce allows their passage... yet I can't help but wonder if some of the Viani might be involved,” Amelia said.
He opened his mouth to deny it, yet she saw him hesitate, “That... might happen. Not all of my people are so forgiving and many suffered greatly from the Wold's betrayal.” He shrugged, “in truth, as you must know from your life before you came here, my people are few in number and most live their lives in secret.”
Amelia nodded. She had only ever met one Viani in her life before Ivellios. He'd been a bard of sorts, who played for the Grand Duke's court over a winter. He had played such sad songs, filled with loss and heartache... and now she realized that the bloody war between the Viani and the Foresworn would have been the source of that heartache... a war from which the survivors on both sides had never fully healed.
“There are legends,” Amelia said, “of a hidden kingdom, high in the mountains...”
Warden Ivellios smiled slightly, “Yes, which the first Starborn Kings knew of, and where my people and the High Kings forged an alliance... but the High Kings are gone, the stories of their fall have reached even here. Those of my people who go home to those lands never return.”
She didn't know about that, but she couldn't imagine wanting to return to the Five Duchies from some hidden, perfect land. If the skirmishes between the Duchies weren't bad enough, then the raids by Norics and Armen were... along with the occasional threat from Vendakar slavers or a rogue sorcerer. The Viani might well have retreated back to their lands, tired of the failure of civilization and ready to begin a self-appointed exile of their own, just to avoid the heartache of the world.
“Well,” Amelia said, “the time may soon come when the exile of the Kalakhi Salvet Khis may end. When they will go out in search of their lost children and to make their new place in this world.”
Ivellios's eyes narrowed, “That is against our truce, a truce I swore to uphold.”
Amelia thought about what Xavien had done, of the knowledge and power he had used to shatter the Veil and to kill both the Enchantress and the King of the Eastwood. Someone, something, had given him that power... and whatever its source, she had little doubt that it wanted to swing the People of the Eastwood to its side... possibly to the cause of Andoral Elhonas.
If that was the case, she would rather swing her people against that threat. “The time may come, Warden, when the Kalakhi Salvet Khis chose to make an alliance with you against a greater threat... at that time, do you really think that keeping potential allies locked away is the best idea?”
It seemed that even after ten thousand cycles, some ideas could surprise the Warden.
***
King Simonel Greeneye
Simonel restrained a grimace as Tharian continued to speak. His boorish tone at any time could be almost too much to stand, but it seemed that the elder wanted to outdo himself today.
“...inasmuch as we can assume that Tyrial is correct and that Crimson Hills require more direct attention, I think it would behoove us to direct our attention there.” Tharian paused and Simonel drew breath to finally speak, but before he could, Tharian continued, “However, I think that perhaps we should simply monitor the situation at Crimson Hills, since Sinbarel disagrees with Tyrial's assessment. Indeed, Sinbarel's argument that the status of Dybar Rapids is most dire bears much weight.”
“Thank you,” Simonel said as Tharian paused to draw breath. You explained the entire situation for us, in case we didn't listen in the first place, Simonel thought. He had attended council meetings with his father before, but never before had he respected the patience his father had more than now. Beasts and forest animals, maddened by the torment of his people's spirits, had caused violence all acr
oss the Eastwood and Tharian had wasted valuable hours in first gathering much of the council and then in pointless deliberations. “I think it best that we act immediately, rather than allowing more of our people to suffer.” He caught an offended look from Tharian, but he ignored that. “
His main fear was that this might be some sort of trap or feint, to draw their forces away that a more vulnerable point might be attacked. He already knew that Listania had not acted alone. Other supporters of Andoral Elhonas might well seek to take action while he was away.
Amelia put her hand on his and he turned to meet her eyes. She simply gave him a nod, yet that was enough. The confidence in her blue eyes would have come as a shock to him only a few months previously. Now, after having faced Listania and her allies, he didn't doubt that the young woman he had come to love had reason for that confidence... or that she wouldn't be able to handle any threats here.
It took him only a moment to realize that he had little to fear. Amelia would secure their rear as he and Ceratul took care of the issue... regardless of whether they were feints.
“Warmaster Ceratul, assemble our hunters. I will accompany half of them to Dybar Rapids and you will accompany the other half to Crimson Hills,” Simonel said. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Tharian blanch a bit.
“My King,” Tharian said, his voice nervous, “perhaps we might not be so hasty. If there is some greater threat, we might be left without recourse...”
Simonel leveled his gaze upon the older man. “I will depart in order to safeguard the security of our people.”
“Most of our people are here,” L’Aurel said, her voice soft. The Ancient was one of the three most powerful mages of his people, skilled beyond what most people could even believe possible. “Those who have not come to Mystvain Guli are few in number and they have made the decision themselves to stay. Perhaps, instead of splitting our strength we might order the few holdouts to return here.”
