by Meg Cowley
Eve held her hands up and shrugged. "I have no-one with me. The abbot has no men to spare. There is no-one who can accompany me." They sat for a moment in silence, the unsaid heavy between them. "Are you to remain here?"
Luke sighed, and ruffled a bandage hand through his tousled hair. "I’m not sure I am able to leave. If I can, will you wait for me to accompany you home?"
Eve nodded. That was what she had hoped.
"I will ask the abbot what may be done—if I can be released from my oath." Luke said, staring into nothingness, deep in thought.
"I’d like that," Eve replied quietly. Would Hador release a brother bound by oath? She had no idea, but a growing realisation that the course of her future might depend on it. She did not want to be separated again after they had endured so much. They shared a hesitant smile, and she placed her hands upon his. He grasped them in his warm hold—feeling reassuringly alive again—and yawned, extricating a hand to drag it across his face. The twinkle in his eyes had diminished, and Eve could see how weary he was. She excused herself, and stood to take leave, but he did not let go and tugged her back to her chair.
"Please, stay."
She acquiesced and perched on the chair. They sat in companionable silence, but her mind and heart raced, and unseen to Luke, her foot tapped upon the floor. She still carried terrible guilt about leaving him in the very bowels of Juska Mountain and not rescuing him herself. A growing part of her felt as though, after being told by Tarrell that Bahr could not be beaten and Luke was doomed, she had utterly failed him by believing it—as if the worst thing she could have done was to give up on him in her own heart.
She looked up to see Luke asleep. His head lolled on the pillow and his dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks. Eve extricated herself from his grasp as quickly and quietly as she could, and left without waking him.
~
"You left?" he said first, looking quizzical, when she visited again.
Eve flushed, dithering at the door. "You were so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you." And I felt sick to the pit of my stomach that I let you down.
"I spoke to Hador."
Eve moved towards him, a thousand questions burning on her tongue.
"I asked him to release me of my bond, so I may return to Arlyn and try to rebuild my life—the correct way. Mother needs me, and it was foolish and selfish of me to abandon my life and forsake her. And… I want to be close to you too. After everything that has happened, I don't want to be apart."
"What did he say?" she whispered, twisting her hands together.
"He agreed I may leave. I’m released from my oath and bond to this place."
Relief flooded through her, and she embraced him, her awkwardness forgotten.
"Hador said I—we—will always be welcome here, for which I am grateful."
Eve did not reply, save to squeeze him tighter. Her skin tingled as he kissed her forehead gently.
There was a clatter from without and they sprang apart; the door opened to reveal Brother Ormund with another volume of history. Eve cooled her burning cheeks with the back of her freezing hands, her gaze averted, whilst Luke greeted his comrade with a secretive smile on his face only she could fathom.
Chapter Seven
The mirror was an innocuous object, covered with a dusty sheet. It stood in the corner of an abandoned chamber that was stuffed with accoutrements of all shapes, sizes and purposes. The servants struggled to free it of the maze of clutter, grunting and groaning under the strain, and coughing from the dust clouds that puffed with every step. Under Behan's watchful eyes, it was moved to Soren's quarters, where it was placed in a small drawing room away from prying eyes.
There, Soren unveiled the mirror, sweeping away the sheet in a cloud of dust to reveal the six-foot tall sheet of glass. A frame inlaid with mother of pearl surrounded it, and other than some small marks, it was spotlessly clean, despite the state of its shroud. Behan was ready with the incantation, noted in written form for him to use. Soren took the scrap of parchment, frowning as he beheld the slanted script and unfamiliar word.
"Leitha," he said. The word was unfamiliar and his tongue stumbled; he hoped he had said it correctly, for he had no understanding of how the magic worked.
A moment of nothing passed, and then the surface of the mirror plunged into blackness. Soren gasped and stumbled backwards, but as the mirror's surface swirled with things unseen, he could not help but edge forward once more, his jaw open in wonder as he beheld shapes coalescing inside the glass. By the time the room within solidified, Soren was almost touching the glass with his nose, and his outstretched fingers trembled millimeters from the mirror's surface.
It was a wondrous sight to behold. Soren stepped back to examine the mirror, which stood there, silent and unassuming. He looked behind the mirror, facing a corner of the room where two stone walls met—and the back of the mirror; plain, unassuming wood. With furrowed brows that rose into incredulity, accompanied by a delighted laugh, he looked into the mirror once more, examining every detail of the room before him.
Light, airy, and high-ceilinged, polished floors led to tall windows, through which he could see mountains. Mountains which were hundreds of miles away from him, appeared only hundreds of metres away instead. He shook his head. Amazing. He grinned at Behan, who smiled back, despite not seeming even half as impressed, but Soren suspected it was because this was nothing new to him.
"Hello?" Soren called into the mirror. "Hello?" he called a little louder.
Rustles, and then footsteps sounded before him from inside the mirror. A tall figure swept into view. Soren closed his mouth, which had been hanging open in awe.
"Your Majesty," said the figure, a male Eldarkind, offering a deep, sweeping bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."
As he spoke, Soren regarded him curiously. He was far taller than Soren, it appeared, and long, pale hair flowed in a straight river down the back of his muted green robe, which fell from its high collar all the way to the floor. His brow was crowned in a delicate and interweaving silver and gold circlet. "My name is Tarrell. I am the king of the Eldarkind."
King? Soren thought, confused. Where is Queen Artora? After a moment's pause, his manners took over. "Your Majesty, it is a pleasure, also."
Tarrell smiled a thin-lipped smile that hid many feelings Soren could not discern. "I see your confusion. It is with a heavy heart I must tell you Queen Artora passed some weeks ago, of a sickness that could not be cured."
"I am sorry to hear. My deepest condolences for your loss," said Soren, though the words were an empty courtesy; he had known little more about the queen than her name.
"I thank you," replied Tarrell. "It has been a difficult time, but as ever, we move forward. How may I be of assistance to you?"
Soren took a moment to recover his thoughts. The wonder of the mirror, and speaking with an ethereal person both there and not there was distracting. "Dragons," he began. "The dragons are attacking along the east coast. The toll is terrible and growing and we have no means to defend ourselves. Last I met them, they were not hostile. I cannot fathom what has changed."
Tarrell's face closed, and his mouth set in a thin, grim line, but he did not seem surprised, which, in itself, surprised Soren. Tarrell explained to Soren, who listened aghast, of the recent rift in the dragon clan, and Cies's quest for destruction and revenge.
Soren took several moments to comprehend Tarrell's words, and his thoughts lingered on Myrkith-visir. The giant, black dragon had seemed invincible to Soren. And now he is gone. "This is grave news. By your words, they cannot be stopped by us, then. We need your assistance. Surely, your magic can help us?"
"There are greater events at play," Tarrell warned. "As I have said to Farran, I am reluctant to intervene my people in a matter which is not of the utmost importance."
"What about our pact?" said Soren, growing frustrated.
"The pact is broken," Tarrell replied flatly. "As it has been for some time now." He told Sore
n of all that had passed with Bahr of the fire, and of the awakening of the elementals as a result of the pact's failure. "It has been a long time in the breaking, and the consequences are dire for all of us. Cies is just the start. If he can be defeated, that brings some security, but worse will follow. We ally ourselves still with Farran and his clan, as we ally ourselves with you. That remains unchanged. But our priority is seeking to rebuild the pact."
"Why?" Soren questioned. "If Cies is the more pressing issue, then we ought to unite against him."
"Farran will have to fight that battle himself. Petty clan wars are no concern of ours, though we gladly offer any ally shelter. Our concern is for the greater go—"
"My people are being slaughtered!" Soren snapped. His cheeks were red balls of fury. "You would stand and do nothing whilst Caledan is destroyed? How is that aiding your allies?"
"You do not understand our mutual predicament!" Tarrell snapped back; the first sign he had lost composure. "The elementals have slumbered, bound, for a millennia. If they are allowed to rise, the world over will burn and be destroyed. Cies may seem a destructive force beyond measure to you, but I assure you, one rampaging dragon and his ragtag band of followers bear no measure of significance against the threat of the elementals. Mark my words, they are rising. They will come, and they will destroy us all if we do nothing."
Soren was caught off guard by Tarrell's fervent words. Something worse than Cies? He could hardly imagine it, but Tarrell seemed serious enough, and that alone was cause for concern. Soren swallowed. "How can we rebuild the pact?" He knew nothing of it, save it existed as some agreement that bound together the three races of human, Eldarkind, and dragon, in a lasting peace.
"We are not presently sure," Tarrell admitted. "It has been a millennia since the original pact was bound. We are combing through our oldest archives, and seeking the counsel of the great dragon Brithilca, but he is being as cryptic as ever."
Soren nearly laughed. The Eldarkind were cryptic enough to him, so Brithilca must be in an entirely different league altogether.
"I suggest you do the same," added Tarrell. "Mayhap we will find something of use between us."
Soren's amusement faded and he did not answer. There was even more serious work to be done, yet he had no idea where to start, and he was no closer to resolving the dragon attacks.
Chapter Eight
The walk to the crossroads was long and painful, but at least the exercise kept the chill at bay, for the day was clear and bright, and the winter sun did nothing to warm them. The monastery had no horses to spare, and so this part of the journey was to be on foot, though they hoped to hire horses at the crossroads; neither were capable of walking to Arlyn.
Both Eve and Luke were weakened after their infirmities—Eve still had not the strength to restore them with the help of her magic—and the weight of their packs dragged them down. Luke had insisted on taking both packs, but Eve refused, knowing he was barely capable of lifting his own. It was difficult to decide which of them was in a worse state.
It was the first day without a snowstorm that week, and despite Hador's protests that they were not fit to travel, Eve insisted on leaving. Some part of her felt a growing sense of urgency, as if they had tarried too long. Already, she could not recall how many weeks—months, even—it had been since she had left Arlyn. Five, she counted, and perhaps another. For Luke, it had been even longer still.
As they trudged on in silence, her thoughts turned homeward to Arylyn, her father, to Luke's mother and to what awaited them there. Hador had already informed her the fighting in the south had ended, and all had returned home. King Soren had defeated the uprising. That meant her father would have returned to Arlyn some moons ago. She no longer feared his wrath, though, she realised. After all she had endured, the anger of a mortal man counted for little next to the maleficent intent of limitlessly powerful elemental magic.
~
Days later, they trotted through the familiar gates of Arlyn with relief that they had managed to procure horses to ease the journey, and for the sight of home. It felt surreal to return to a place they knew so well, but that felt so strange after months of nothing but wilderness and trees. Here, the din of people and businesses was overwhelming, and stone buildings towered above them, cutting out the weakening late-afternoon light.
"It's been a long while," noted Luke.
"And much has passed," Eve added.
They parted outside Luke's house. He dismounted and handed her the reins to his mount. Before he turned away, they shared a smile and a long look, filled with everything between them. She did not want to ride away, but home beckoned for both of them. At the corner, she paused and twisted in the saddle to see Nora clinging to her son—Luke hugged her just as hard—and sobbing into his cloak. A small smile crossed her lips. That's been a long time coming and well overdue, she thought gladly.
Minutes later, and she clattered into the courtyard, which bustled with familiar faces. They hailed her with surprise and warm welcome, banishing the awkward feelings of displacement and surrealism. The smell of home blasted into her face as she opened the front door: log fires, pine fresheners, and something roasting in the kitchens. For a moment, she stood on the threshold with eyes closed and a grin on her face, listening to the old sounds and immersing her senses in things she had not even realised she missed before she shut the cold out behind her.
The maids greeted her excitedly and ushered her into the kitchens for food, saying how dreadfully in need of feeding up she was. The familiar henpecking warmed her heart and she chuckled to herself. She waved them off, saying she needed to see her father first.
"He's in the drawing room, Lady Eve," they told her.
That's unusual, she thought. He could usually be found in his study at this time, but then, she had lost track of the days. Perhaps, he was resting instead of working. She flitted up the stairs and corridors. It mattered not that she had been gone so many months, she still knew the place as well as the back of her hand. It was good to feel the familiar stone flags beneath her feet, and the smooth, whorled wood paneling underneath her fingers.
"Enter," her father called after she knocked on the drawing room door.
She entered without delay to find him seated by the fire reading with a blanket thrown over his legs. She had not seen her father at rest for many years, which was even stranger, and when he turned round, she stopped dead in her tracks. He was grey and drawn. His face lacked its usual healthy edge and his eyes were dull. Even his hair looked thin. He stood slowly and his arms shook as he pushed himself out of the chair. Tears pricked her eyes as she rushed to embrace him.
"I've missed you, Father." Eve fought back a rush of tears and emotion that her father did not.
"I've missed you, too, my little dove," Karn's voice cracked as he clasped her close for a long embrace. "I've been worried sick. I did not know where you were."
"What month is it?" Eve asked, biting her lip. He looks as though he's actually been worried sick. It was disconcerting to see the only stable pillar of her life so infirm and worn.
"Let's see, we are a few weeks into the second month of the year."
I've been away five months, Eve realised with a shock. Five months… "You're not mad with me?"
Karn's eyes flashed to hers and he gave a tired smile. "I am ill," he said, "and war once more opens my eyes to the real issues of the world. It matters not, my little dove, only that you are home safe. I trust you went with good reason."
She nodded, her eyes cast to the floor. "I did." She did not say where she had been—and he did not ask. She could see he was too exhausted, so she took his arm, guided him back to the warmth and comfort of his chair before the hearth, and tucked the blanket around his legs again.
With a roll of her aching neck, she at last unclasped her cloak and sat at her father's feet, snuggled into the sheepskin rug and leaned against his legs whilst the fire comfortably roasted her back.
"What ails you?" she asked.
He placed a hand on her head for a moment, and took a while to reply. "The tolls of war were hard," he said at last. "I cannot sleep on account of the horrors I have seen and I cannot rid myself of this damned chill. It permeates me to the bone." His legs quivered behind her. "I worried for you also, of course. We have had no news for months, save a message from Ednor apologising for the delay in your travels and promising your return soon, but with no explanation for your absence."
Eve opened her mouth to speak—to explain what had happened, as best she could try—but her father continued, and so she subsided.
"I need your help, Eve. I have a greater need of you now than ever I have before. I know I have prepared you well, and although I always feared and knew this day would come as much as I hoped it never would, I know it is time I ask for your help whilst I battle this forsaken infirmity. I know I can trust you to lead Arlyn in my absence. I would rest easier knowing Arrow county were cared for by her daughter. Will you aid me in this?"
Eve’s shoulders slumped. A year ago, she would have been excited by the prospect: independence, control, and finally, a chance to prove herself. It was not so simple now, not so idealistic. I don’t want to lead any more. I don’t want to be the son he never had. I want to be me. Can I do this? she wondered. Her father's poor state concerned her and dampened her relief and contentment at returning home. There is little choice. He is not fit to lead. She accepted his offer with a sombre heart.
Karn heaved a shallow sigh of relief and sunk back into his chair with a small moan. "That gladdens me. Seek Hoarth, Captain of the Guard, about the defence and running of the town to begin with. He will tell you all you still need to know about how to manage Arlyn day to day. Water. Trade. Supplies." His voice trailed off.
"Father?" Eve twisted to look up at him. His eyes fluttered closed.
"So tired," she heard him murmur. "A little rest."
She stared at him for a moment, sadness welling in her heart, and then, as silent as a mouse, she left.
