by Markus Heitz
Rodario was granted another full view, and was able to admire the princess in all her beauty, even though she was now covering herself. Utterly besotted, he gave a contented sigh.
Coïra fastened her belt, hurried to the gondola and moved the lever. The trip up to the surface began.
The actor ascended at the same time. Clinging to the cable, he was spared the exhausting business of having to pull himself up hand over hand, but the situation was not without danger: The wire rope attached to the winch at the top was coiling as the cage rose.
Rodario saw the square of light drawing closer and closer. The ropes were disappearing into it. Jets of water drenched his back as he was carried up. It was icy cold and he had to clench his teeth so as not to cry out. When he was pulled through the opening, he jumped aside and let go.
He landed safely on the floor and two stumbling extra steps absorbed the momentum. To his relief, there was no one waiting for him. The alarms and commotion had not been on his account.
Hardly had he regained his footing than the cage arrived, clanking and clattering. Coïra pushed aside the door and saw him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, fastening the top button of her blouse.
“I was waiting for you,” he replied easily. If you only knew what I have been watching all this time… Rodario looked at her gloves. They were identical and did not have any runes or other decoration. Had she merely not had time to take off the second glove?
She noticed that a puddle was forming at his feet. “Don’t tell me you’re sweating in this weather.”
“What do you mean…?” He laughed in embarrassment. “Oh, that… I was soaked through by the ferry, coming over. All that spray…” Rodario turned toward her to show her where his shirt was wet.
“The spray? Well I never. Pretty specifically aimed, the spray, it seems. Never saw the like. I know the lake quite well.” Coïra looked at him sternly. Her gaze wandered over him and she noted the dirt on his hands. “So you were waiting here the whole time, you say?”
Before he had to tell a lie the door opened and an excited Loytan stood facing them. “You must look at this, Your Highness!” he said, pointing outside. “There’s a very strange race taking place.”
Coïra looked Rodario keenly in the eyes once more, then ran out with Loytan. With a sigh of relief Rodario followed them out.
An icy storm wind had risen up and gray clouds hung over the lake. The waves splashing against the metal walls were noticeably higher than earlier; a fine mist covered cloaks, helmets and faces with tiny drops.
Loytan took them round to the west side, from where you could see past the island to the land. He handed her his telescope. “Have a look at the shore. Just now they were about half a mile from the ferryman’s house.”
The young woman lifted the glass to her eye. The shore was too distant for Rodario; he could just make out two black marks on two black spots chasing a white mark on a black spot.
“And? What is it?” he urged. One of the guards lent him a telescope. “Are those… night-mares?” he asked in a mixture of fright and surprise. The muscular black animals were galloping along the crest of the dunes. Under their hooves the sand seemed to be exploding, shooting up high, and there were flashes round the horses’ feet. The black-clad riders on their backs were älfar.
Rodario turned to focus on the pitiable creature they were chasing and cried out in astonishment. “By Elria and Palandiell! What a sight! A human riding a night-mare!”
“I don’t suppose you’ve even seen a night-mare before,” countered Loytan.
“She must be a very brave woman, riding a mount like that one.” Coïra saw the quarry’s long blond hair flying in the wind.
“She must have killed an älf if she’s riding a night-mare,” Rodario interjected. He managed to get a clear view of the girl’s face through the telescope. She was pretty and he saw no trace of fear in her features, just sheer determination. Her pursuers were not gaining on her. “It’s amazing the animal is obeying her.”
Loytan scratched his chin. “Lohasbrand won’t like it if he hears the älfar have encroached on his territory.”
“Am I correct in noting a certain satisfaction in your voice?” replied Coïra, looking at her faithful friend. “You think this might inflame the old enmity between the Dragon and the älfar if we go about things the right way?”
The young blond woman whom Rodario was observing was seeming increasingly familiar—and then it occurred to him where he had seen her face before. “By all the gods. It must be Mallenia!”
Coïra glanced over at him. “Mallenia? The freedom-fighter?”
Rodario nodded. He did not realize the princess was watching him. He continued to follow the progress onshore. “Yes! I know her face from the posters I saw on tour with the theater in Gauragar and Idoslane. The älfar and their vassal-rulers have put a huge price on her head.”
“They seem to be taking the matter in hand personally now,” Loytan remarked. “They’re speeding up. It won’t be long before they catch her.”
Rodario lowered the telescope and moved toward Coïra. “Princess, even if it’s nothing to do with us, I beg you: Help Mallenia of Idoslane,” he implored. “I know how the people love her. If she dies the struggle against the oppressors in the east of Girdlegard will die, too.”
Coïra raised her eyebrows.
Rodario took this as an invitation to say more to convince her.
“I beseech you, act to help her. You have the power to save her from the älfar and to keep Idoslane’s hopes alive.” He swallowed. “I would do it myself if I had your powers or a fast boat with enough men to confront the evil.”
“And it wouldn’t be good to have everyone know that Mallenia had been killed in Weyurn before your very eyes. Within sight of your mother’s palace,” Loytan observed, coming to his aid unexpectedly. “Conclusions might be drawn. It might be thought we were helping the älfar. Or that Mallenia was coming to us to organize a joint uprising, uniting resistance in Weyurn and Idoslane. One way or the other, when the Dragon hears about it, he’ll be heading this way to investigate the rumors.” The count fell silent for a moment. “The last time the Dragon came there were many deaths, if the reports are true.”
Rodario did not warm to the man’s reasoning, because it was based, it seemed, on personal fear rather than on any intent that good should prevail, but support was still support. “Your Highness, please!” He knelt at her feet. “I will be forever in your debt if you save Mallenia!”
Coïra smiled at him—smiled with a totally new expression in her eyes—and touched him on the shoulder. “Get up, Rodario the Seventh. You must not kneel before me. Someone with your noble attitude of mind certainly should not be kneeling.” She climbed up the wall of the shaft—and jumped!
With a shocked cry Rodario rushed forward to stare into the raging water to look for Coïra.
Next moment he saw her racing at incredible speed, suspended above the storm-tossed waves, heading for the shore. A bluish light surrounded her and turquoise-colored lightning flashes carried her along.
“What a woman,” he exclaimed in admiration, and he heard Loytan’s spiteful laughter.
“Don’t give yourself airs, actor!” he said. “Coïra may pay you some attention now but she’ll never respect you. You are beneath her dignity.” His tone grew sharp.
“Listening to you one could presume you had intentions of your own that are not appropriate, sir. You are husband to another,” Rodario said cuttingly as he pulled himself up to his full height. “Let’s be frank: I don’t much like you at the best of times, and that warning you’ve just given me is the last straw.”
The count’s expression lost all its superciliousness. “I see you have a sharp tongue when you need it.”
“Sharp enough to have you in slices if you’re looking to challenge me to a duel.”
“I shan’t need to do that. Coïra will always trust my word over yours. I’ll make sure you leave us soon.” Loytan b
ared his teeth. “When you’ve dried off, actor. Maybe. In those waters you can easily catch your death.”
Rodario nonchalantly wiped a few drops off his arm. “A bit of spray doesn’t bother me.”
“Who’s talking about a bit of spray?” Without warning Loytan gave Rodario a shove that sent him flying over the wall.
The actor’s damp fingers could get no purchase on the metal. He tumbled down into the lake, crying out as he fell. The waters of the lake had been whipped up by the approaching storm.
He fell head first and the water felt like liquid ice. Every fiber of his being registered the bitter cold; he thought he could hear the blood freezing in his veins.
Underwater currents thrust him mercilessly against the metal wall of the shaft, scraping his face roughly. Then the life force in Rodario awoke. Whirling his arms about wildly, he fought his way up to the light where the surface must be.
Mallenia looked round again and saw only the älf woman, less than one hundred paces behind her, forcing her nightmare onwards with pitiless strokes of her riding crop.
“Faster!” the young woman screamed into the ear of her night-mare mount, drawing her knife and placing it at the animal’s neck. “I swear you will die before me if they catch up.”
Without warning, a black shadow appeared on her right; it had glowing red eyes and was charging down the sand dunes toward her. It collided with the night-mare she rode, hurling horse and rider to the ground. The second älf had overtaken her and thrown her off!
Mallenia and her stallion rolled in a confused heap down the slope of the dune to the shore. The night-mare made a shrill and furious shriek. She managed to keep out of the way of its thrashing legs, but the creature’s vicious incisors grabbed her upper arm. A piece of flesh the size of a fist was gouged out of her, the animal’s teeth grinding against bone as it clamped its jaws on the limb and hurled her toward the water.
Mallenia screamed and thought at first she had lost her arm completely. Blood poured out of the wound, splashing on the pebbles. Even if everything about her hurt she could not lie here. She sat up and was about to get to her feet to run, but her legs gave way beneath her.
Trampling hooves came ever nearer; the älf siblings rode up, closing the gap at their ease. Suddenly there was no longer any need for haste. The race was decided.
“There she is, the murderess and thief,” said the female älf, full of hatred, leaping down from the saddle. She ran up to Mallenia and beat her with her riding stock.
The woman raised her uninjured arm to protect her head. Every blow cut into her skin. There were thorns plaited into the birch twigs that worked like the teeth of a saw. When she reached for her sword she was kicked in the head, landing backwards in the lake.
“Watch out, Firûsha, or she’ll drown,” said her brother in reproach. “We have so much planned for her. Tie up the wound in her arm or she’ll bleed to death. The night-mare was obviously hungry.”
Mallenia saw the älf leaning over her, then the gloved hands grabbed her by the collar, dragging her back to land. “She must not have a death as gentle as that.” She punched the young woman on the chin to knock her out. When the girl’s body went limp, the älf took Mallenia’s belt and applied it tightly above the bite wound. The bleeding stopped at once. “What now, Sisaroth?”
The älf brother looked at the captive. “Get her back to Idoslane alive. The rebels’ saint, their hope and inspiration, must be broken,” he said. “We shall execute her in front of all of them. Then the uprising will be destroyed. The rebels will lose their cause. There is no one to take her place.”
Firûsha looked up at her brother, still mounted on his night-mare. “Isn’t there a big danger that a public execution will increase the risk of rebellion?”
Sisaroth smiled cruelly. “I certainly hope so. We’ll put down the rebellion, killing all those involved in the resistance. They’ll come, to try and free Mallenia, and they’ll be met by death.”
“A good plan.” But Firûsha was still looking unconvinced.
“I see you have second thoughts,” he enquired. “You think not?”
“No. I’m thinking what Aiphatòn will say.”
The älf laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Our ruler, the Unextinguishable Emperor, is much too busy keeping up the morale of his followers in the south.” He dismounted and came up to her. “A weak fool, despite the power he has. He is afraid of a coup. What has become of him? In the past I would have died for him; now I would stand back and let him die first.” The pebbles made no sound when he trod. “I had such great hopes of him, the descendant of the Unslayables, after he had defeated Lot-Ionan! He spoke as if he wanted to bring back the glorious reign of the first generation of älfar. Instead, he dragged a collection of second-rate älfar here to Girdlegard and he behaves like their servant! We never needed them in the first place. But this will all change. And soon.”
Firûsha frowned. “You’re keeping something from me, brother! Tell me what you know.”
Sisaroth grinned. “I learned that they’ve made the Unextinguishable Emperor promise to march against the magus this very cycle.”
Firûsha’s eyes grew big. “That will be a hard war and will cost thousands of lives! Why would they do that?”
“To ensure access to the south is opened up again. Several of the inferior packs in the Outer Lands are waiting to be admitted. Aiphatòn doesn’t realize that he’s about to lose his power to foreign hands.” Sisaroth stood by Mallenia and studied her face. “That’s why it’s important to calm the situation in Urgon, Idoslane and Gauragar. Before the war starts. Let them march south.” He lowered his voice. “We agree, you and I, that we shan’t let them into Dsôn Balsur, sister?”
“Agreed, as ever,” came the instant answer. “Not into any of the three former elf realms. They belong to us, the Dsôn Aklán, not the foreigners.” She emitted a high tone to summon the night-mare Mallenia had ridden. It trotted up, its head lowered, and came to a halt, snorting, in front of the älf woman. The girl’s blood could be seen round its nostrils and mouth.
Firûsha drew her sword at lightning speed and cut off the creature’s head with one mighty swipe. The night-mare and its severed head fell to the ground, blood drenching the captive girl from head to foot.
“Eat the traitor,” Firûsha commanded the other nightmares. Greedily they began to gorge themselves on the creature’s warm flesh. The long chase had made them hungry.
“What are two älfar doing here in Weyurn?” asked a woman’s voice diagonally above them; their hands flew to the hilts of their swords as they whirled round simultaneously. “The Dragon won’t like that.”
Sisaroth and Firûsha saw a black-haired woman in fine raiment standing on the crest of the dunes; she carried no weapons. Her eyes shone brighter than those of a normal human—and much to the alarm of the älfar siblings.
“A maga,” Sisaroth warned his sister in a whisper. He was aware of the invisible power the unknown figure wielded. She was full to overflowing with it. “And who are you?” he raised his voice to ask.
“That’s no concern of yours,” she replied harshly, with obvious authority, gesturing toward the captive girl. “You will not harm her; you will get back on your night-mares and you will leave Weyurn. Get back to Idoslane or Gauragar or Urgon and do your evil deeds there.”
Firûsha placed her right foot on Mallenia’s breast. “No, she’s going back to Idoslane, too.”
“Just try to take her,” the woman threatened, her expression amused. “The Dragon will be glad to hear of your attempt. He’d finally have an excuse to attack. The last war against the älfar was a long time ago. And I seem to remember your folk did not too well out of it.”
“She is a wanted criminal—” Firûsha retorted, but the woman interrupted her fearlessly.
“Then you would have done better to catch her in Idoslane, not in Weyurn. Get out of here!” She raised her arms slightly. “This is your final warning.”
Behind where the siblings stood the noise of the waves altered, and a man splashed up out of the water. His face was badly grazed and in his hand he held a dagger; he appeared resolute. As resolute as the figure of the woman on the dunes.
“Get away from her!” he commanded them. “Leave Mallenia be, or the maga will burn you to cinders!” He knelt down by the unconscious figure of Mallenia and pulled her away from the dangerous hooves of the grotesque nightmares. One of the animals kicked out at him with a hind leg; he avoided injury by a surprisingly adroit move.
“You are not of the Dragon’s retinue,” Sisaroth said confrontationally. “You wear no dragon-scale pendant at your neck. How is it that you threaten us with Lohasbrand as if you knew him well?”
The woman did not reply—at least not with her voice. Instead, she stretched out her right arm, palm upwards. A brilliant ball shone on her gloved hand and floated slowly toward the älfar, the light growing in intensity the nearer it came.
The night-mares snorted and hissed in fear, recoiling; the bearded young man threw himself over Mallenia to protect her from their hooves. Sisaroth and Firûsha grimaced as the rays hurt their eyes.
“At a word from me the sphere will burst open and blind you forever,” the woman on the dunes told them. “If you can find the way home blind, then do as you wish. If not, I suggest strongly that you leave Weyurn. I shall tell the Dragon that the älfar have violated the agreement. I wonder how he will react.”
Firûsha wanted to pull out her sword, but Sisaroth restrained her. Turning to his agitated night-mare he climbed into the saddle. Then he and his sister rode off east.
The sphere pursued them for a time, as if it were a full moon come down from the heavens. After ten miles or so the ball of light gradually dissolved into glittering dust that fell onto the snow, unnoticeable on the bright crystalline surface.
Immediately, Sisaroth halted the night-mare and Firûsha turned her own mount. The real moon illuminated their furious faces, on which spreading thin black lines were visible. Their tumultuous feelings could not be concealed. They would gladly have transformed their rage into murder, but they stood no chance against a maga. Not in open attack.
