The sack was knotted with a ribbon that also held a rolled-up piece of parchment. He untied it and read the parchment, written in his friend’s neat, flowing script.
Dear Taren,
I’m afraid I won’t live long enough to help you celebrate your name day—it would seem the gods are of a different mind. Don’t grieve for me, for I’ve been blessed with many good years and a life filled with more adventure than anyone could hope for.
I’ve been saving these for you and hoped to surprise you for your name day, but alas, I won’t be able to in the flesh. May they aid you in your journeys and help you find your true calling. The ring has long confounded me with its magical glamour, yet I’ve never discovered its proper use. I’m sure a clever lad like yourself shall be able to unlock its secret.
The elves have a saying I’ve always rather fancied: May we meet again someday, in the tranquil glade. Farewell, my friend.
Gradnik
Taren had to wipe a stray tear from the corner of his eye, hearing Gradnik’s voice in his mind as he read. Seeing his friend’s last words really made his death hit home. Gods, who else must die that I called family and friend? Aunt Shenai, Uncle Wyat, now Gradnik.
He sighed then turned his attention to the bag. Inside was a slim tome along with a black ring. The book was sleek, in good condition, with a midnight-blue-dyed calfskin cover and ornate metal-stamped corners. The title Lore of the Elder Ones was stenciled across the front.
By paging swiftly through it, he could tell the volume was valuable by the thick vellum pages and colorful manuscript illumination throughout. The words were foreign, however, and he wondered if he could decipher it.
“I’ll treasure this always, my friend,” he said quietly, fighting back another round of sorrow.
The ring had a curious appearance, in that it was utterly unexceptional. The band was a matte black, fashioned from some type of metal he didn’t recognize, with a square, blank face and no ornamentation upon it whatsoever. Curious, he shifted to his second sight and saw that it indeed carried a latent magic, shining like a small white star in his hand.
Taren folded the letter and stuck it inside the front cover of the tome then returned the book and ring to the sack. He got to his feet and decided he’d better make his way to the Melted Candle to find Elyas.
After coming to terms with the shock of Gradnik’s passing, Taren remembered their current plight. Other than the excitement the auction brought, Swanford seemed ordinary—peculiarly so—in that everyone was blithely going about their daily life, whereas a few miles to the south, enemy troops were attacking and burning farms.
They must have no idea of what is happening.
Taren rounded Gradnik’s shop and happened to see the mayor chatting with a pair of local men off to one side of the crowd.
“Sir!” he called. “Our farm has been attacked!”
The mayor looked at him blankly. “What’s this you’re going on about, lad?”
“Nebaran troops! They came out of the woods and attacked—they killed Uncle Wyat and burned our home.”
The other two men with the mayor muttered startled oaths, exchanging worried glances.
The mayor stared at Taren a moment, his jaw sagging open. “Nebarans? What... Are you certain of that?”
“Yes, sir. Their leader said they were here at the behest of the emperor to claim these lands.” He could see no point in mentioning the fact they were searching for mages.
“By the gods,” muttered one of the men, whom Taren recognized as the local farrier. “We’d best alert the town.”
“How can this be?” The mayor stood shocked, clearly out of his depth in such a crisis.
Taren shrugged, growing impatient. “I wish I knew. I must find Elyas, but please, will you spread the word and warn people?”
“Aye, lad,” the farrier replied, his face gone pale.
Taren jogged toward the tavern, feeling their gazes on his back as he went. They don’t seem too convinced, but what else could I do?
The loud voices of the auction bidders fell away behind him as he approached the Melted Candle. He found Elyas standing on the covered porch out front, the voluptuous figure of Bretta in his arms. The young woman had been crying, and Elyas looked mildly embarrassed by her display, for he himself would never succumb to such emotion in public. He patted her on the back awkwardly when he spotted Taren approaching.
“I must be going now.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and pulled his head down, kissing him hard on the mouth. “The gods watch over you, Elyas.”
He smiled sadly. “And you as well, Bretta.”
The woman looked as though she’d break down again. Instead, she hugged him once more then fled back inside the tavern.
Elyas sighed as he walked down to meet Taren in the street. “Well, that went as well as expected, I reckon. And you?”
“Gradnik left a note and a couple items for me.” He glanced around the street, suddenly feeling the need to put Swanford well behind him. “I told the mayor and a couple others what happened, but I don’t know if they really believed me. Hopefully, they’ll spread the word to the surrounding farmsteads.”
“Aye, Kerk at the store looked at me like I’d sprouted a third eyeball in the middle of my forehead when I told him the same.” Elyas spat on the ground. “Not much more we or anyone else can do with no militia in the area.”
Taren nodded, realizing their likeliest bet would be to reach Ammon Nor and alert the garrison. “We’d best be on the road then.”
“Aye. Here.” Elyas handed Taren a pack of his own, filled with a fresh change of clothes, bread, salted meat, a wheel of cheese, and vegetables. “We’ll fill our skins at the well on the east end of town and break our fast on the road.”
Taren gently tucked the velvet sack inside the pack and slung it on his back. They made their way east a couple blocks, past a few rows of houses, and reached the well. Within moments, they had their skins full and were on their way.
The Krik Run flowed languidly along the eastern edge of town, south all the way to Leestead on the Black Channel Bay. They walked across the old stone bridge and moved into the fertile pastures east of Swanford. The road climbed a low hill, and they took a moment to gaze upon the southlands, which they had known their whole lives and were possibly seeing for the last time. In the distance, what looked like a line of ants was marching up the road toward the town although ants didn’t have golden lion sigils and carry steel.
“Time to make haste,” Taren said nervously.
They ran down the hill and followed the road as it wound eastward through more farmland, putting Swanford and the only world they had known behind them in the distance.
Chapter 18
King Clement Atreus, monarch of Ketania, prepared to march off to war at the head of his army on a beautiful late-summer day, and with the army went Princess Sianna’s heart.
The dam holding back her tears threatened to burst and embarrass her in front of hundreds of lords and ladies, knights, soldiers, and servants packing the bailey of Castle Llantry. She took a deep breath, shuddering as she strove mightily to rein in her emotions.
“Princess, is there naught I can do?” inquired Iris, Sianna’s friend and handmaiden, a distraught look on her face.
Aware that many pairs of eyes were watching her, Sianna dabbed the tears daintily from the corners of her eyes with a square of aqua-colored silk. My duty is to be strong for the sake of the men leaving for war and those remaining behind in the castle.
She couldn’t resist nearly breaking down, however, when the handsome and gallant Sir Edwin had taken a knee before her in the bailey and declared she owned his heart just moments earlier.
“So long as my heart yet beats, it beats for you, Princess. Once we defeat those Nebaran dogs and return victorious, I plan to ask the king for his permission to court you.” The words still filled her mind, and she knew she’d never forget them as long as she lived. The bright-red rose
he’d given her was a perfect specimen, its scent a lovely perfume as she held it to her breast. Her auburn hair flowed loosely down her back since she’d given Sir Edwin her ribbon to carry with him as a token of her favor.
She’d always had a girlish crush on the handsome knight for as long as she could remember. Recently, though, he seemed to have taken an interest in her as well, taking the time to inquire after her health and well-being. A week past, he’d escorted her on a walk through the gardens, chatting idly of his home, a province southeast of Berylogne, a cape on the coast of the Azure Sea, the farthest eastern point on the Ketanian mainland. All the while, she’d dreamed of riding horses with Edwin along the beach.
Shock had swiftly turned to delight at his pronouncement, and now she could think of little else even though her father and brothers were also going to war.
Sianna could already imagine Sir Edwin riding back at the head of a troop of knights when they returned victorious the following spring, the sun gleaming on his golden hair, blue eyes bright with good cheer. His polished armor reflected the light like the purest silver, and his fine steed pawed at the air, nostrils flaring as he broke into a canter. As Sir Edwin reined his horse in before her, he leaped from the saddle and pulled her into his arms, then his lips parted and—
A sharp elbow nudged Sianna in the ribs, jostling her from her reverie. She looked up guiltily, dimly aware of Iris’s mortified face beside her.
“Sianna?” The king was addressing her from a few paces away, one eyebrow raised.
Her brothers, Sir Edwin, and a dozen aides were all staring at her as she gazed back at them in turn like a moonstruck doe.
Sianna flushed deeply and hurried forward to her expectant father. “Father? I’m sorry, I was simply praying for your safe and triumphant return.” She smiled, and her eyes darted over to Edwin, who grinned at her. Jerard, her eldest brother and heir to the throne, rolled his eyes. Dorian, who was younger than Jerard by a couple years yet five years Sianna’s elder, smirked knowingly.
“Oh, my dear daughter, fear not, for we shall restore the southern reaches of the kingdom and drive those scum from our lands.” The king’s stern face, his “command face,” as her mother referred to it, softened a moment as he looked at her. He reached out and stroked one of her auburn curls. “Fear not, Sianna, I expect we’ll return victorious ere spring arrives.” He glanced around and noted the audience gawking. With just a slight narrowing of his eyes, the aides hurriedly returned to their preparations.
“I’ll pray to Sol for your safe return every day, Father.”
“I know you will, my dear.” King Clement held out his strong arms, and Sianna pressed herself against his broad breastplate, embracing him tightly. He smelled of leather and steel, a scent she’d associated with him for as long as she could remember. “Be strong, and aid your mother in our absence. She’ll rule in my stead until my return.” He stroked her hair with one hand.
“Of course, Father.” She clung to him, suddenly afraid for him to leave, a dark foreboding striking her that perhaps the gods might not favor them in the endeavor. She tried to block off that stream of thought before the tears threatened once more.
The moment passed, too swiftly. Clement gently disentangled himself, holding her at arm’s length. He kissed her on the forehead then walked over and embraced Sianna’s mother, Queen Marillee. He spoke to her quietly for a few moments then kissed her on the lips and returned to his mount and his army. Sianna noted the admirably straight face her mother maintained through it all, beautiful and tear free and regal as any queen should be.
“Citizens of Ketania,” the king boomed, his powerful voice filling the bailey.
All the clamor and chatter instantly ceased.
“On this fine summer day, we march to rid our southlands of the foul invaders and free our people from the strife waged by the madman Emperor Ignatius. Fear not, for we shall prevail and return ere spring arrives. Offer up your prayers to Sol that it shall be a swift and decisive victory.” He nodded to Father Ethert, the castle’s priest of Sol, armored for war as the others. “Brave men of Ketania, let us march unto victory!”
Sianna applauded and cheered as did all those present. The raised voices resounded against the stone walls and soared into the clear morning sky. Certainly, nothing could stand before such valorous men, especially with Sol’s blessing upon them.
Sir Edwin raised his hand to salute Sianna sharply, and her breath caught in her throat at how gallant he looked upon his white stallion. The green ribbon from her hair was tied around his gauntlet, where it would never be far from his sight.
With a thunder of hooves, the king spurred his mount forward, Jerard and Dorian following close behind with the royal guard, then Sir Edwin, Father Ethert, and the other knights and lords trailing. They looked magnificent as they cantered from the bailey, out the gate, and down the road, passing through Llantry, the City of Lights. The five hundred mounted men stretched out behind the king in a long line of gleaming armor and brightly colored pennants and surcoats as they snaked down into the city. Ten thousand more soldiers were mustered outside Llantry’s walls under the command of the army generals and Lord Lanthas, the Duke of Carran, all awaiting their king.
Sianna watched as the last of the soldiers filtered through the gates several minutes later, men-at-arms from the castle garrison, many of whom she’d known her entire life. Many of them may never return, she thought sadly.
“That’s enough dallying—back to your posts, men!” The bark of Sir Colm’s orders sent the remaining guards, merely a skeleton crew, bustling back to their posts atop the walls and barbican.
The old captain of the guard saw Sianna and Iris watching and winked at them, the corner of his lips twitching in a half smile, before he turned and marched away to ensure everything was in order.
Sianna smiled and waved before he turned away. She liked the old knight. Sir Colm Bithell had been appointed captain of the guard when Clement took the throne twenty-five summers past, eight summers before she was even born. I wonder if I can talk him into giving me some more training now that the army is gone. Fewer disapproving eyes to witness, now. She grinned mischievously at the thought.
She grabbed Iris’s hand. “Come, Iris. Let’s climb to the top of the tower. We can watch the army march away from up there.”
The two young women made for the Sentinel Tower, the tallest in the castle. Sianna lifted the hem of her dress to her knees so she could race up the stairs without fear of tripping. Iris was able to keep up only until the third floor, after which she began puffing for breath and fell behind.
Sianna reached the top of the tower, sixty paces high above the bailey, and pushed open the door, stepping out onto the circular viewing platform. A tremendous view of the city and surrounding valley opened up before her. Just as she had thought, there, just outside the Llantry walls, camped along the banks of the Slaerd River, was the mass of the king’s army. The men and horses looked like ants from that distance, but she could make out the gleam of sun on shining armor and colorful pavilions and pennants fluttering in the breeze. Off to her right, out in Llantry Bay were tiny dots of white sails upon the sapphire water.
She watched in rapt fascination, leaning against the parapet and breathing heavily, but not an undue amount. Her training with Sir Colm was paying off. That thought brought a flush of pride to her. I’ll show my brothers and the other men that a woman can learn swordplay as well.
Iris, pale faced with a light sheen of sweat, joined her a few minutes later, leaning her forearms on the low wall and panting for breath. Sianna put her arm sympathetically around her slim, pretty friend, and they stood there watching for a long time as the army mustered, formed up, and eventually marched west around the edge of the forest before turning to the south.
Sianna couldn’t quite make out her father or his knights, but she could see the pennants flapping at the head of the army. She let out a loud sigh. “Sir Edwin wishes to court me, Iris. Oh, I shall pray to
Sol every day for his swift return!”
Iris stroked her back and smiled politely. She was a couple years older than Sianna’s seventeen summers and wiser to the ways of men. “And I’m sure he’ll return a great hero and make a fine husband, Sianna.” She dropped the princess honorific when they were alone, upon Sianna’s insistence.
“Oh, I just wish I’d have knitted him a scarf to keep him warm in the winter so he will always think about me.” Sianna fussed with a sleeve of her light-green dress, which had snagged on the rough stone of the parapet.
Iris frowned at the loose threads, which would need mending. She straightened Sianna’s dress a bit. “You’ve filled out since you last wore this dress.”
Sianna nodded and smiled. “It’s a bit tight in the shoulders, also.”
“All that playing at swordsmanship,” Iris said with obvious distaste. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be mistaken for a man if you grow too many muscles.”
The princess grinned at her friend, who disapproved of her not-so-secret training. Truly, her figure had changed over the past half year. Even as she filled in her dress with womanly proportions, her limbs were becoming firm with lean muscle and her stomach flatter. Iris might not approve, but Sianna liked her figure and the improvements of strength and endurance that had come with it. The men didn’t seem to disapprove either, from the glances she’d noticed of late.
“Shouldn’t you look for Master Aered for morning lessons?” Iris asked.
Sianna shrugged. “It’s a special day. I don’t think he’ll disapprove if I skip a few lessons.”
“Your mother might not approve.”
“There is that.” Sianna sighed.
Her mother always stressed that she learn as much as she could, for a woman’s influence most often came by way of the keenness of her intellect, not the strength of her sword arm. Iris had told her once that a woman’s influence came from something else too, a thought that had made Sianna blush furiously.
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