by J D Abbas
“Very well.” Celdorn gazed at the boy but asked no more.
As Elbrion dropped back to walk alongside Yaelmargon, he sensed the sage struggling. “What is disturbing you, Master?”
“They bring news of great evil. More betrayal and deception…” His voice trailed off. “I am longing for Queyon.”
Elbrion was sympathetic. Having lived apart from Queyon for so many years, He had developed strategies to manage the assaults on his soul; the master had not. The level of evil they currently faced was equaled only by the events in Shefali, which had nearly killed Elbrion and was the reason he had developed these internal defenses. Later, when they were alone, perhaps he would share his insight with Yaelmargon.
At the entrance to the keep, Celdorn told Charaq, “After you are settled, join us in my chambers.”
Celdorn paused to give instructions to the men who met them in the entry and again to those at the foot of the stairway. As they headed back to Celdorn’s chambers, they discussed how best to handle Elena for the remainder of the day, recognizing her fragile state.
In the end, they decided that while Celdorn needed to continue the meetings with those from the various keeps, Elena required something more empowering, which for her, would be her weaponry training. Yaelmargon was less than supportive of this option.
“Weapons are useless to her. They will do no good against Anakh or the other Rahima, as you have learned. She needs to be trained in the use of the Jhadhela and her own gifts.”
Celdorn bristled at the age-old argument between the Guardians and the Elrodanar council. “That’s why we sent to Queyon for help and why you’re here, Master. But until such time as you can work with her and help her control her powers, she needs some means of defending herself. Besides, she wants to train with the weapons; she enjoys it. Elena needs something positive right now, and as her ada and the Lord Protector of the Realm, I have the right to make such decisions without being questioned.”
The master eyed Celdorn sideways, the corner of his mouth curling beneath his white beard. Yaelmargon had been one of the council members who most strongly supported the choice of Celdorn as the new Lord Protector upon his father’s death. He had even argued with Celdorn to convince him of his need to accept the will of the Jhadhela. “I beg your pardon, Lord Protector. I see your point and will not argue further. I will spend some time with Elena later today working on her other skills.”
~
When Celdorn told Elena their decision, she was relieved. She disliked the meetings and didn’t want to be exposed to yet another group of strangers. Over the last few days, she had sorely missed the training and thought it might be a good escape from her thoughts.
Celdorn assigned Mikaelin and Silvandir to escort her to the training arena, instructing them to take every precaution. “And when you return, bring her to Elbrion’s room and await us there.”
Yaelmargon told Elena he would join them there later, wanting to do some instruction of his own.
As the three walked to the other side of the keep, Silvandir kept eyeing Elena sideways. “Are you ill at ease being with me?”
“No, Silvandir, I’m fine with your company.”
“Is something else bothering you?”
“Yes, but I can’t speak about it.”
Silvandir glanced at her. “What prevents you?”
She focused straight ahead. “I’m ashamed.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mikaelin cracking his neck and tugging at his collar as if it were too tight.
Silvandir noticed too. “What’s wrong with you?”
Mikaelin slowed his pace. “I think it might be best if I don’t accompany you today.”
“But I need two of you with me in order to practice,” Elena said.
“I’ll ask Shatur to join you instead.”
Silvandir suddenly stepped in front of Mikaelin and Elena and steered them into a room off the main corridor. “What is wrong with the two of you?” he demanded after he closed the door.
Elena studied Mikaelin. “I’m wondering the same thing. What I referred to has nothing to do with him.”
Mikaelin shifted his weight and refused to look at either of them. “I’m sorry. I can’t explain.”
Silvandir looked back at Elena, “And you?”
How could she possibly make them understand her dilemma. “I’ve done something awful, and I’m afraid if I tell you, you will prevent me from doing what I know I must do.”
Silvandir immediately looked worried. “Does it involve harming yourself?”
“No…” Why would he ask that? Had she done something else she didn’t remember?
“Then I encourage you to tell us and trust our friendship. Perhaps we can help.”
Elena gazed up at Silvandir then glanced at Mikaelin, who still wouldn’t look at her. “Last night, in some sort of altered state, I went into Celdorn’s room, climbed on top of him, put my dagger to his throat, and attempted to seduce him.” She watched for their reactions, certain they would be repulsed.
Silvandir’s mouth dropped open. Mikaelin reddened but continued to fixate on the wall.
“Wh—what happened?” Silvandir stammered.
Elena played with the end of her braid, focusing on the wayward blonde strands as she answered. “Celdorn called for Elbrion, who somehow realized what was happening and brought me out of that state before I did anything more, at least that is what they told me. I know I managed to bind his hands behind his back and cut him several times but, in truth, I don’t know what else I did. I just know I awoke in a compromising position with our bare flesh touching. I’m not sure I want to know more. I told Celdorn I thought it would be best if I left Kelach; he didn’t agree. But I still believe for his sake and for the reputation of the rest of the Guardians, I must leave. I have brought enough trouble here. I don’t want to create further damage.”
“Celdorn’s right. You can’t leave.” The creases in Silvandir’s brow deepened. “You would be recaptured within a day or two. They’ll torture and probably kill you. None of us will allow that.”
“You could help me leave safely by finding me a way to the keep in the north or one of the other strongholds far from here.”
“Elena, I can’t do that. To defy Celdorn would be to break my vow as a Guardian. And even if I were not bound by fealty, I wouldn’t assist you. I want you to remain here, where you’re safe—and loved.”
“I don’t want to leave you either, but I don’t know what else to do to keep all of you safe from me.” Elena’s chin quivered. “I don’t know who I’ll seduce next or attack with a sword.” She glanced at Mikaelin’s arm, which was still wrapped from the wound she had inflicted. “Or what other insane thing I might do.”
Mikaelin finally looked at her. “Running away isn’t the answer. Silvandir and I have both tried it and found that it creates more problems than it solves. At least here, there are others who know what’s happening and are willing to help you and not take advantage of your…” He paused as if searching for a word.
“Insanity?” Elena offered.
“No, I was thinking more your… vulnerability.”
She glared at him. “Mikaelin, what do you know? I can feel you hiding something. What is it?”
“I was asked not to speak of it.”
“Is it about me? About last night?”
“I can’t answer you.” He looked away.
She gasped. “You saw!” Elena covered her mouth. “How? Were you in the room? I don’t remember you there.”
Mikaelin broke into a sweat as his eyes flitted, looking everywhere but at her.
“Answer me!” she snapped.
“I was in the room only briefly.”
Elena covered her face and groaned. “What did you see?”
“I was guarding outside Celdorn’s door. I heard you scream. I ran into the room, and Celdorn immediately sent me away.”
“What did you see?” She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her.
“I saw you on top of Celdorn, only I didn’t know it was you.” His gaze locked on the ground.
Silvandir’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.
“I can’t believe you saw me like that! I can only imagine what you must have thought. I’m so humiliated.” She turned her back to them, wishing she could die or at least run away.
“I thought nothing of it, Elena. Celdorn told me you were in an altered state, and I believe it.”
Silvandir brought his shock under control. “I’ve seen you when you’re not yourself. I’m sure that’s what happened last night.”
“So everyone keeps assuring me, but how do I keep it from happening again?”
“I don’t know.” Silvandir grasped her arms and turned her to face him, his voice gentle. “But it seems that keeping it in the open is important, as embarrassing as it may be, so that if any of us notices you going into a trance or shifting, we can keep you safe and from doing anything you might later regret.”
Elena frowned. “Do you think I’m going mad?”
“No,” they said in unison.
Silvandir added, “I think you have a lot of damage to overcome. Be patient with yourself. We’ll stand by you.”
“We know your true heart, Elena.” Mikaelin laid his hand on his chest. “Remember, I’ve felt your heart.”
Humbled and overwhelmed, she whispered, “Thank you.” These two men had been such great friends to her in spite of all that had happened. She didn’t deserve their kindness, but she cherished it. “And I must tell you, I am relieved. I didn’t want to leave. I can’t imagine life without you. The thought brings anguish to my heart.”
“And mine as well.” Silvandir clasped her hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb, his dark eyes glossy. He looked like he might say more, but then he shook his head sharply and stepped back. She wondered what he’d left unspoken.
Silvandir met her puzzled gaze with a broad smile and tipped his head toward the door. “Come on, let’s go teach you how to be a warrior.”
Mikaelin’s lip curled into a playful smirk. “Another opportunity to pummel us mercilessly. You’ll feel better in no time.”
Elena chuckled and followed them out the door, her heart lighter. She would leave the many doubts that still plagued her for another time.
~
The men from Greenholt gathered with the others in Celdorn’s chambers as the council reconvened. He had requested that only three representatives be present from each of the keeps to minimize the number around the table. After introductions, they continued with the business at hand.
“Charaq, you said that Borham had sent you with grievous news?” Celdorn said.
“We were not sent by Borham, my Lord.” Charaq paused for a moment, staring at the table. “It is my sad duty to inform you that Borham has been murdered.”
There was a collective gasp around the table. Except for the death of Celdorn’s own father during the slaughter of Shefali, no Guardian leader or castellan had ever been murdered. Celdorn could only stare at Charaq in disbelief, unable to find a response. Shadows of grief and deep regret fell over the faces of those from Greenholt.
“We were not even able to recover his body for a proper tribute,” the young man added softly.
“How can this be?” Celdorn felt as if someone had stabbed him in the gut. Borham was a good man, kind-hearted, devoted to his family and his work. Celdorn had trained alongside him decades ago and had appointed him as the castellan of Greenholt when Frankel had passed. He had lost not only a strong leader, but a dear friend.
“It’s a long story, and I find now that I have not the heart to tell it.” Charaq’s shoulders hunched and he bowed his head, unable to continue.
Celdorn looked at the other two from Greenholt. “Qalam, can you relate the news?” Qalam laid his hand on Charaq’s shoulder, and his pale, green-tinged hair fell around his light brown face when he nodded his assent. Qalam’s father was Rogaran, from whom he inherited his height, and his mother Bengoran, whose coloring and lithe build were evident in the young Guardian. His yellow eyes filled with pain, and he took a deep breath before forging ahead.
“When your messengers arrived four weeks ago, we began to assess the situation in the Nachette Valley. Borham, who had a perceptive spirit, had been saying for over a year that he sensed something wrong in our region, so we already had patrols roaming the area. Uncertain what we were looking for, however, we found nothing.
“After receiving your message, Borham decided to visit with the Yadar at the local doqajh in Elebeth. He explained what we had learned from here and asked if the holy man had noticed anything unusual among his people. The priest had nothing to offer. Borham returned to the keep and continued to send out scouts to watch the area, not knowing what else to do.
“One morning a note was found on an arrow imbedded near the outer gate. It read: Stop your inquiries or suffer the consequences. It was unsigned. Of course the message only confirmed there was some sort of evil hidden around us. We knew we couldn’t heed the warning but must instead intensify our efforts.
“Several days later, Borham’s six-year-old son, Mishon, the one who is traveling with us, appeared at our gatehouse bloody and distraught. He was in such a state of shock, he was unable to speak.”
Qalam went on to tell of finding Shekalia’s severed hands and the note in Borham’s home, of Borham’s confrontation with Yadar Zolero and his subsequent abduction, and of Charaq’s brave efforts to save Borham and his family.
When Qalam mentioned the caves where Borham’s family had been held and the children they discovered there, the men from Dussendor sat up straighter and exchanged intense glances.
“We found the same,” Mikard blurted out. “Only we found no leaders, just those who trade in flesh.”
“Nooo…” Qalam moaned. His shoulders sagged as if the thought of more children in similar captivity was more than he could bear. “This is not our world. This is not the Shalamhar. We have dropped into Umbradhur.”
Charaq’s face paled, and he held his stomach like he might be sick. “I beg your pardon, Celdorn. May I be excused? I have to… I must see to Mishon. I promised him I wouldn’t be gone long. H-he’s only six, and he’ll be anxious if I don’t come soon.”
“Of course,” Celdorn said softly, recognizing that Charaq was still deeply disturbed by what had happened. “Would you like someone to go with you?”
“No, I’m fine.” When Celdorn eyed him skeptically, he added, “I-I will be.”
As Charaq rose to leave, Celdorn signaled for Qalam to go with him. Charaq didn’t object when he saw the young man following.
“Let’s all take a break,” Celdorn said. “Shatur, have more wine and ale sent up. I think we may need it before the end of this report.”
Chapter 53
When Elena arrived in the practice arena with Silvandir and Mikaelin, more men than usual were there, including visitors from the other keeps. She gripped the hilt of her dagger as her eyes darted around the room, looking for anyone who didn’t seem to belong.
Most of the time, the boys and men from Kelach didn’t wear their tunics while training, but with those from the other strongholds wearing their livery, it seemed a matter of pride. Kelach’s royal blue tunics were embossed with a silver sword crossed with a black battle-axe. When they moved, the swords shimmered as if light emanated from them. The men from Dussendor wore a more peaceful symbol: a stone tower surrounded by sheep set against a sky blue background. Those from Marach were the most striking with tunics the color of midnight. Out of this darkness flowed waterfalls of dazzling silver that seemed to catch the light and reflect every color of the rainbow, much like the Elrodanar cloaks that fascinated Elena. She didn’t see any representatives from Greenholt, though she had in the corridors. Their deep green livery held the image of a yellow tree—the first tree, according to lore—that shone like polished gold.
An intense air of competition filled the arena. Challenges between the variou
s keeps played out around the large room, royal blue challenging black, black challenging sky blue. Boisterous laughter and taunting japes came from every direction.
As Elena followed Silvandir across the practice area toward a vacant spot near the back, men turned and stared. Some gawked shamelessly when she unsheathed her sword and prepared to spar with Silvandir. The extra attention made her nervous. Silvandir had to remind her repeatedly to focus. The longer they fought, however, the more Elena was able to concentrate and enjoy the use of her weapon. She parried each of Silvandir’s advances and skillfully executed her attacks and counterattacks.
Her pleasure increased with each passing moment—until she heard some of the men from Marach laughing. She glanced toward them and saw a man down on his knees, pretending to flip a braid over his shoulder as he swung his sword. She signaled for Silvandir to stop.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving toward her.
“I’m being mocked.” She glared at those from Marach. “I refuse to perform for their amusement.”
Mikaelin joined them. “Is there a problem?”
“It seems some of our guests are not being very courteous.” Silvandir’s jaw tensed, and he gripped his sword and headed toward the mockers as if ready for a fight.
“No, Silvandir.” Elena tried to grab his arm, but missed. She didn’t want any more trouble on her account.
“It’s all right, Elena,” Mikaelin assured her as he stood behind her, his hand on her arm.
~
The Guardian on his knees pretending to be Elena didn’t see Silvandir approach.
“Is this some new form of training you wish to share with the rest of us?” Silvandir asked, fighting back the urge to lift the mocker by the scruff of his neck and shake him.
The young man immediately clambered to his feet and turned to face Silvandir. When he saw the sword in his hand, he paled and took a step back. The spectators’ smiles and laughter died around them as if they thought Silvandir might actually skewer the man. Though tempted, he sheathed his sword.
