by Elí Freysson
“Sleep well,” Jon said with a tired smile. “And tomorrow our travels continue.”
Irina nodded.
“Sleep well.”
She closed the door to her room, plunging herself into darkness.
“More travels,” she whispered.
She found her way to the hay bedding, disrobed and made sure the stick was within reach before lying down.
Travels. The thing that had sent her away from home, out into this vast world most people only saw a fraction of. But how long could one travel? She thought of the conversation with the princes, recent events and distant ones, and herself. Outside her room were the sounds of the two retinues retiring as well, and in time the inn was entirely silent.
Still sleep eluded her. It seemed only exhaustion would let her rest these days and she simply wasn’t exhausted. Her mind slipped into anger at being denied the peace of dreaming, and anger in turn made relaxation even harder.
In time she admitted defeat and stood up. She dressed, took the stick and stealthily opened the door. She walked to the main hall and exited out into the street.
The night was rather warm and quite still. She couldn’t help but reflect on how different the entire world felt at night. The stillness and sense of mystery still had power to fascinate her, even after all those reminders of the dangers.
Irina continued to move quietly as she walked through the village, both out of habit and so as to not wake up a local who might suspect her of being a thief. She wasn’t doing this to add to her tensions, after all.
She switched to a slower but less guarded gait as she left the houses behind, just idly swinging her feet along a well-trod path. Reaching a distance took some time. Then she closed her eyes, took several soothing breaths, then opened them again.
She faced the night and recalled a poet who had described it as the realm of the future: Opaque and full of dangers. She let out a slow breath. Then she heard the shouting.
Irina whipped around. There were fires in the village, small but growing, and far too spread out to be an accident.
This was an attack.
Irina ran towards it as stark fear exploded to life within her.
Ynglas started waking up to fire, shouts, and violence. There were men in the streets with torches and weapons, adding to the chaos and preventing firefighting efforts. She heard the familiar screams of the gravely wounded from there and there, shouts of terror and confusion, and a concentration of chaos by the inn.
One torch-bearing trio rounded the corner of a house as Irina arrived into Ynglas. They were Tallin and two of his men, from that demon-destroyed village.
She threw herself down behind a cart and managed to land softly. They passed at a brisk pace, and she got up and continued on towards the inn. There were different ways to be stealthy, depending on circumstances. Luckily her life had taught her just about all of them and she was able to evade both violent bandits and panicking locals, and she arrived at the back of the inn. And then she came to a sharp halt. There was a concentration of these ruffians in front of the building. She couldn’t tell quite what was going on, but she had no hope of getting past them.
She kept her profile as low as possible as she crept to the nearest corner of the building. Peeking around it she saw Camdyn approach, torch in hand and accompanied by two of his mail-clad warriors. One of the men already present moved, letting her get a glimpse of Prince Kalgan.
He was cleaning blood off his sword.
“Hello again, my lord,” Camdyn said. “Is all in order?”
“We have my western counterpart,” Kalgan replied. “We will see how his father feels about a joint invasion now.”
“And those adventurers?” Camdyn asked. “My men owe them a debt of blood.”
“The men you’ve gathered are little of the sort. We do have three of those vagabonds, but they will live a while longer. They might be able to tell me something useful. We will take them to Hard Hill along with the prince. You may collect your debt once I’m finished with them.”
“As you say, my lord.”
“Of course.”
Irina bit down on her hand. Her friends lived. But only for a little while yet. Still, her mind worked in solutions. It always had. It lined up the factors and tools at hand, and judged them by likelihood of success. And then she acted.
Staying bowed she snuck away from the corner and to the stable behind it. The horses the two princes and their men had arrived on were agitated by the nearby chaos, but someone was making an effort to calm the beasts.
Another man stood outside the door, slightly illuminated by a lamp within. She recognised him from Kalgan’s retinue and did not fancy testing her stick against his sword. But time was not on her side. She had to act, and so she did without hesitation.
Irina approached him from the flank with soft steps, hoping to get within striking range before he noticed her. She almost darted at him when he moved, but he simply turned around and addressed whoever was inside.
“Well, hurry up!”
“I am hurrying.”
Now she darted, and swung her stick into the back of his head. Wood met bone with a crack and the man collapsed. The one within had just finished saddling a fine steed and turned as she came at him. His blade had just left its scabbard when she struck him in the head. It was an imperfect blow and he stayed upright.
He retaliated with a swing. Irina had never been Jon’s equal in combat, but she could readily parry a clumsy strike from a man swaying on his feet. She struck him a second time, then a third, then turned her attention to the horse.
It didn’t like her, that much was obvious. The violence had set it even further on edge and she only had time for the briefest of soothing noises. More men were coming. She dared grab the reins and swing herself up into the saddle. The horse objected and bucked a bit, but a kick at his sides did send him out the doorway and over the groaning man in it.
She sped away, into the realm of the future.
7.
Irina felt slightly bad about tormenting the horse, but concern for her friends completely overrode it. Time was critical.
The facts were plain enough. Reaching a western lord who could muster a force to save his prince would take at least a week. There was no one within reach in the Junmarch who was likely to help. Her only option, besides simply leaving Jon, Elseth and Kent to their fate, was to ride south.
Kalgan meant to either force the western king into joining an invasion, or somehow blame the events in Ynglas on a raid from Mid-Melgen. Either way he meant to have a war. And her friends were to die as a simple side-effect. As an afterthought.
The fine eastern steed took her through a ravine in the Ridge of Kaisen and she quickly left the border behind. It sped her across the river that had born her away from Vyslak, and on and on down the road.
Prince Kalgan’s awful history plagued her mind, as did memories of her friends, intruding randomly like bubbles in boiling stew. Memories of boring marches, intense danger, jokes, arguments, victories and failures, all the good and all the bad.
“People shape each other,” she said to herself with desperation. “Friends and family learn from each other. People need each other.”
The life had already taken Derek and many others.
“Not Jon and Elseth. Not them.”
She was unused to riding and her body quickly felt battered simply from staying in the saddle and managing the horse. But she kept on and showed the animal no mercy. The road became familiar, as did the landscape on her left.
Morning was nearing and Vyslak was nearby when the horse simply could be forced no further. Irina got down on unsteady feet and clumsily ran the final distance along the road.
There it was, sleeping and quiet as the earliest hint of light could be seen on the horizon. Irina entered it, yet again feeling unsteady from fatigue. She stopped for a few moments at a well to quench her thirst, then she kept on going.
She thought of what she was doing as she app
roached the inn by the bridge, and all that it meant.
She accepted it.
Irina stopped before the door and gathered her breath. She was not the least bit surprised to hear sounds of movement within. A faint light appeared in the cracks of the doorframe and Irina braced herself. Her fate was sealed and the fact brought relief and melancholy both.
The door swung open and Lady Lumiara stepped outside.
Just like their first meeting her presence hit like a physical force and Irina got down on her knees. It was far more than just the towering height and perfect confidence. Her power simply radiated out somehow.
She was clad as usual in a strange, pale robe that seemed to consist of multiple pieces, and her ice-blue hair hung loose, moving slightly as if in a private wind. Her skin glowed white, as did her eyes, only showing pupils when one looked very closely.
The first thing she did was put a hand on Irina’s shoulder. All her aches disappeared, as did much of the fatigue.
Ana and Bors stepped outside as well and closed the door behind them. Presumably the rest of the lady’s entourage waited inside, and Irina was rather glad for it. The two chalu took up position on either side of their mistress. Bors looked relieved. Ana, rather predictably, crossed her arms and looked mildly angry.
“There you are,” Lady Lumiara said with a faint smile on her face. The sound was as sweet as honey, even as there was an odd alien-ness to the way it carried.
“There she is,” Ana said with a put-upon sigh. “May I tie her up again, Mistress?” she added while looking Irina in the eyes.
“Maybe later, Ana,” the Bright Lady said tolerantly. “Speak, Irina.”
Lumiara’s presence made finding her voice difficult, but three years of having it within her mind at all times made it easier than before.
“I did... I did not want to hurt any of you,” Irina said. “I knew I was doing it, but... I fled for the sake of my friends. For the sake of the person I was, and for the sake of my instinct to resist control.”
“Your people have many instincts,” Lumiara said. “Some noble and worth encouraging, others destructive and worth suppressing. Why have you come back and put yourself in my power?”
Irina bowed her head and took a deep breath. Then she looked up and sought those faint pupils.
“Lady Lumiara,” she said formally. “I offer my lifelong bonded service in exchange for a boon.”
“You offer what is already mine?” Lumiara said with a raise of an eyebrow. “What do you ask in return?”
“Prince Kalgan has violated a parley with Prince Walder and taken him captive. He means to trigger a war. He has also taken my friends. I ask that you allow me to go north and save them with your strength, and prevent whatever calamity Kalgan means to unleash. I also ask that you not interfere with my actions until I return across the border.”
“I see,” Lumiara replied calmly.
She was briefly silent.
“You ask me to violate the treaty. But the eastern prince is clearly in violation himself. There are many ills to cure in this world, born of fear and ignorance, and we are here to bring order. Your request is good and just. It also brought you back to me. I must grant it.”
Irina let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Thank you, Lady Lumiara.”
The Bright Lady reached inside her robe and brought out a familiar wide, crimson band. A tingle shot out from Irina’s stomach and into every part of her body.
This was it.
Lumiara knelt, making her merely one head taller than Irina. The lady reached out and touched her cheek. As before, Irina couldn’t decide whether that strange skin felt warm or cold. She found herself shivering slightly, but otherwise immobile. Here it was again. And this time she was going through it willingly.
Lumiara smiled, and it was as beatific as ever.
“Do not fear.”
The collar touched Irina’s skin, and for a moment she reflected that these were her last fully free thoughts. The band went around her neck and Lady Lumiara was looking her right in the eyes as the ends met and sealed together.
It all went away; doubt, fear, indecision and conflict, replaced by the warm, soothing feel of Lumiara’s embrace settling over her mind. It was like slipping into pleasantly warm water. An involuntary sigh of relief escaped Irina’s throat. It felt so good to be free of all that human anxiety. Lady Lumiara owned her again.
“Mistress...” she muttered.
“We are joined once more,” Lumiara said.
“Yes,” Irina said and touched the collar with both hands. Her neck felt back to normal.
All that chaos, fear and drama... it all seemed so silly now. What had she been so worried about? Her mistress would take care of her spirit.
Lumiara held out a hand and helped Irina to her feet.
“I am very glad to have you back,” the Bright Lady said through another smile.
Irina rolled her head around a bit, feeling the mild confinement that has simply become a part of her life. She laughed a little, before remembering the task before her.
Bors handed her ilthin over. The blue rope responded to the touch of its owner, feeling almost alive in her hands. She hung it in her belt. Ana held out Irina’s kayros. She took it, admiringly running a hand along the smooth surface, broken only by the runes of power. It went into her belt as well.
“Shall I lend her my tunic, Mistress?” Ana asked. “To make a statement across the border?”
“I think we had best not make any more of a statement than we need to,” Lumiara replied.
She put her hands on her hips.
“I wish we could make more of an occasion out of this, but you must hurry, Irina,” she said.
“Of course, Mistress.”
Bors put a hand on her shoulder.
“I am glad all of that is over with.”
She clasped his arm for a moment. Ana then clasped hers and more-or-less yanked her into a hug.
“I am glad too,” the woman said into her ear. “Though I wanted to be the one to bring you back.”
“I know you did,” Irina said and hugged back. “Always competing.”
“I am still going to tie you up when you get back,” Ana said wryly as she undid the makeshift ribbon in Irina’s hair again. “You deserve some punishment.”
She unwound the red and gold ribbon from her own wrist and tied it back around Irina’s ponytail.
“Consider this an early taste.”
She smiled as she stepped back.
“If it will make you feel better,” Irina said with a wry look of her own. “Thank you for holding on to this for me.”
She touched the ribbon and found it perfectly in place.
“Mistress, may I set off?”
“One last thing,” Lady Lumiara said. “How was your old collar broken?”
As always, lying didn’t even occur to her.
“My old friend Jon. Prince Walder lent him a strange, old knife. Presumably it is in Kalgan’s possession right now.”
“You are to bring it to me.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Now go. I shall lend you swiftness.”
Irina turned around and started running. She picked up speed as she left the village, reaching a sprint, and then she simply kept on sprinting. Irina’s body hummed with strength and her mind felt one with Lumiara’s as the Bright Lady poured more power than usual through the bond.
# # #
The sun rose, the landscape changed, and on she ran with the Bright Lady’s seemingly boundless strength. Still, Irina would not allow herself to enjoy the feeling, nor to revel in the restored connection, nor allow her mind to fade into the simple task of running.
Jon. Elseth. Kent. She had to save them. Lady Lumiara was with her, soothing fear and anger and all their cousins, but concern still made it through.
She reached the Ridge of Kaisen, crossed it, then cut to the east along a humble road that had not seen steady use since the old border c
onflicts of Melgen’s three parts. The Junmarch was dotted with various reminders of those times. Hard Hill was one of them; a small fort near the East border.
She started seeing it in the distance. Her eyesight was no better than normal, and so she veered off the road before seeing movement; they would see her in turn.
A young forest was gradually coming into its own in the area around the low hill, and it sufficed as cover as she circled around to the back Irina finally came to a stop as the trees did, and looked up.
Hard Hill was an eminently defensible location. The only way up to the gate was a steep slope, utterly exposed to missiles and lookouts. The walls, constructed of rocks hewn from the sides of the hill itself, were simple but sturdy. And tall.
She gathered her strength for a few moments; her body was still human. Then she grabbed one end of her ilthin and yanked on it. It released from her belt and completely unwound with that one pull.
Irina ran straight at the hill, building momentum, and then leapt upwards. Her foot found an outcropping and launched her on upwards in a second great leap. She threw the ilthin and let her will guide it. The seeking end caught one of the crude battlements and a single yank of her arm sent her the rest of the way.
She cleared the battlements as the ilthin returned to her and wrapped around her left arm. Her feet made a bit of a noise as they landed on a rotting wooden platform. The men below looked her way.
The courtyard was divided in two halves, separated by a bit of a slope. Each half featured two houses, marked by years of neglect, and the one she stood over also had three large cages, exposed to the elements. Inside one were her friends, inside another were Prince Walder and his man Olson, and in front of both were Prince Kalgan and several of his men.
Irina leapt. She used one of the cages as a stepping stone and jumped from there straight into the group. She rammed into two men, sending them backwards and into two more. She worked the ilthin, snagging the arm of a man on the far left of the group as he was drawing a sword. She yanked on the rope, smashing him into those who still stood.
