Spawn of Fury

by Sean Hinn

  Mikallis reached up to stroke Triumph’s muzzle.

  “I would never mean to harm you, dear friend. I am so sorry.”

  Triumph bumped Mikallis gently.

  “He has forgiven you. In time you will be as you once were. Come, Mikallis Elmshadow. Your friends will wander in our midst as they please and will return when you call to them. Unless they prefer not to.”

  “And if they do? Prefer not to?”

  “Then they will be welcome here in the Eyre, and you will need to find new horses. Would you enslave these great beasts?”

  Mikallis considered the question before replying.

  “No, I would not.”

  “Good. I am Volo, husband of Larra, and by your answer, you are an elf I would call friend.”

  Mikallis nodded. “Thank you, Volo. I would call you friend as well.”

  “That is near enough to true. Will you walk with me?”

  Mikallis nodded. The two walked down a darkened path, lit only by the Twins. Volo led the captain to a stable. Twenty dark stalls, ten on either side, stood empty. Volo led Mikallis inside.

  “Seems this would be superfluous, given your tendency to let your horses roam,” Mikallis said.

  “They sleep here in the rains, if they like,” Volo replied.

  “Your ways are strange to me, Volo, but interesting. May I ask you a question? A personal one?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then tell me please, and forgive me if I offend – but your people, your skin color, your hair color, is it a charm? You all look so different, but angelic to a one. It is not so where I am from.”

  “You do not offend, Mikallis. Many of us choose to alter our appearance from time to time. It is… well, it is fun. It is a small magic, and it pleases us.”

  “May I ask, what do you truly look like?”

  “Me, in particular? I am my natural self before you, now. Do you not find me beautiful?”

  “Oh, well, I mean, of course, you are an attractive man, Volo. Please, I truly did not mean to offend–”

  Volo laughed heartily. “I tease you, captain. Forgive me. But yes, I am in my natural form. It pleases me to walk in my own skin. Though, I do use magic to remove my hair.”

  “Why?”

  Volo shrugged. “Larra says it makes me look fearsome.”

  Mikallis laughed. “For some reason, I expected a more profound purpose. Though I suppose the love of a woman is profound enough.”

  “It is. Mikallis, I must be bold, now. Will you hear me?”

  Mikallis regarded Volo for a moment before nodding.

  “You place yourself in great danger.”

  “How?” Mikallis’ tone turned defensive.

  “Please, do not be angry. I mean no insult. But you must sense this. You are not meant to be part of this company. The tasks set before them are beyond you. You must realize this, do you not?”

  “I will not abandon my princess.”

  “She is not your princess, Mikallis.”

  “Volo, you are too bold.”

  “Perhaps. Yet I would see your quest succeed, and as you say, the love of a woman is a profound thing. You covet Aria Evanti. Your presence is a distraction to her, and it places you in a peril you cannot withstand. What of the dragon? What could you have done against it?”

  Mikallis did not reply.

  “You fear that you carry the Fever for her.”

  “How can you know such things? It is not your place.”

  “Tell me I am wrong.”

  Again, Mikallis remained silent.

  “You were warned, Captain of Thornwood. In our presence this night, your thoughts are known to us.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Do I? Carry the Fever? Do you know that much as well?”

  Volo shook his head. “That is not for me to say. But if you wish to discover the truth for yourself, I can help you do so.”

  “How?”

  “Do you wish this knowledge, my friend? Truly?”

  Mikallis nodded. “I do.”

  Volo sighed. “Very well. You need only turn around.”

  Mikallis turned, and there a few feet away from him stood Aria Evanti, bathed in a soft light, dressed in all the finery of her station. Mikallis turned back towards Volo, just in time to see him round the corner and out of sight. He turned back to Aria as she softly spoke the question he had longed these many years for her to ask.

  “Do you love me, Mikallis Elmshadow?”

  ~

  “You are satisfied, then, J’arn Silverstone?”

  J’arn poured himself another chalice of plumwine. He stared into it quietly for a turn. No one spoke as the dwarven prince considered his reply.

  “I be satisfied enough, Mister Chono,” he said finally. “I s’pose it ain’t my business to tell another what they oughta die for, or when. Still sits a bit odd with me though, truth be told.”

  Chono nodded. “Your doubts of our ways are born of honor. You would wish to preserve life, and this is a virtue. Lady Lor, if you would know my mind, I do deem this one worthy of the Eyre.”

  Lor nodded and motioned for Aria and Trellia to join the others at the long table. Immediately plates of food were presented to the two elven women by Pado and Neela, each piled high with fruits and melons, roasted meats, breads and cheeses.

  “Thank you both,” Aria said. “This is more than I could ever eat!”

  “Well then I will take your leavings,” Trellia said. “I am famished.” The Vicaris filled her mouth with a handful of green grapes. Pado giggled.

  “Grapes are my favorite, too! Especially the green ones.”

  Trellia smiled as she swallowed. “Especially,” Trellia agreed. “Though how do you keep them so fresh this time of year?”

  Lor replied. “Of all the questions you would ask of us, Trellia wife of none, this is the one most pressing?”

  “Ha!” laughed Shyla.

  The others turned her way.

  Shyla “Most pressing. Get it?”

  No one spoke.

  “Grapes! Pressing! Like fer wine? Aw, Mawbottom, never mind.”

  “I did not intend the pun,” Lor said.

  “Yeah yeh did,” Shyla replied, frowning. “Why are yeh lyin’ about it?”

  Lor and Chano exchanged looks. Aria spoke first.

  “Shyla, it is not polite to accuse our hostess–”

  “No, she is correct,” Lor said. “I was lying. Only as a test, though. I meant no true deception. You are both clever and powerful, Shyla. Do you hear my thoughts plainly?”

  Shyla looked to Trellia, seeking guidance. Trellia nodded.

  “Yup. Well, mostly, anyways. If I listen hard.”

  “What am I thinking now?” asked Chono.

  Shyla turned to the Airie. “Yeh plan to give us a gift.”

  Chono nodded. “And?”

  “And I dunno if I want it.”

  Lor placed her hand on Shyla’s knee. “It is all right, Shyla. You may ask. I do not think you should fear the answer.”

  Shyla nodded. A tear escaped her left eye. She wiped it away quickly, but not quickly enough to catch the next one. Soon she was choking back sobs.

  ‘What is it, Shyla?” asked J’arn, concern heavy in his tone. “Are ye all right?”

  Shyla nodded. “I canna say the words, Lady Lor. Can yeh just tell me?”

  Lor placed a hand on Shyla’s reddening cheek. “Your mother and father live, Shyla Greykin. Your mother is near to Belgorne, and your father is in the North Maw, near G’naath.”

  Shyla wept freely then. Wolf forced his way up into her lap, worried for his friend. Shyla laughed through her tears as the small black dog licked them away. She hugged him close.

  “Are yeh sure, Lady? All the way sure?”

  Lor nodded. “I am. The winds speak clearly this night.” As if on cue, the lighted leaves of the elms turned color above them, shoots of blue and green flying this way and that among a backdrop of others,
those a mix of white and pink.

  “And me grandmama? Cindra?” Shyla asked.

  The glowing leaves above suddenly turned to red. Shyla gasped.

  “She lives, Shyla. But it is odd. I cannot locate her. I know only that her spirit has not flown among the winds.”

  “Is she all right? Can yeh tell?” Shyla asked.

  Lor shook her head. “I cannot say, Shyla. That much I am not given to know. Only that she lives.”

  Aria moved closer to Shyla and pulled her close. “If she is as powerful as you say, Shyla, I am sure she is well.” Shyla shared a brief hug with the princess, who shared a look across the table with Trellia.

  “What more would you know, Shyla?” asked Chono, his tone jaunty, clearly seeking to cheer the gnome. “You have come all the way from your tunnels to see our home, to meet our people. Are there other questions you would ask?”

  Shyla looked up at Chono, then to Pado and Neela, her powerful curiosity sufficient to dispel her gloom.

  “Well, there’s one, for sure. Howsit that yeh two got married already? Yeh ain’t but what… ten?”

  “I am eleven years!” Pado said.

  “Me too!” Neela added.

  “Well? How do yeh get married so young? Are yeh in love with one another? Do yeh… I mean, yeh canna…”

  Neela giggled. “Do you mean have we made love? No, of course not! Ew!”

  “‘Ew’?” repeated Pado. “Neela, that’s not nice!”

  “Oh, you know I don’t mean it like that, beautiful husband of mine.” Neela turned to reply to Shyla. Lor interceded.

  “You know that our lives are short, yes?” Lor said.

  Shyla nodded.

  “Then you can imagine that we must carefully plan our childbearing, so that our people can go on.”

  “Ah, I get it,” Shyla said. “That makes sense.”

  “Not to me,” Aria said. “Go on please, Lady Lor.”

  Lor nodded. “Each year, the unmarried ten-years of the Eyre are assigned their spouses. It is with that spouse that they will bear two children, one girl, one boy, after their Loveyear.”

  “Loveyear?” asked J’arn.

  “Yes,” Chono replied. “In our nineteenth year, we Airies love freely, with whomever we choose.”

  “For a whole year?” J’arn asked. “Fury, but don’t ye get… well, tired?”

  The Airies broke into lyrical laughter. Shyla, Aria, and Trellia joined them.

  “Aw, go on then, make fun. Forget I asked,” J’arn said, crossing his arms.

  “I am sorry, J’arn,” Chono said. “But I assure you, we take our rest. Though,” Chono eyed Lor, “some rest less than others.”

  A spray of wine flew from Shyla’s mouth, the thoughts shared between Lor and Chono too powerful and risqué to ignore. Shyla began to cough and gasp.

  “Ugh! I think it came out my nose!” Shyla said through fits of laughter. The others joined in, the implication obvious. “Stop laughing!” she said, not meaning it. “It burns!”

  Lor placed a finger on Shyla’s neck. Instantly her nose stopped burning, and her coughing ceased.

  “Wow. Yeh sure do have some magic, Lady Lor.”

  “I have not a fraction of what you possess, Shyla.”

  The table grew silent.

  “The same can be said for you, J’arn Silverstone,” said Chono. “And you as well, Princess of Thornwood.”

  J’arn, Shyla, Trellia, and Aria all exchanged glances.

  “We will speak more on that later,” Lor said. “Aria, would you wish a similar gift of knowledge as Shyla? Is there something you would know?”

  Aria swallowed. “There is much I would know, Lady.”

  “You already know your mother lives, of course.”

  “And I know many of my people do not,” she said. “But if there is one question I may ask of you, it would be this: will we succeed? In this quest of ours, whatever it is?”

  “You ask of things to come,” Chono said, stiffening. “We cannot know the consequences of choices that have not yet been made.”

  “That is not exactly so, Chono. As you know,” Lor replied.

  “Lady of Light,” Chono said, “you and the Darklady agreed. There is to be no discussion of these things this night.”

  Lor nodded. “This is true. And I will honor my bargain. Is there something else you wish to know, Aria? Something of the past, or the present?”

  Aria nodded. “Yes, now that I think of it. I would ask about you, Lady. You are wife of none. Why were you not assigned a husband? Or did you refuse yours?”

  “Why would someone refuse a pairing?” asked Neela, a look of confusion on her face.

  “Well, what if you did not love the boy whom you would marry?”

  Neela frowned. “Why would I not?”

  Pado joined in. “Yeah, why would she not?”

  “No, I do not mean, you, Pado. I mean, well, generally. What if one of your kind did not love the person to whom they were betrothed?”

  “I understood the question,” Neela replied.

  “Oh. Well, what if, say, you did not find him pleasing to look upon?”

  “Oh, that? That’s easy. Then he’d change for me.”

  “I’m sorry?” asked Aria.

  “Why are you sorry?” asked Pado. “Neela is not angry with you.”

  Shyla spoke up. “Mind if I sort this part out, Lady?”

  Lor nodded, smiling at the gnome. “Please.”

  Shyla turned to Aria. “These folk all love one another, Aria.”

  “Oh, well, I am sure, but–”

  “No, yeh ain’t sure. They all love one another. All of ’em. All the way. They… well, I think they’re connected, like me an’ Wolf. Like they don’t know where one ends an’ th’other starts. They do fer each other. They forgive. They don’t keep score. Don’t matter what any of ’em look like, or nothin’. Ain’t no reason for one not to love another, not in any way you or I can think of. Ain’t that right, Lady?” Shyla asked.

  Lor nodded. “I could not have said it better.”

  Aria sat quietly for a moment. “You do not become jealous? During your Loveyear?”

  “Oh, we surely do,” Chono said. He looked to Lady Lor. “Very jealous.”

  “But not angry, Aria,” said Lor. “Which is why someday, Pado and Neela will have their Loveyear at the same time, so that when they return to one another, their joy will be all the more profound. In that joy, they shall conceive.

  “But what if ye conceive, well, early, if ye get my meaning?” asked J’arn.

  Chono nodded knowingly. “Our magic prevents this. Just as it assures we will always bear one boy, and one girl, so that our people will go on.”

  “I think I understand now,” Aria said, “but you did not answer my question, Lady Lor.”

  “As to why I will not marry.”

  “Yes,” replied Aria.

  Lady Lor caught Aria’s gaze and held it. “The responsibilities of a Lady or Lord of Eyreloch are many,” she said. A question formed on J’arn’s lips. Lor answered it. “Yes, J’arn, there are Lords of Eyre. When my sister and I give our gifts, two Lords will take our place. But in answer to your question, Aria, we do not marry because we must never place the needs of one over the needs of others, and to be wed, or to bear a child, is to create a sacred bond, a bond that may cloud our judgment or impartiality. Do you understand?”

  Aria looked down, saying nothing.

  “I see that you do.”

  Shyla spoke. “I think that’s real sad, Lady Lor.”

  Lor met Chono’s violet eyes. “As do I, Shyla.”

  Long moments of silence passed beneath the shining leaves of the great elms before Trellia decided it was time for a change of topic.

  “J’arn,” she said. “Is there anything you would like to ask? I assume you offer the same gift to him, Lady?”

  “Of course,” she said. “What would you know, J’arn Silverstone?”

  “I have but one questio
n, Lady. How fares me father, and me kingdom?”

  The leaves of the elms went dark.

  XXIX: THE BARRACKS OF MOR

  We must not act, General,” Gerald said. “Not yet.”

  “People are dying, wizard,” he replied angrily. “Your people. Incantors.”

  “Those are not my people, General.”

  “But they are people! This isn’t about settling some score with Kehrlia. This is about people. And you said it yourself! We need the Incantors to grow food. Unless your plan was to fertilize the ground with their corpses!”

  “General, I agree with Gerald,” Vincent said. “There is nothing we can do. We cannot fight this beast. You will only get your men killed.”

  “Bah!” Slater slammed a fist on the table. “You’re dismissed, corporal,” he said to the messenger.

  “Uh, I have more news, sir.”

  “Well, out with it then!”

  “Scouts are reporting movement north of the Morline. The Knights of Thornwood round the muzzle of the Maw as we speak.”

  “How many?”

  “Far as they could tell, all of ‘em, sir.”

  “They are not headed for Mor?”

  The corporal shook his head. “Don’t seem to be. Belgorne, maybe.”

  “G’naath,” Gerald said.

  “G’naath?” asked the general. “Why in Fury would they be heading for G’naath?”

  “Well, it’s just a theory, mind you. But I believe our diminutive friends are playing with powers they do not understand.”

  “Go on.”

  “Think about it. All the fires throughout the year. Fang’s awakening. These quakes. And now a beast the world has never seen. Sounds like dark magic, to me. And that sort of thing doesn’t exist in Belgorne.”

  “But it does in G’naath?” he asked, incredulous.

  Gerald nodded. “Used to, anyways. I only guessed at it before, but if the elves are moving into the Maw, sounds like they’ve guessed it, too.”

  Vincent chimed in. “I doubt Terrias Evanti sends her knights south without good cause, General,” he said. “She is not prone to rash action, at least as far as I have heard.”

  “Queen Evanti is an honorable woman,” Slater agreed. “If she sends her elves to war, there’s a reason. But G’naath? Really?”

  “Certainly not Belgorne,” Vincent said. “So, it’s either G’naath or some other mess we don’t know about.”