by James Dale
“Perhaps it is,” Jack replied. “At the very least, I don’t know…is it presumptuous to believe Yh’Adan speaks to me through it?”
“Yh’Adan speaks to all who listen in some way. Through prophecy. Through written word. It is not beyond the realm of possibility He speaks directly to His servants at great need. It would be more comforting to me than the sword having a mind and will of its own,” The High Lord admitted honestly. He took the final sip of his wine and sat the glass down. “You took a great risk with Annawyn,” he said, changing the subject. “You risked everything. For love.”
“I know,” Jack nodded.
“I have never married,” Perigaen said softly. “Many years ago there was a young Adept from Amorhad. Juula was her name. We arrived on Lordsisle the same day. We made it to Blue together. She was never raised higher, sadly. When I attained my staff, relationships between Lords and Adepts are forbidden so…” he shrugged. “Afterwards, duties of the Staffclave consumed me. When I was raised to High Lord, I never found the time. Or the right woman. Speaking as the High Lord, I cannot say I condone the risk you took Jack Braedan, but I understand, I think, why you did it.”
“What happened to Juula?” asked Jack.
“Juula…left Lordisile over hundred twenty years ago,” Perigaen said sadly. “I imagine she has…passed.” There was no mistaking the sound of loss in his voice.
“I think you understand love more than you let on,” Jack replied. “Perhaps it will help when you hear some of my instructions to the Staffclave and the Whesguardians.”
“We will see,” Perigaen smiled. “I imagine they are waiting for us…for you, in the council hall already. Shall we go?”
“Can we bring another bottle of Surrca Valley?” asked Jack.
“From your tone, I think I will need it.” Perigaen sighed. “I will have the kitchen deliver all we have left.”
They were all assembled in council hall as Perigaen surmised. Ailicia sprang to her feet seeing Jack and ran to leap into his arms. He was glad he’d healed himself or the Ailfar princess would have knocked him from his feet.
“Thank you, cousin,” she smiled when he sat her back down.
“It’s all good then?” he asked.
“I went to her the second night…after,” she nodded excitedly. “I cried. She cried. All is well. I visited her again yesterday. She was concerned about your…laziness, but I told her everything would be fine. I am so, so sorry about Long Tooth,” she added softly.
“I’ll go see her tonight to let her know I’m okay,” Jack assured her, caressing her cheek. “Don’t worry about Long Tooth. Gaebrel himself, carried the old mutt to Paradise. I think he’ll be just fine.”
“Gaebrel? The Arch-Angel Gaebrel?” she asked in wonder.
“He can tell you about it after the council, princess,” Perigaen interrupted. “Right now, I think the High King has some…requests, for us?”
“You can call them requests if it will help you swallow them easier,” Jack said. “Pop the cork on that Surcca Valley and let’s get this war started, shall we?”
There was an empty seat at head of the council table, next to the High Lord’s Chair. Jack assumed it was meant for him and headed towards it. He stopped long enough to give Tarsus a pat on the shoulder and the Amarian winked at him roguishly. Before he could reach the seat, the Lady Ara’fael stood to bar his path. Jack braced himself for the scolding he knew was coming from the stern Ailfar Spellweaver. He just wished it wasn’t coming in front the Staffclave and all the gathered assembly. To his shock, she stepped forward and gave him a fierce hug.
“You will be the death of me, Jack Braedan,” she whispered to him. “I have aged a hundred years in the last three days.”
“You look as beautiful as ever, My Lady,” Jack replied as she released him.
Wonder of wonders, she actually blushed. She gave him another hug, kissed his cheek, then the moment was over. “But High King or not, if you ever do something like so foolish again without warning me, I will burn you to a cinder,” she promised.
“I love you too, you old harpy,” Jack smiled.
She patted his cheek affectionately and resumed her seat.
Perigaen assumed his seat in the High Lord’s chair and motioned to Jack with an open hand. The gesture was painfully obvious to understand. The floor was his. There was a huge map on the wall behind the High Lord, a beautifully painted mural of Aralon and all the known lands beyond. Jack studied it for a moment as the assembly waited silently. He had been traveling constantly for the last year it seemed. From the Ailsantain Forest all the way to ruin of Grethor. Each name of a place he’d passed through brought back a flood of memories. None so much as Dorshev, where his queen waited for his return.
“How long since we sailed from Dorihil, Captain Anaekin?” he finally asked, turning from the map.
“One day short of six weeks my Lord,” the captain of Muriel’s Revenge answered almost immediately.
“How long did it take your father to reach Annoth, Kirstaen?” he asked the Annothian prince.
“If he left soon after us,” Kirstaen replied. “About a week?”
“How long to prepare his fleet?”
“A third of our fleet is always ready to sail. The rest,” the prince said, “Two weeks, three at most.”
“Where would they be if they left two weeks after the king returned?” asked Jack. He had relayed his sense of urgency after all.
“South of the Val’anna Runs?” he replied thoughtfully.
“How many ships do you have again?” Jack inquired. He remembered of course, but he was calculating numbers in his head for what he wanted them to do.
“Two hundred,” Kirstaen replied proudly. “Each carrying one hundred sailors and the same number of Annothian Marines.”
“Would forty thousand sailors and marines be enough to destroy King Urgiss’ fleet and sack his city?” Braedan asked the Annothian prince.
“More than enough,” Kirstaen smiled.
“How many to sail up the Winding River and keep Denelad out of this fight?”
“Keep them out of the fight or sack Denegarth as well?” the prince asked with a wicked smile.
“I just need them occupied,” Jack replied. “They were smart enough to surrender to Ljmarn once but...they went back to their old Sa’tan loving ways when the Whesguard grew bored with occupation. They need to be reminded Yhswyndyr has already beaten the Bloodstone once.” He shrugged.
“Fifty of my Lord’s fleet are almost as large as Muriel’s Revenge,” Captain Anaekin replied for his prince. “They will not be able to sail up the Winding River very far. They can remain and hold Norgarth. The rest will be able to do whatever the High King pleases in Denegarth. They are a shadow at best of their former greatness.”
“I want you underway at first light, Captain,” Jack nodded. “Find Kaerl’s fleet and sail straightway to Norgarth. Do what you must to win this, but spare who you can. We are the good guys after all. If either of them should be wise enough to surrender,” he said, addressing Kirstaen, “Tell your father to give them whatever terms he thinks prudent. Regardless, every Sorcerer and Priest of Gol’gar is put to the sword and every temple burned to the ground. Their judgement is at hand.”
Kirstaen stood and bowed. “As you command, High King.”
“High Lord Perigaen, can you spare oh…six or eight Lords to go with them?” asked Jack.
“Six,” he replied. “With the same number of White Adepts to accompany them. Uileen will be one. Caeleb is almost ready to be raised. I will elevate them to Lords as soon as we are finished here. If a Lord falls, they will stand ready to take their staff.”
“So basically, eight then,” Jack nodded. “Alnordel,” he continued, turning to the former pirate captain. “I’m assuming you’ve kept the Laughing Dragon seaworthy?”
“Kinsman, you wound me,” Alnordel smiled. “She is called Wind of Aeralnen now, but yes, she is seaworthy.”
“How many
more ships do you have High Lord?” asked Jack.
“Three brigantines,” Perigaen replied, intrigued by what might come next.
“Enough to carry us all to Wheslake,” Jack nodded. “Lady Ara’fael, with Malik’s help and with the help of a few Lords, could you take The Wind of Aeralnen and three brigantines into the Steam of Time and shorten our return?”
“Four ships?” she snorted. “Without the twins to aid me? Might as well ask me to sail them to the moon! One. Perhaps. But I will test the limits of my ability.”
“The Staffclave cannot travel the Stream like a Spellweaver,” Lord Dhoran informed him. “But we can lend the Lady strength. When her strength fails, we have others means to aid our journey. We can influence the wind and waves. It will not be as swift as a Spellweaver bending Time, but we will do our best.”
“How long Ara’fael?” asked Jack. “For one ship?”
“I can have one ship to Wheslake in…four days’ time.” She replied confidently. “One more day will see us in Dorshev. Though it will likely kill me Jack Braedan.”
“I doubt even traveling to the moon could kill you, Lady Ara’fael,” he smiled. “Not with Malik watching over you. Very well then, we will sail on the Wind of Aeralnen, myself, High Lord Perigaen, and the Lords Dhoran and Faendil and a few other of the Staffclave. Arrinor, Ailicia, Sir Gain and Baranir, my Lions and the Hammer will come with us. We will make for Dorshev. Tarsus,” he said, turning to the King of Amar, “Rather than following us at your own pace, you and Thonicil, and the rest of the Staffclave, take the other ships with Cilidon’s Rangers and the Dragon Guards up the Ellsantain as far as the brigantines will take you. With as many Val’anna as the ships can carry. You can dice over who gets to ride Sky. You make for Tanaevar. As soon as I get to Dorshev I will send the Galekindar we left behind to meet you in the Southran Plains.”
“High Lord?” he said turning to Perigaen, “Am I right in assuming the Staffclave can well, communicate with each other through your staffs? You have to keep track of each other with more than carrier pigeons?”
“You assume correctly,” Perigaen nodded. If he was surprised by Jack guessing, then revealing one of the Staffclave’s most closely guarded secrets, he did not show it.
“Then we can pass information back and forth that way,” Jack replied. “My plan when we left Dorshev was to meet in Tanaevar in three months’ time. If all has gone well since our departure, some of our forces should begin assembling in Amar as early as two weeks from now. When I make it to Dorshev, we will ride to Tanaevar with The Knights of the White horse and whatever force Anna has assembled and Cassy has scrounged. If the fleets of Annoth can remove the Norgarthans and Denelad from the field, our numbers should suffice.”
“The Lady Ara’fael will doubtless think this plan reckless,” Jack smiled. “I prefer to think fortune favors the bold.”
“Fortune tends to favor whoever arrives at the battle with the most swords,” Tarsus replied. “And the nastiest disposition. But with the willow switch you now carry,” the Amarian grinned. “I almost pity the Easterlings. Almost.”
“Questions then?” asked Jack. “Suggestion?”
“One at a time, please.” Jack sighed, as a dozen voices were raised at once.
In the end, though numbers were adjusted somewhat, no one in the council hall could come up with a better plan. All agreed with the blow Jack had delivered three nights ago, the Third War of the Stones had begun, whether the Whesguard was ready for it or not. As the council wound to a close and the assembly began to disperse to make ready, Ara’fael approached Jack.
“My Lady,” he sighed, “you have voiced your opinion, what else can I do?”
“You misunderstand, High King,” she replied. “You are doing the best you can under the present circumstances.” Jack was taken by surprise at her deferent tone. Unless he was mistaken, it was the first time she’d addressed him by his newest title other than with sarcasm or some biting remark. It was also the first time she’d actually complimented anything he’d suggested or did. That in itself was cause for concern. “It matters not whether you were reckless or bold, you have revealed your strength, and your willingness to use it. Graith will be desperate to strike back. Wherever he may strike, I will stand beside you to soften the blow. You should also know the Staff-clave is not alone in their ability to communicate over great distance,” she informed him. “Spell-weavers can speak to each other as well. After a fashion. Though it is almost as difficult as traveling the Stream of Time. A’randrial is the stronger of the twins. I will inform him of your plans. Cilidon will see the Ailfar are ready when you arrive at Tanaevar.”
“Thank you My Lady,” Jack bowed.
“Of any here, I have waited longest by far for another High King,” Ara’fael replied. “Though I was younger than Ailicia, I was present at Gorthiel when Ljmarn defeated the dark-King…and do not dare begin counting the years, Jack Bra’adan,” she warned sternly, her normal self again. The moment passed quickly however, and her deferent tone returned. “What I am trying to say, like you, is I have looked into the face of darkness. I will do anything you ask of me to rid the world of this evil. For good this time.”
“Thank you,” he said again.
“I loved him, you know,” the Spellweaver said quietly. For just a split second, he thought the Ara’fael meant Graith, then she reached out to touch Jack’s cheek tenderly, and he realized of whom she spoke. “You could be almost his twin. When he chose Ailanna it took well…a long time…for my heart to mend.”
For the first time, Jack began to perhaps understand why she treated him so abruptly since the moment they first met. It must have been hard, still hard, for Ara’fael to see her unrequited love from so long ago reborn. His heart hurt for her. He could imagine how devastated he would feel if Anna loved another. He instantly regretted every cross word he’d spoken to her.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she sighed wearily. “Did I not just say my heart had mended? I learned many years ago Yh had other plans for me.”
“And another love for you as well?” Jack said, inclining his head toward front of the council hall. The room had now emptied except for Malik Gamrin. The Razorback’s general was making a great show of pretending to study the map of Aralon on the wall.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Ara’fael snorted, without turning to look.
“Malik worships the ground you walk on,” Jack smiled. “You best of all know there is more to him than meets the eye. Most importantly, he is perhaps the only man on earthe who sees through this growling, harpy façade you wrap yourself in.”
“The man ought to be a Lord,” Ara’fael sighed. “His talent is wasted swinging a sword. He should be holding a staff.”
“I do not pretend to know what plans Yh may have for him,” Jack shrugged. “But I will need him before the end. You need him as well. Try not to drive him away.”
“Drive him away?” the Ailfar Spellweaver laughed quietly. “If I do not present him with a challenge, the ill-bred lout will lose interest and begin looking for easier prey. Oh, don’t look so shocked. I am still a woman, after all. I have come to enjoy his…company.”
“Why you randy old…” Jack smiled.
“Have a care, Jack Braeden,” she warned him with a smile. “Harpies are deadly beasts. You will do well to remember that.”
“Your secret is safe with me, Batman,” he smiled, and kissed her forehead.
“Batman?” she asked, thoroughly confused.
“Never mind,” Jack signed. “Go reassure the poor fool I’m not trying to steal you away from him.”
“As my Lord wishes,” Ara’fael smiled, and gave him a curtsey that would have impressed even Gweneveare de’Araban. “Malik Gamrin,” she called out, turning away from him. “Are you going to stare at that map all night? The earthe hasn’t change in twice a thousand years. I have much to teach you if you are going to be any help to me in this war beyond fetching my slippers.”<
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“Good night Lady Ara’fael,” Jack laughed.
“Good night, My Lord,” she smiled over her shoulder. “And if you should even think of running off to Gorthiel again without me...”
“Never again, my Lady,” Jack promised. Sadly, he could not how just how desperate the dark-King had become and how hard it would be to keep his word after the night was done.
Jack left the council hall, finding himself alone accept for a pair of silent Immermen who fell in behind him. Wordlessly, they followed at a dutiful three paces as he made his way down the long corridor leading back to his room, seeking for threats in the very heart of perhaps the most secure citadel on earthe. Another pair of The High King’s Hammer waited at the door, saluting him as he approached. Braeden knew all their names now after three weeks at sea on Muriel’s Revenge, and a month with them watching over him in Dorshev. Senior Sergeant Aevirhon motioned for him to wait outside while Corporal Paeton went inside to check his suite for threats. Though he doubted he’d ever become completely accustomed to squads of these guardsmen dogging his every step, he had become resigned to the fact until his battle with Graith was finished or he was dead, he would have to let them do their jobs with at least feigned patients. His thanks, however, was genuine. It was the Hammer’s sworn duty to protect him with their lives. How could he at least not show them they were appreciated? Jack laid a hand on the Corporal Paeton’s shoulder as he returned to let him know his room was safe to enter.
“I promise to get this business done as quickly as possible Corporal,” he said, giving him a reassuring pat. Paeton’s wife, he’d learned on the voyage to Lordsisle, had given birth to their first child, a daughter, three days before the conclusion of Ljmarn Haelfest. Her name was…Eylonna. “We’ll get you back to Immer long before little Eylonna learns to walk.”
That he was surprised and pleased the High King knew his infant his daughter’s name was plainly evident by his beaming smile. “I will go home when duty allows, My Lord,” the sergeant replied. “Gemma is accustomed to my absence. Though in truth, when I was accepted into the Hammer, she never expected I’d actually be serving a High King.”
