The Revenge of the Elves (23 page)

“And you shall have it!” Gretchen slammed her palm on the table and stood up. “We can question the heir and his friends when Bethany is more refreshed. She has already brought our attention to the passage. Though her insights are profound, we won’t be analyzing the Tomes any further tonight.”

“It is now up to our guests to provide us with their perceptivity,” Emmeline agreed. “Rose? Would you escort Bethany to her chamber?” Emmeline asked. “After such praiseworthy work, she deserves a respite from our questions.”

Rose walked to Bethany’s side and assisted her out of her chair. Of all the sisters, Rose’s propensity for healing had developed the fastest, and Bethany was in dire need of her services.

“You must summon me when you question them. Promise me that. I shall get no sleep otherwise,” Bethany demanded of Emmeline and Gretchen together.

“Surely we shall, sister. We shall,” Emmeline replied. “Now get some rest,” she said sternly.

“I want your pledge. Promise me,” Bethany insisted, resisting Rose’s efforts to lead her out. “I have questions for the boy.”

“I promise,” Emmeline swore, cutting off her words, and Bethany looked to Gretchen.

“Yes, yes. I promise too. Now go before you collapse right here on the floor.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

He leapt from the saddle and landed square upon both of his feet. The ground was uneven. He touched the surface lightly, despite the speed with which his mount was traveling, cushioned by pillows of air. His pace was inconsistent with the frenetic movements of his horse, yet he stood there before his opponent, sword drawn and ready. He looked to his teacher.

“Not bad, Dav,” Filaree came as close to giving him a compliment as she ever did. “Your balance was much better this time.” She stepped over one of the obstacles scattered around the training ground. None surpassed Filaree Par D’Avalain when it came to sword play and one to one combat. She had taught him how to remain centered under the most trying of circumstances, and how to use that focus to insulate himself from the extraneous effects of his opponent and the environment. His ability to manipulate the physical forces around him only enhanced her training.

“You must be aware of so much when you fight. There are no second chances in battle. Though a lot will become instinctual with time, as you have already discovered for yourself, the inner eye must first be trained to see. The elements of victory are there for you, Dav. You must find them in each encounter.”

Filaree wasn’t a large woman. Yet, her strength and agility were a match for any adversary. Davmiran, too, wasn’t a large or muscular boy, but he was now confident such characteristics were not singularly important. He was very strong, despite his fragile appearance. His muscles were toned through weeks of exercise, and Cairn’s constant training taught him how to intensify his own physical power, and thus enhance it exponentially.

“You can let her breathe,” Filaree said.

Davmiran dropped the sharp tip of his sword from Rella’s throat.

“I’m sorry, sister,” he said. She’d been standing there all this while.

“No need to apologize. I should have been quicker. If this were real, I’d be dead now. That’s the issue, isn’t it? The one that counts.” Rella bent and wiped the sweat from her hands on the legs of her trousers. Reaching for the reins of her horse she asked, “Another round?”

Rella wasn’t alone among the sisters in her aptitude for physical combat, but she was the best. When they were called upon to defend the Tower, she would lead them, sword in hand. Now she swung her leg over the saddle, and within moments, sat erect and ready on her horse. Davmiran, too, climbed on his horse’s back so easily he made the sixteen hands high animal seem a pony.

“How would you have us begin this time, Filaree?” he asked. His clothes were scarcely disheveled and his hair was still neatly tied behind his head despite the three grueling hours of training he’d already put in this morning.

“Turn your backs to one another and walk twenty paces,” she instructed. “Now, shut your eyes and keep them shut. Maneuver your way around the outer edge of the area in whatever direction you choose. The point is to avoid the other. Use all your senses, but keep your eyes closed. If you open them, you lose,” Filaree ordered. Rella began surveying the area with her senses while Filaree continued to explain the rules. “Should one of you touch the other, or should your horse touch the other’s horse, dismount immediately, both of you. The first to draw his or her blade and raise it within five inches of the other, will be the victor,” she explained. “No blood can be drawn. Not a drop. Remember, when your blade is unsheathed, point it with great care.”

The circle was fifty paces in diameter. They each stood at the very edge opposite one another.

“When you’re ready, raise your right hand.”

Filaree unfolded a stool and sat upon it in the middle of the circle.

Their horses pranced in place, reined in tight. Rella’s arm shot up followed by Davmiran’s.

Filaree said, “Begin.”

Davmiran didn’t move. He felt the air wafting over the back of his arms. The breeze came from behind him. His scent would be upon it. He envisioned the battlefield, listening to the sounds the wind, or its absence, generated, isolating them; finding the cause of each, a tilted chair, a boulder, a stack of harnesses. The noises bounced off of his eardrums, and he circumscribed the space like an animal with nocturnal radar, forming images in his mind. He breathed in silence, and from the scents and changes in the air’s density that even the slightest movements created, he precisely defined the space. With closed eyes, he saw all he needed to. It had become so much more than visual experience. But he knew Rella was as adept as he was, if not even a slight bit better, at this same exercise. He’d have to neutralize his disadvantage right away.

Rella tilted her head to the left and turned it so that her right ear was open to the wind. She heard Davmiran’s horse’s tail swish, and his location revealed itself. She focused her hearing, listening with both ears independent of one another. That had been so hard to learn, but now she mastered it. She absorbed the sounds instead of interpreting them, and responded to them without the cerebral processing that would bog down her response and slow her actions. Until Filaree had taught her this, the mental translation of the physical experience dominated her choices.

A brush of air grazed her cheek. Her nostrils flared. The flow of pine scent from the trees on the far side of the circle was interrupted. His location crystallized in her mind’s eye. She eased her horse to the left, leaning in that direction and pressing her right knee and thigh against its side, just a slight touch.

As it turned, Dav’s nose became filled with the animal’s smell. He knew where it was going. He stepped forward instead of away.

With one ear, Rella heard the grass bend, and with the other, an echo; a space opened up on the opposite side of the circle. He’d moved. She backed her horse toward the middle of the battlefield.

Davmiran stood perfectly still. He held his breath and placed his left hand on the side of his horse’s neck, relaxing it. It’s breath slowed and it was calm. Rella’s horse bent its right rear leg and gave away her location as completely as if she had spoken aloud. Dav swung around. The dust rose around his horse’s hocks.

Rella felt the weight shift, the tremor in the ground, the muffled sound through the settling particles. The breeze changed. It came from her left. Anticipating Davmiran’s response to her horse’s movement even before he took a step, she spun in the opposite direction and bolted forward. Her animal’s flank stood sideways against the perimeter of trees, escaping his mental scrutiny once more.

Davmiran faced her square on, but unsure of her location. He leaned to the left and lost his focus. Level with the trees as she was, the wind blowing across her and away from him, he couldn’t piece together the sensations into a coherent image. He thought he reacted to her movement but she had outwitted him. With the trees silhouetting her, she was better than invisible.

He stepped forward. The vibrations were too dense. He realized it, but it was too late. His horse nuzzled hers.

They leapt from their saddles according to the rules of the exercise, but Rella was waiting and her sword was already drawn before the tip of Davmiran’s cleared its sheath. She thrust it out to within five inches of his chest.

“Stop!” Filaree shouted from her seat. “Remove the blindfolds.”

Twenty-eight

“We must send whatever reinforcements we can to his aid. Eleutheria will never again sit idly by when its friends are threatened,” King Whitestar said to his wife. He’d learned what denial could cost and vowed not to repeat his past mistakes.

“Friends? The Baron of Tamarand is an ally of ours?” she asked.

“Anyone who has not embraced Caeltin is an ally! Until the Gem is found, you must remember that,” he snapped. He loved Emerial but she was mired in the old rivalries and the old ways. It dismayed him that she still believed, after all that had happened, that Eleutheria could survive on its own, apart from the rest of the world. Had she learned nothing? “The sides have been chosen and none can remain neutral any longer. Either we are on the same side or we are on opposite ones. There is no middle ground.” It took Alemar’s courage to teach him that. And Kalon’s death.

“I did not mean to question your decision, my dear. These issues are new to me. We have been so far removed from the events of the world until recently, that I’m simply unaware of who is who,” she apologized. “Has Crea spoken to you on behalf of the Lalas?”

“We have spoken, but he disclosed only facts to me. The decision was mine to make.” Crea revealed so little these days. He seemed troubled and uncertain himself, so unusual for a Chosen.

“The Dark One is on the march once again?” she asked.

“Soon, it seems he will be. He is preparing for war and they’re sure Tamarand will be his next victim,” he replied.

“Robyn dar Tamarand’s home,” she said to herself. “I should have suspected as much. We were concerned he would draw us further into this conflict, were we not?”

Emerial never trusted Robyn and Whitestar never understood why. Whenever he visited Eleutheria, he spoke to them of great changes and upheavals in the balance, but she dismissed his words. She was busy keeping the peace between her son and his half-sister, managing the rivalry she knew pained Kalon so. And it always escalated when Robyn came to visit. Alemar cleaved to him and he incited her. Kalon came away the loser in her husband’s eyes when the two argued, though he pretended otherwise. She blamed the Chosen from Tamarand for that and he knew it, though she never said so directly.

“It is not he who foists this upon us. Your distrust is misdirected,” he said, immediately regretting his tone of voice. “Forgive me, Emerial. I forget myself. How can I blame you for echoing my very own beliefs? It was I who taught our people that isolation was acceptable. It was I who kept us apart from my brothers and everyone else,” King Whitestar said, staring hard at the floor. For years he refused to listen, to see what was going on around him. “It was I who engendered mistrust.”

“And it was both our son and daughter who brought us all back together,” she reminded him.

Both of them. Not Alemar alone. She told him this often. Too often. “Yes. And may the First never let me forget the sacrifice it took!” the King replied. He let Kalon persuade him to ignore Alemar’s warnings. But in the end, his young son redeemed himself. Though he snuck out of the city in the dead of night without a word of farewell, he fought bravely on the plains of Lormarion and helped secure the victory at Seramour. The blame for his denial belonged to Whitestar alone.

“I miss him dearly,” Emerial said. She sounded so tired. “Though he was difficult at times, he was my child.”

“And mine. We can’t fault Kalon for the path he followed. I allowed it, I condoned it and I encouraged it! In my zeal to keep our people safe, I lost sight of the very meaning of the word. It pains me so.”

“But you discovered it once again, and my son…” she paused. “Our children and soldiers vindicated us in the woods of Lormarion!” she reminded him. “You must stop blaming yourself. It’s not productive, Whitestar. Kalon died saving Alemar. Maybe If not for her…”

“At what cost was our redemption?” he interrupted. He was so angry still with himself he hardly heard her. “Must we always pay so dearly for our mistakes?” he asked. “I can’t easily forget my own.” The images of Eleutheria melting away to nothing plagued him during his restless nights.

“Grave mistakes exact like penalties,” she replied.

“And thus we shall not repeat them! I will never forget the price we all paid for my negligence,” Whitestar said, pounding his fist upon the table. “The trees around the city have grown so dense and impenetrable that they serve us defensively now, as well as any army could. We can send our warriors into the field again, this time for the Baron, without sacrificing our own security. If Caeltin D’Are Agenathea attacks Calipee, Eleutheria’s banners will fly alongside the Baron’s own.” He wouldn’t sit idly by. Not another time.

Emerial stood behind the King and placed both her hands upon his shoulders as he sat. Bare and sketchy reports had reached them recently regarding his daughter since she departed for Sedahar with her two companions, and though he was informed by his sister- in-law, Elsinestra, that they had succeeded in freeing Premoran from the Dark One’s clutches, he knew nothing of their current whereabouts. It had been only a few weeks since the carrier bird delivered the sad news of Clovis’ demise, and the city still mourned the loss of the courageous soldier. Though he longed for the next appearance of the messengers, he dreaded it as well.

When he approached the Chosen, Crea spoke little of Alemar and her travels, despite Whitestar’s inquiries, maintaining that she was still deep in the Dark Lord’s territories, and that even the Lalas could gather no significant news, aside from what he already knew. In the meantime, rumors, coupled with these scant facts, fueled Princess Alemar’s godlike image in the eyes of the people of Eleutheria, and her stature now rivaled that of her ancestor, Alicea, the Ice Princess of legend, to whom she was often likened. Yet Whitestar remembered only his daughter. His sweet, headstrong daughter.

“Are we truly safe, Whitestar?” she asked.

“As safe as we could be in this world today,” he replied. “No army can penetrate the barrier of trees. It yields only to our entreaties. What better defense could this city have? The ground is once more frozen, and the mountain’s tears no longer flow freely down its sides. The waters have become like stone again.”

Eleutheria glistened like in the days past, but the walls of the great city were streaked with the frozen scars of battle, a battle with forces armies alone could not defeat. The forests surrounding it rose fearless and formidable, sown from the seeds brought back by his daughter. Seeds that absorbed the heat that threatened to turn Eleutheria into a river of regrets, a river of death.

“Will the men go willingly to war so soon after the last battle?” Emerial questioned. She stared out the etched windows toward the stockade-like growth surrounding them.

“Yes. Each of them saw how close we came to utter destruction by pulling in our horns and ignoring what was happening all around us. None wish to err in that manner again. They will go,” he replied, convincingly.

“Then we should inform them of your decision. I would like the men to have some time with their families and loved ones after they learn of it. They will be the better for it when it comes time to fight. Let them say goodbye before they depart. All mothers should have the chance to say goodbye to their sons…” Emerial said.

“A wise idea, my dear,” he agreed. “Will you accompany me after the troops are gathered?”

“Must I? These leave-takings pain me.” She drew away from him.

“You are their Queen. If Alemar were here then perhaps she…” He paused. “No, it is your duty.” Emerial flushed at the mention of his daughter and he noticed it. “She’ll return to us one day. Do you fear we will lose her too? Is that why it’s so hard for you to see others say goodbye to the ones most dear to them?” He’d hoped her feelings would change about Alemar.

“He still visits me in my dreams,” she spoke as if Whitestar wasn’t there, as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d just said.

Kalon again. He was visiting her in her waking hours too these days, Whitestar feared. “You must let go, Emerial. Such sadness is unhealthy. We all have regrets, but they are wasteful. I do not wish to regret my choices any longer,” Whitestar said. “Let your memory of Kalon be a reminder of what one can do, if one chooses! Is it not all about choice after all? The fabric may weave around us, but we set the thread to loom!”

“Choice? I wonder…”

“Do you harbor doubts?” Whitestar turned to look at her. She spoke strangely, unlike before Kalon’s death. Laughter had left her eyes the moment her son disappeared and it returned only fleetingly, when she seemed to forget he was truly dead and gone.

“I’m sorry. What did you ask me?” Her eyes were blank pools.

“Complacency can only lead to loss. We have learned that already, have we not? But we can’t expect that actions, no matter how right, will be without consequences. They will simply be easier to bear by virtue of the rightness of them,” he said.

“I suppose,” she replied, staring out the window once more into the frozen mounds below.

Queen Aliya leaned against the stone balustrade of her study and aimlessly watched the people milling in the square below.
I should have told him. He had a right to know. Before he left. Before this journey.
She shuffled the papers on the table without looking at them. The sun was brilliant this morning, and the air was as crisp and as clear as it had ever been.
Why is this so hard for me? He’s my son. He’ll understand… he will understand.
Images of Beolan flickered across her mind’s eye, and try as she might, she was unable to bring them into focus. Though the birds chirped and the waters tumbled from Silandre’s mouth, she could scarcely hear them. Castle Crispen bustled with activity but it might as well have been empty altogether. What went on around her was less and less interesting as time passed. She lifted the quill pen and twirled it in her hand.
What if he doesn’t return? He’ll never know the truth. Because of me. Because I’m weak. What have I done?
she wondered. The pen snapped between her fingers.

King Bristar walked in to the jingle of the countless rings of silver that adorned his vest. Aliya didn’t turn to greet him.

“I have come to a decision!” he stated. “We must send however many we can to Tamarand’s aid.” His declaration was greeted with silence. “Did you hear me?” Bristar asked, surprised at her lack of a response. “Have you no thoughts on the subject?”

She turned to him slowly. “I’m sorry, Bristar, my darling. My mind was elsewhere. What is it you have decided?” she asked.

“Are you alright, Aliya?” She looked tired. “Have I interrupted you from something?”

“No. Nothing really,” she replied, but he knew otherwise. “I’m feeling rather melancholy, that’s all. I can’t put my finger upon the reason, but our son is in my thoughts.” She wouldn’t make Bristar suffer for her mistakes. Not now.

Bristar reached for her arm. “He is in mine as well, but that is not unusual. Maringar is a rugged and loyal companion for him. I rest more easily knowing they’re together,” he replied, though he hadn’t been resting well at all in fact. His sleep was plagued with dreams and visions which he divulged to no one, not even her. “You miss him, Aliya. So do I. That’s natural. There was no one else whom we could entrust with the key, and you know that as well as I do.”

“I do not regret his leaving on this pursuit. Do not mistake my sadness for doubt. But fear nags at me nonetheless, despite how irrational that may sound,” she tried to explain, but she could not tell him everything.

“It doesn’t sound irrational at all,” he stroked her arm. “He chose freely to take this charge upon him, though it’s a dangerous and difficult one. The lands he had to pass through and the uncertainty of these times imperil him. They imperil us all. I too have faith in his ability and his prowess,” Bristar said. “And I too fear for him. There is no contradiction in that.” He paused. “Have you more reason to be concerned than you are telling me?” Aliya had the sight of her grandmother. She was prescient and her forebodings sprung from circumstance more than speculation. She didn’t reply. “You do, don’t you?”

Aliya shook her head and her heavy earrings rang like tolling bells. “Something is bothering me, but I can’t determine what. I know he’s in danger, but that’s not it.” She broke free of his touch and walked toward the hearth. The wood sparked and crackled as the draft sucked the smoke up the flue pipe. “We are all in danger these days. You know, Bristar, that Beolan and I have always shared a special closeness. When he was only a child, I knew when he was hurt or in trouble and I do so now as well. It’s the same for him. You remember that time when I fell from the rock and shattered my elbow? He jumped from his bed, even though he didn’t find out about the accident for hours. Things haven’t changed between us.”
I need him to forgive me. My son…

“I remember,” Bristar replied. This conversation was leading to places he wasn’t anxious to go. “You’re feeling guilty again.”

“Hush dear. We shall not speak of that now. It’s for me to deal with, not you,” There was no room for negotiation on this matter. It wasn’t his burden to bear. “He is walking into danger and there is nothing I can do about it. I feel helpless. But it’s more than that,” she continued. “It feels almost like frustration, as if a lack of communication or a simple mistake is hindering his progress. Something. I can’t put my finger on it…”

“There is nothing we can do to help him now. You know that. We must trust his skills will guide him past whatever obstacles lay before him,” he said. Beolan was their only child and heir to the throne of Crispen. Aliya had been unable to conceive again after he was born, and they consoled themselves by believing they loved him too dearly to ever share this love with another.

“Is there nothing? Nothing at all?”

“What would you suggest? We only know where he’s headed. We don’t know where he is. And you’re not sure anything serious is wrong. Are you?” he asked.

“No. I’m not. It’s just a feeling.” She pulled the window closed and the draft made the fire pop and burn. “I’m sorry to bother you with my worries. It’s so unlike me to do that,” she admonished herself. She forced a smile and turned to face him. “Come. Sit with me and tell me again what you have decided. It’s better I focus my thoughts upon more productive endeavors.”