fableweaver - Tumblr blog

fableweaver · 4 years

Text

Arc of the Cursed Monk

They had left the Court of Fates with little fan fair, even Kaden could not see them off he was so preoccupied with negotiations with the Princes for war. The only one to see them off was Jeanne, and that was from a distance as she glared at them as they left. Despite their promise to save the two she cared for she still seemed to hate them for being Regarian. Glen hoped that their success would help alleviate some of that hate; no one should live with such hatred in their blood.

As they rode out of the city and onto the dusty highway that lead south Glen signaled to Horace. They rode a little further ahead so Horace could talk without Pricilla overhearing. Glen made the sign of wisdom and question, Horace shrugging.

“Is this wise? Probably not,” Horace said. “But from my understanding it was Jeanne’s servant, Lucia, that was behind the assassination. Now that she is no longer the pretend Queen it should be safe for Pricilla to return. I know though that it will not be easy for Pricilla.”

Glen was not so sure that Lucia was no longer a threat, he has sensed when she had cut the thread from Arke. He had spent that night weeping, unable to go to Arke to ease the pain in her spirt. He did not know what it had cost her, but he was sure it was much. He did not hate Lucia for cutting the thread, he feared why she had. Still he did not have the ability to pass these fears to Horace, and he admitted he could be wrong. Maybe Lucia’s pain in torture had severed the thread, or maybe she was already dead. If she was still alive then Glen wanted to save her.

They rode along the south highway, the road no longer as well travelled as it once was. War had made merchants fear traveling to sell their goods, and the Rhodin had long since fled the Mark and Regis for Nyrgard and Daun. The followers of the Crippled One also roamed the roads, looking for sacrifices and to maintain their control on the villages that lay between the kingdoms. Glen had to use all his senses of the threads to avoid those that meant them harm, Horace and Pricilla unaware of his work. Horace knew to listen to Glen when he signaled, they should stop or ride hard, though he had no full understanding of Glen’s power he knew to listen.

When they reached the border of Regis they met with a coterie of knights, guarding the highway. They stopped when hailed and a few knights rode to meet them, three bearing lances while the fourth wore livery of a count. Glen wondered what they would make of their party, a man dressed in mail, one in Aldan robes, and a woman in travel skirts. Though all three of them were obviously Regarian they hardly looked it.

“State your business in Regis,” the count ordered, not even bothering introducing himself.

“I am Sir Horace De Modeste,” Horace answered, they had decided to state the truth when they met in Regis. “This….”

“Scum!” the count shouted cutting Horace off as he drew his sword. “You are the criminal wanted for the kidnap of the Princess and blasphemy of the gods! Capture him!”

The three knights immediately lowered their lances, horses shying away from the lowered weapons.

“Wait!” Pricilla shouted shrilly but the knights didn’t seem to hear as one lashed out with his lance. Horace expertly dodged, guiding his horse with his knees as another knight tried to unhorse him. Glen gathered his power, pulling on the aether as Bailey had recently taught him before they had separated again. Calling lightning was not an easy task of the Elder Magic, the air had to be charged already with a storm. Glen was fortunate enough that there was just enough charge to call lightning, it struck a nearby tree, the knight’s horses throwing them and fleeing back to the camp. Only the Count managed to keep his seat even after the ear splitting crack of thunder in the air.

“Sir knight!” Pricilla said loudly and he looked at her shell shocked. “I am Pricilla Drasir. These two men had saved my life from the assassin that killed my mother, the assassin sent by the then false queen. They are not guilty of the crimes you list.”

“My lady,” the count said bowing. “I am glad to see you alive, but the matter of these men’s guilts shall be determined by the king. Come, I will take you back to the king and see these men in chains.”

“No!” Pricilla said strongly. “I will not go with you if you will treat them as so. I am princess of Regis and of the Nine Kingdoms, my word is far above yours. These two men will accompany me to Care Leon where I will reward them for the stalwart duty they did for not only the High Throne but to me.”

The count set his mouth in a fine line, looking like he wished to argue, but Pricilla stared him down. These were not orders of a petty little girl trying to get her way, these were the orders of a Princess of the highest house in the Nine. The count bowed in the saddle; Pricilla had won.

“Very well milady,” the man answered. “Still I shall accompany you south…”

“No, you have a station here,” Pricilla said cutting him off. “Or will you also ignore the orders of your king?”

“No milady,” the count said shocked. “Then at least permit me to send some knights to accompany you.”

Pricilla looked ready to refuse him again, so Glen waved his hand to her. She looked at him and he shook his head, Pricilla frowning but nodding.

“Very well, but only five knights,” Pricilla said. “I will not remove more from their stations protecting Regis and my people from war.”

Glen saw the surprise on the Count’s face, but the man quickly covered it, Pricilla was proving more than he had expected it seemed.

“Very well,” he said. They were sent on their way with some supplies and five knights following them. The men did not introduce themselves and seemed to glare at Glen and Horace as they continued down the highway.

“Here milady,” Horace said handing Pricilla a bag. “Your jewels, I am sorry to have kept them.”

“I do not need them,” Pricilla said handing them back.

“You do, they will identify you as the Princess of Regis,” Horace said.

“The Aldan did not wear jewels,” Pricilla answered. “They wore their nobility in their bearing, all knew their queen when they saw her.”

“You are not a princess of Alda milady,” Horace said politely, Glen hearing his effort not to scold. “You are a Princess of Regis.”

Pricilla chewed on that a moment before taking the bag from Horace.

“I will don them before the city,” Pricilla said, and Horace nodded.

They rode on, their escort of knights a cold wall behind them. Horace slowly rode back to join them. He attempted small talk, but the knights ignored him, despite Pricilla’s words Horace had been found guilty in their eyes. But Horace kept at it, offering jokes and compliments as they rode. When they stopped to rest, he offered aid to the more heavily armored men, not in way of a servant by as a peer.

Horace treated Pricilla with a loyal formality, so Glen quickly followed suit. Glen also still regularly cast his prayers to Empyria, a habit he had never broken. Horace’s charm and Glen’s obvious piety slowly swayed their knight companions that the crimes they were accused of were obviously false and they were soon joking and talking with Horace as if he were one of their own.

Only Pricilla seemed to becoming annoyed with the formality Horace was now treating her with, she frowned and even tried to order him to stop being so formal but Horace simply said “yes milady” and continued. She looked ready to argue more when Horace pulled her aside.

“I am trying to gain these men’s trust Pricilla,” he said lowly, Glen standing between them and watching the knights as they prepared their horses for riding again. “I cannot do that if it seems like I act too harsh on you.”

“My word should be enough for them,” Pricilla said.

“Your word will never be enough,” Horace said. “And I am doing everything to make sure that I seem like I am your sworn knight and nothing more.”

“More?” Pricilla asked puzzled.

“Pricilla there will be rumors after your return that you are no longer pure…”

“But I am!” Pricilla said almost too lough and Horace shushed her.

“All the same there will be rumors,” Horace said. “As your sworn knight I will be far less likely to have done anything to you. Even then you might not escape, with Glen being a Sect we can hope that most will believe you. But some will try to suggest otherwise, to tarnish you enough that Elrik will marry you away to someone lesser or to weaken the Drasir name. You cannot give them fuel.”

Pricilla frowned angrily but they had to mount and start riding again before she could argue more. Glen realized then that though Pricilla had been a Princess of the Court of Miracles, her mother and age had protected her mostly from the dangers of the court. Her time in Alda had taught her little given the lack of intrigue in the Court of Dreams. She was to have a hard time in her return.

They rode along the southern highway, passing some merchants and staying at inns. The knights did not need persuading to keep Pricilla’s identity secret, it was far easier to guard an anonymous lady than a Princess of Regis. When they reached Cair Leone, it was as any other traveler along the dusty highway. Glen had expected to see a change in the city, Regis was still at war after all, but there was none. Cair Leone was still bustling, merchants still sold, and people still had lives.

The only change Glen could see was the beggars. Normally confined to Poor Man’s Paradise, the poorest residents of Cair Leone went unseen by most. Now there were beggars even in Odd Terminal as they rode into the city. Glen guessed even more refugees from the war had swelled the poor numbers to beyond the control of the city guards. Even as they rode into the Merchant quarter there were still beggars. They passed all as if none existed, Glen fearing he was the only one to see them until he looked at Pricilla. The Princess was frowning as they rode, Glen wishing he could ask her what she was thinking.

“Does it worry you?” Horae asked Pricilla lowly.

“Can there really be that many people that need to beg?” Pricilla answered.

“War levels many,” Horace answered. Glen wished he could argue, it was not just war that caused this. These people had been poor before the war, or just barely above. They never had the means to survive when disaster struck, so when it did, they had nothing. He had seen himself the difference of the lives from the Lords of Regis and the peasants of Regis. One man had more wealth than thousands combined, and neither knew how the other lived they were so far apart.

Even if he could speak Glen was sure his words would fall on deaf ears.

They rode up to the palace and were stopped by the guards, Horace having to formally announce Pricilla. Fortunately, they did not have to wait long, but the palace hummed with their arrival. It was not long for their horses to be led away, and servants hurrying to take their things. A servant asked if Pricilla wanted a bath drawn in her rooms, but Pricilla ignored him, marching past into the palace. Horace and Glen followed, no one stopping them. Pricilla marched through the halls to the throne room, Glen surprised at what they found there.

Elrik sat on a grand golden throne, the pelt of a black bear draped over one arm of the throne. He was opulently dress and wore his crown, looking surprised at their entry. At his side on the floor was what was left of Lucia. Glen recognized her even through the bronze mask, she wore a gray shift and a collar that was chained to Elrik’s throne. Her eyes met his and he balked at the mad merciless glint in them. Her spirit and threads drifted around her, untethered to Miread. She was drawing away from the world, having no care or love for life.

“Pricilla,” Elrik said surprised, not rising but his tone was not unwelcome. “I thought you were dead.”

“No, were it not for these two men I would be,” Pricilla said. “This is Sir Horace and Sect Glen, they saved me from the assassin that killed mother. The one sent by that woman there.”

Elrik raised an eyebrow and looked down at Lucia who cringed away from him. Glen did not see fear in her eyes however, she was only playing a part.

“Well, you see now she is paying for those crimes,” Elrik said as he shrugged. “And you are back unharmed?”

The question did not go unnoticed, Glen hearing the whispers go up among the court.

“Majesty,” Horace said as he took one knee before Elrik. “I can swear to the gods and you that Princess Pricilla is chaste and untouched, I guarded her with my life.”

More whispers but Elrik nodded pleased.

“The gods are fickle,” Elrik said. “But I trust the word of a man of steel and loyalty to me. I should reward one such as you.”

“Majesty the only reward I ask is to stay by the Princess’s side,” Horace said. “I have sworn to protect her, I must keep my oath.”

“Very well,” Elrik said. “Come Pricilla, sit by me so we can talk of where you have been.”

Pricilla nodded as a servant hurried to put a chair next to Elrik’s throne. The court went back to the conversations, many of them low to discuss this new event and gossip about where Pricilla had gone to escape the assassin. Pricilla took her seat, Horace and Glen standing to the side just within earshot. Glen noted a few servants saddle closer as well, the gossips of court would soon learn all of the coming conversation.

“So where have you been?” Elrik asked her lowly.

“Sir Horace took me to the Court of Dreams,” Pricilla answered, Elrik’s face growing dark.

“Why there?” Elrik asked.

“To be safe,” Pricilla answered. “The Queen treated me well.”

“You were hardly safe there,” Elrik said. “The army that killed father was moving into the forest.”

Glen knew it was only because Elrik was letting them, he was making no effort to stop the Orc army. And Glen doubted had Elrik known Pricilla was in the Court of Dreams that he would have changed his mind about letting the Aldan be wiped out.

“We didn’t know that then,” Pricilla said. “And we left before the war was getting too bad. We went to the Court of Fates then with an emissary that the Queen sent to request aid from the Mark.”

“And will they?” Elrik asked angrily and Pricilla nodded. Elrik slammed his fist on his throne, making Lucia wince away again. “Traitorous scum.”

“They only agreed if Alda promised to aid the Mark in overthrowing you,” Pricilla said afraid.

“How?” Elrik said. “They have no contender to the throne.”

“They do,” Pricilla said. “I saw him, he is the bastard of Terrian Alvar.”

“A bastard!” Elrik growled. “A bastard cannot inherit; his claim is far weaker than mine.”

“Some would like to see an Aldan on the High Throne once more,” Pricilla said and Elrik grumbled.

“Well they won’t,” Elrik answered. “I already have Dridia on my side, Lord Varus is in my pocket. He has gone to Xin to get me a bride from the king’s harem, so Xin will fight for us. And the Hyrians can be bought.”

“Hyria might not,” Pricilla said and Elrik glared at her. “Alora sent an emissary to them as well.”

“Alda doesn’t have the gold to buy Hyria,” Elrik scoffed. “And if Wildlough is smart he would not turn against me.”

Pricilla nodded; Glen glad she did not voice the doubt that was obvious on her face.

“But maybe I should make sure he does not,” Elrik said. “Now that you are back, what better way to make sure of Hyria’s loyalty than to join our houses?”

“You mean to marry me to the King of Hyria?” Pricilla asked quietly.

“It would be the most advantageous,” Elrik said nodding as he looked out over his court, he seemed ignorant that anyone could hear him. “You just reached marriable age after all. And he is a King, what better for a Princess of the High Throne.”

Pricilla glared at Elrik, hatred and pride on her face, Glen surprised that she felt that way. She schooled her face when Elrik turned to her, looking down to hide her displeasure.

“It would be an honor,” Pricilla said.

“Good, I’ll see about sending a message to the King then,” Elrik said. “It’s about time that wild dog came to a heel.”

“Of course,” Pricilla said and stood. “Forgive me brother, my journey has wearied me, I wish to return to my rooms.”

Elrik just nodded, waving her off uninterested. Pricilla left as Elrik leaned over his throne to casually strike Lucia several times as they left. Horace and Glen fell into step with Pricilla, Glen determined not to turn back to look at Lucia.

“Are you alright?” Horace asked Pricilla lowly as they left the throne room.

“No, how dare he decide so casually who I will marry like I’m some cow for auction!” Pricilla said angrily.

“It would have happened either way,” Horace answered. “What woman has chosen her husband?”

“The Aldan did,” Pricilla said. “All the ladies of court said they got to choose their spouse, or at least had a say. I deserve much better than Wildlough.”

“Better than one of the Kings of the Nine?” Horace said and Pricilla frowned. “Who?”

Pricilla gaped seeming off guard as she considered Horace a moment.

“You’re an oaf,” she said, her cheeks pink. Horace stared at her puzzled as she turned on her heel and continued down the hall. Horace looked at Glen, but he shrugged, not sure what Pricilla had meant. Shrugging they both followed her as she marched away down the hall. They did not get far when a lord hailed them. They turned to see Lord Lucas followed by grant Sect Ichabod.

Pricilla stopped as her uncle came up and embraced her, holding her at arm’s length.

“My how you’ve grown,” he said smiling. “I am so glad to see you alive and well.”

“It was all thanks to Sir Horace and Sect Glen,” Pricilla said smiling up at her uncle.

“Sect?” Ichabod said scandalized. “That man is condemned for blasphemy.”

“He saved my life, and I will not have you insult him,” Pricilla said strongly and both men stared at her shocked. “Sect Glen is one of the most devout followers of the Sect, you should be proud of him.”

“Pricilla…” Lord Lucas said both scandalized and about to scold but Pricilla turn on him with bright eyes.

“No Uncle you will heed me,” Pricilla said strongly. “Would you really punish one who saved my life? If you do, I will never talk to you again.”

Glen expected Lucas to argue, but instead he smiled and turned to Ichabod.

“Well it seems she is far stronger willed than even her mother,” Lucas said. “Do you think it will be enough?”

“Maybe,” Ichabod said impressed.

“Do not ignore me,” Pricilla said, almost stamping her foot like a little girl. Horace cleared his throat and she turned to him angrily. He simply tipped his head to the side with a look he reserved for when she was being the pettiest. Pricilla noticed and cooled her tempter, looking back at her Uncle and Ichabod. “Will you heed my request?” She asked a little more calmly.

“Well Sect Ichabod?” Lucas asked looking at Ichabod. The man frowned and looked at Glen.

“You swear servitude to the Sect Glen De Modeste?” Ichabod said. Glen shook his head and Ichabod glowered. Glen made the sign of Empyria and the gods, then the sign of oath. He was glad to see Ichabod chastised and the man nodded. “Of course, you swear then loyalty and love for the gods?”

Glen nodded making the sign of deep love and loyalty.

“My brother of course cannot speak,” Horace said. “I hope this is enough.”

“It is,” Ichabod said sounding tired. “At these times I believe we no longer have to liberty of turning against our own.”

“That is why we need you Pricilla,” Lucas said. “Come, you must be tired, how about a meal and some tea.”

Pricilla nodded relieved as her Uncle lead her away to a private room. Glen and Horace followed them in, neither Lucas or Ichabod arguing to their presence. Servants came in and started to set out a meal, rich dishes of meat, pastry, cheese, and fruits. Glen and Horace sat to Pricilla’s left, Ichabod and Lucas to her right. Glen looked up suddenly at one of the servants and met the dead eyes of the assassin that Lucia had employed to kill Pricilla. The man set down the dish he carried, not even blinking as Glen recognized him.

Horace turned and tensed as well but Glen messaged him to be calm. Pricilla did not react; she had never recovered her memories of the attack so did not recognize the man. He stepped back and took his place along the wall with another servant, unnoticed by everyone but Horace and Glen. Determined not to draw attention Glen looked away from the assassin to watch what transpired at the table, keeping in mind unfriendly ears were now watching.

“So, tell us where you have been all this time?” Lucas asked, sounding very much the concerned uncle. Pricilla launched into her story of thinking she had been kidnapped to their journey to Alma, to her stay at the Court of Dreams, and then the revelation of Xavier the last Aldan King’s bastard, and then their journey to Warren. Glen almost stopped her, worried she would reveal their oath to Jeanne, but Pricilla did not mention it.

Lucas and Ichabod absorbed her story with stone faces, asking little and keeping silent. When Pricilla finished, they sat in silence a moment before Horace dared venture to speak.

“And what has transpired here in the Court of Miracles?” Horace asked. “We’ve heard that Elrik refuses to lend aid to Alda and turn Lir back to its borders.”

“He has,” Lucas said sounding tired. “Much against our wishes we assure you. This Loe who claims to be Emperor is not good for any of us and should Alda fall the Kingdoms will be so imbalanced it will be even harder to crush this cancer before it spreads to our borders.”

“But surely Elrik must be eager to fight,” Horace said. “He has always been blood-thirsty.”

“He would rather see Alda fall,” Lucas answered. “And believed that after the fall of Alda the Lirian forces will be so weakened by the effort it will be easy to defeat them.”

“That is non-sense,” Horace said horrified. “I’ve seen the Aldan forces, they are fighting to the women and children, the only reason they hold is because they fight in the forests that have been their homes for centuries. To the Orc armies they are little more than a kernel caught in their teeth.”

“So, I’ve told Elrik for months,” Lucas said. “He will not listen.”

“I fear the false god may have gotten to him,” Ichabod said gravely, and Glen looked at him shocked. “He has turned away from the advice and counsel of the Sect and the Gods.”

Glen waved his hands and Ichabod looked to him, he made the sign of knowledge, false, and gods.

“You have knowledge of the false god?” Ichabod said puzzled and a little wary.

“My brother has told me that it is an enemy of the Phay,” Horace said. “It is a dark spirit that pretends to be a god and seeks to destroy all of the kin of the Phay.”

“The Phay…” Ichabod said frowning, he was not pleased. Glen quickly made the sign of good, true, and friends. “The Phay are blasphemy that some suggest the gods were modeled after them,” Ichabod said watching Glen closely. “What about you?”

Glen made the sign of spirit, shook his head, then the sign of gods.

“They are spirits not gods?” Ichabod said. “What would be the difference?”

Glen made the sign of life and long time, then gods with the sign of eternity.

“So, the gods live forever when the Phay do not?” Ichabod said. Glen nodded and made the sign of death. “The Phay can die,” Ichabod said. Glen nodded and then signed spirits, shook his head, and made the sign of blasphemy. He made the sign of blasphemy, gods and spirits, and rumor. This time Horace interpreted his sign.

“I believe he means that the Phay are not blasphemy,” Horace said. “The blasphemy is saying that the gods are based on the Phay. Which I’m sure he doesn’t believe.”

Glen nodded and Ichabod seem to digest this for a bit.

“I agree, the suggestion is blasphemy,” Ichabod said. “Were that I could have a real conversation with you Sect Glen on the nature of these beliefs. But we cannot, so I will wait for a writing of yours on this subject. For now, is there anything more we need to know about the false god?”

Glen made the sign of cripple and singular.

“His name is the Crippled One?” Ichabod said intrigued. “Why?”

Glen held up his hands helpless, unable to explain naming or how such names came to be with only his hands.

“Another writing then,” Ichabod said sighing. “Very well, then can you tell me how it has ensorcelled our king?”

Glen though of how to answer, the Crippled One had not used any power to control Elrik, but he knew Lucia had in some way manipulated Elrik to. Though she was now a creature of the Crippled One, he wasn’t sure when the change had taken place. As far as he could see Elrik’s spirit was free of the Crippled One’s touch, it was most likely Elrik was acting on his own bad decisions. So, he decided to answer with as much truth he could.

He signed free, shook his head, and then signed darkness.

“He has not been controlled by the Crippled One?” Ichabod said and Glen nodded.

“Then there is a chance we can redeem him back to the gods,” Lucas said. Glen almost winced, he was unsure they could convince Elrik to listen. “That is what we need you for Pricilla. We need Elrik to marry and produce and heir, once he has, we can attack the Lirian army and win back Lir.”

“Me?” Pricilla said.

“You are his sister,” Ichabod said, and Pricilla made a face.

“He won’t listen to me,” Pricilla said. “He’d never listen to me.”

“Try,” Lucas said. “And keep trying, we need you to do this Pricilla.”

She looked from her uncle to Ichabod frowning.

“He does not listen to either of you?” Pricilla asked.

“His only advisor he listens to now is Lord Varus Lonelove,” Lucas said. “He has fortunately left court to get one of the Princesses of Xin to be Elrik’s bride. We cannot have a Xinian queen, we need a Regarian Queen. With how Elrik has been, taxes and bullying, many of the Regarian lords are discontent. He has shunned the Sect as well which has only made matters worse. He is Regis’s King as well as the High King, if he loses Regis, he loses his base and the High Throne will crumble. If he wants to keep his throne, he will need to mollify the Regarian lords, to do that he needs a good Regarian wife.”

Pricilla’s mouth puckered; she knew not to ask if they had told Elrik this. He had been told and he ignored their advice, how could Pricilla even manage?

“I will try,” she answered though Glen wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

“Thank you,” Ichabod said relieved. He opened his mouth, seeming to about to ask her how she was going to convince Elrik but Pricilla spoke first.

“I am tired now, I’ve had a trying journey here,” Pricilla said standing. “I wish to retire now.”

“Yes of course,” Lucas said standing as well. “Your rooms should be ready now.”

Pricilla nodded and left, going out into the halls and back to the women’s wing. Here where there used to be knights guarding there were none, Glen realized the women’s wing was now empty, there were no more women of the royal family but Pricilla. They arrived at Pricilla’s rooms to find everything freshly dusted with a meal laid out before the fire. She let Glen and Horace follow her in, locking the door behind them.

“Are we safe to speak now?” Horace asked and Pricilla nodded. “How do you plan to convince Elrik to marry? Or free Lucia and Nicodemus?”

“I don’t plan on convincing my brother of anything,” Pricilla said. “I only agreed because it was all I could do. It would be easier to convince him to go to battle, maybe then he’ll die and I can take the throne.

“As for Lucia and Nicodemus I was hoping you two could devise a plan, one that does not put suspicion on me.”

Glen’s mind spun, surprised at Pricilla.

“You plan on taking the throne?” Horace said shocked.

“Not the High Throne,” Pricilla said. “The Regarian one, Xavier can have the High Throne.”

“Regis has never had a single Queen,” Horace said. “And will the other Regarian lords really be alright with returning the High Throne to Alda?”

“I’m not sure,” Pricilla said as she sighed and stared at the fire. “I’m not sure how I will get the throne either. I just know that this course is the best for Regis right now. And I plan to do it.”

Glen realized then Pricilla had come to this decision on her own, sometime in the journey ago. In her too he also saw a person he would now be proud to call Queen, he only hoped it would be enough. Horace seemed to notice the same as he nodded.

“You’ve grown,” he said, and she looked at him. She blushed and nodded, seeming pleased. “Well then me and Glen will see about freeing Nicodemus and Lucia, perhaps we might also find a way to win you a throne.”

Pricilla smiled at him and it was Horace’s turn to blush a look away. Glen sighed and signed for attention, feeling bad about getting between the two. Horace looked at him and Glen signed, mask, shook his head, and darkness.

“Lucia?” Horace said and Glen nodded. “You don’t think we should rescue her?”

Glen made the sign of ability and shook his head.

“You don’t think we can rescue her,” Horace said.

“Why not?” Pricilla asked.

Glen signed darkness and false god.

“The Crippled One?” Horace asked and Glen nodded. “He has her now?” Glen nodded again.

“What do we do then?” Pricilla asked. “We swore we would save her.”

“I don’t believe we can,” Horace said. “I think Jeanne will be content with Nicodemus, he is her lover.”

“She seemed to care about her servant too,” Pricilla argued.

“I think if we free her now, she wouldn’t come with us anyways,” Horace said.

“We should still try,” Pricilla said.

Glen sighed again and signed he would try, which Horace conveyed to Pricilla.

“You should rest now Pricilla,” Horace said. “We’ll go about to see if we can save Lucia and Nicodemus.”

Glen shook his head and signed protect.

“I should stay here and guard Pricilla?” Horace said and Glen nodded. “Glen it is dangerous for you to go about court alone.”

Glen shook his head and signed power, pointing to himself. Horace sighed and looked from Pricilla to Glen.

“Very well,” Horace said. “Rest will milady, I will be outside your doors guarding you.”

“Thank you,” Pricilla said, and Glen and Horace left. Before Glen left, he walked in front of Pricilla’s doors and windows, setting wards. Pricilla and Horace did not question what he was doing, he had done it a lot on their travels and seemed to either know what he did or did not want to question him. His wards done Glen turned to leave.

“Be careful,” Horace said standing outside Pricilla’s door. Glen nodded and left, going down the halls. He passed servants and plenty of other nobles, but Glen went by unnoticed by most. He caught a few words here or there of gossip and was unsurprised to find most of it about the nobles of Regis and their daily lives rather than about war. There was no mention of Elrik’s search for a wife either, but Glen suspected the nobles were afraid of gossiping about their king. No, here everyone seemed to be ignoring the world at large and was only concerned with their own selfish interests.

Glen went to the throne room, glad to find Elrik had left, only a few courtiers and guards standing around. Lucia was alone, chained to Elrik’s throne like a forgotten dog. Her eyes burned though as Glen went up to her and knelt in front of her.

“I knew you would come,” Lucia said coldly. “Come to beg me back for that bitch?”

Glen was surprised to hear Lucia call her former mistress so. Though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, Jeanne had caused Lucia nothing but pain.

“No,” Lucia growled angrily, seeing his surprise. “The weaver.”

Glen nodded and made the sign of Iris.

“I am no one’s puppet,” Lucia said, though she didn’t understand Glen’s sign. Glen raised an eyebrow at that.

“I was Jeanne’s shield, her protector,” Lucia said. “I willingly gave what I did to serve her, she would have done the same for me.”

Glen pointed to her chains and mimed breaking.

“Jeanne sent you to free me?” Lucia asked and Glen nodded. “Well she’s too late for that. I’m not going back to be her pity pet.”

Glen could not read her face behind the mask, but somehow, he realized she was smirking at him; like a cat that knows it cornered a mouse yet the mouse did not know. He realized then why the assassin was still here, and that Lucia planned something. Glen nodded looking away to stand up and hide his realization. Lucia said nothing as he left, but he felt her eyes burning into his back as he left.

He wasn’t sure how much time they had, but he doubted it was much. He needed to convince Pricilla to leave, the how of that though eluded him. Whatever Lucia planned Glen doubted it planned for Pricilla to be in the picture. But first he still needed to keep his word to Lucia.

He found Nicodemus’ rooms by the threads in the air, and the guards that stood outside. His rooms were still by the library, he was still a lord after all. He feared the guards would not let him past, but they didn’t even question him as they let him in. It seemed they thought little of their captive and of Glen. Inside the room was dark, Glen supposed Nicodemus no longer had need of candles or light. He moved carefully through the room to a desk where he could just make out Nicodemus slumped over some books.

“I have tried to read for some time by touch,” he said as Glen stood over him. “Did you know the Aldan were kind enough to pen some books in such a way one without sight could read? Neither did I, though slow it might be it is more than I could ask for.”

Glen felt more than pity for Nicodemus, he himself having suffered mutilation could sympathize with another. He put a hand on Nicodemus’ shoulder, unable to communicate with a blind man.

“Thank you,” Nicodemus said. “I suppose you more than anyone can understand me. I recognized you by scent funnily enough, and the sound of your steps. I sadly do not have any reports for you of the whereabouts of the song, I am sorry you came here for nothing.”

Glen patted his shoulder earnestly, pulling on Nicodemus’ sleeve to get him to stand.

“That is not why you are here?” Nicodemus said surprised. “But what else would cause you to take such a risk as to come here?” Glen stopped puzzled, then realized he meant Lucia. He drew a question mark on Nicodemus’ shoulder and Nicodemus hung his head. “Ah, so you do not know. I am surprised not everyone in the palace knows of it, the servants have been talking of little else. Though I suppose they are less guarded around me, but I’m blind not deaf. I’ve heard of the coupe, it is hard for me to track the days, but I believe it to happen tonight, maybe tomorrow.”

Glen felt ice run down his spine and tugged more urgently on Nicodemus’ sleeve.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Nicodemus said. “I’ll welcome death when it comes, only one will mourn me.”

Glen wanted to shake him and decided that he would since it seemed the only way to communicate with Nicodemus. Grabbing him by the collar Glen shook Nicodemus, not too hard, but hard enough heard the other man’s teeth knock together. He stopped, gasping for breath, waiting for Nicodemus to respond.

“Well,” Nicodemus said rattled. “I admit I did not expect that, nor for it to work. Very well, lead the way.”

Relieved Glen took Nicodemus’ arm and started to lead him out of his room. They left easily the two guards now asleep at their post. It had been easy to lull their minds to sleep with the Elder Magic given how bored and lax they already were. Glen lead Nicodemus back to the women’s hall, none of the servants or lords they passed bothered to pay them any mind. There still were no guards at the women’s hall given it was empty of any of the royal family. At Pricilla’s door however there was no one, Glen was sure Horace would have been waiting outside.

He peeked into the rooms to find them empty, Pricilla was not in her rooms. He told Nicodemus, spelling out the words by writing on his palm.

“The main hall then,” Nicodemus said. “There is probably a feast to celebrate her return and she will be there.”

Glen nodded and lead Nicodemus back through the halls to the main hall. He heard the sounds of music and merrymaking from down the hall, arriving to find a full feast going on. It wasn’t hard to find Pricilla at the head table with Elrik and Lucia still chained to Elrik’s throne. But they were not the ones Glen was worried about. He scanned the crowds, looking for the assassin, but it was impossible to spot the servant in the crowd of people.

“Elrik won’t listen to us if we warn him,” Nicodemus said as Glen started to lead him through the crowd. Glen nodded but part of him feared Nicodemus didn’t even want to warn Elrik or stop what was going to happen. He fortunately found Horace standing to the side of the high table, still in his mail and alert.

“You brought him here?” Horace said surprised. Glen made the sign of betrayal and danger.

“Lucia is planning a coup,” Nicodemus said. “Tonight, or tomorrow. Either way we should flee now.”

Horace frowned, obviously believing them but also seeing the problem of getting Pricilla out of danger. Glen had an idea then and signed waiting and patience.

“Wait?” Horace said startled. “We should just wait for the coup to happen?”

Glen nodded and then signed insight.

“You have a plan?” Horace asked. “Can you tell me?”

Glen shook his head, unable to convey the plan in his limited range of communication.

“Then let’s wait,” Nicodemus said unconcerned. “Seems our best option, maybe it won’t even happen tonight.”

Glen doubted it, this was a prime opportunity to have the coup. Most of the nobles were now gathered in one place, and at their ease with wine and food. If had been planned for the next night, it would be little trouble to change plans to tonight. Glen turned all his attention to the crowd, looking through the servants for the assassin. He would be the one to watch, Lucia chained as she was would not start the coup, the assassin would make the first move. He soon realized looking with his eyes would not work, there were just too many people and the assassin would be working not to be seen.

Instead Glen closed his eyes, reaching for the aether. It took little to send his spirit just on the brink of entering the lines, feeling the threads of the future and fates around him. He felt them humming with tension, an event of great import was coming, he should have checked the threads long ago before they even arrived. Realizing his lack of foresight would not save him, he concentrated hard on the threads, trying to read what was about to happen.

He found it, a knot of the threads, thousands of threads ending suddenly after the knot. Glen carefully felt out the threads, looking for the cause of the knot. He found a blood red thread linked them all and at the same time was the cause of the sudden severing that was to come. Glen opened his eyes to see the holder of the thread was Lucia. She was watching him, her face unreadable under her mask but Glen knew then they were too late.

Shouts rose up from the other side of the hall, knights and guards milling about. Elrik heard the commotion and stood, his hand dropping to his sword. A knight came pushing through the throng of courtiers, questions and shouts following him.

“Silence!” Elrik barked though it did little for the din of the room. “What is it?” He asked the knight as he strode up.

“A mob majesty,” the knight answered with a quick bow. “They have risen up from Poor Man’s Paradise, they have taken the merchant’s quarter and move for the palace.”

“Well stop them,” Elrik said sounding frustrated. “You are knights of the Gods armed with swords. How could a lowly mob hope to take the palace?”

“The gates have been opened for them by the merchants,” the knight answered, Glen wondered why the man did not remove his helm, something was not right about him. “We fear it is treachery.”

“Treachery!” Elrik said looking wildly about the court. “Which of you whore sons dare defy my rule?” Elrik shouted glaring around the room. “Speak!”

“I do.”

Elrik turned to see Lucia standing behind him, her chains in her hands.

“You?” Elrik scoffed and then laughed. “Some measly whore peasant?”

“That is High Queen Lucia of the Mask to you,” Lucia said calmly. “Slayer of the last High King of the Nine.”

Elrik sneered as he drew his sword, but Lucia laughed and raised her chain. With a swift yank she broke her chain as easily as if it were a length of thread. Elrik swung at Lucia who dodged aside with ease. Glen saw the knight move then as Elrik swung again at Lucia who dodged his wild swing again. The knight came up not to the defense of Elrik, but to drive a gauntleted fist into his unprotected side.

Elrik cried out in pain as the fist slammed into his kidney, driving him to his knees. Elrik gasped and whirled around to look up as the knight removed his helm, revealing the assassin.

“Wha,” Elrik gasped, reaching for breath.

“Meet my loyal dog,” Lucia said smoothly. “He kills for me, though it will not be his pleasure of killing you.”

“Guards,” Elrik croaked. “Guards!” He called louder. Glen looked up and realized then that the commotion they had seen at the other end of the hall was actually the tail end of a battle, men armed with swords and dressed as normal workers or as the Bandaged Brothers had already moved into the hall. They nobles were all being pushed into the center of the room, men and women calling out in fear as they were gathered.

“No one is listening,” Lucia said merrily. “The only ones here are those who listen to me.”

“Impossible,” Elrik growled looking up at Lucia. “You whore!”

Lucia only held out her hand and the assassin put his sword in her hand.

“Call me what you will majesty,” Lucia said mockingly. “I will call you dead.”

Elrik tried to stand but the assassin kicked him in the groin. Elrik fell moaning and Lucia reached down to pull him up by his hair.

“Long live the king!” Lucia cried out and brought the sword down in a wide swing. It was a sharp blade, taking Elrik’s head off in one clean swipe, drenching Lucia in a splatter of blood. She raised up Elrik’s head and the mob cheered and roared.

“Kill them all!” Lucia cried out and swords fell. The room erupted into chaos as the armed men fell onto the courtiers of the Court of Miracles, swords flashing and blood spilling. Glen felt and hand on his arm and he jumped turning to see Horace behind him. He had Pricilla clinging to his other arm, Nicodemus clutching her other arm.

“What are you waiting for!” Horace hissed.

Glen nodded and took his hand, calling on the aether. Stepping sideways with so many people was hard, but Glen put all his desperation and will into the feat. He led the small party towards a servant’s hall, several servants huddling in fear behind some tapestries. Glen dared not look at their scared faces, it was all he could do to hide the three people with him, he could not save them.

The servant passage was deserted until they reached a wider corridor, Glen stopping just before he ran into a Bandaged Brother standing guard. Before he could say anything, Horace stepped forward, he sword sliding free of his sheath silently. Horace stabbed the man in the back, covering his mouth as he felt soundlessly to the floor. Sword still drawn Horace looked quickly around before signaling them on, taking Glen’s hand again.

They went through the palace, hearing screams and cries and doing nothing to aid those who cried for aid. Glen heard Pricilla weeping which he was glad she made effort to muffle as they wound through the halls. They at last reached the stables only to find them engulfed in flames.

“Where to now?” Horace asked, only his eyes betraying his fear. Glen felt the threads and found a familiar one not far away. He led the way into the gardens, there finding Puzzle and several other horses gathered. All the horses were afraid, the whites of their eyes visible in the ruddy glow from the blazing stables, except Puzzle who stood ready.

“Knew you would come,” Puzzle said in the beast speech. Glen nodded, wishing he could thank the little horse, he had saved the horses here. They mounted quickly, bareback since the horses had fled without tack, Horace scattering the rest of the horses easily before them. In a stampede of horses, they hit the gate of the Palace. The gate itself was open, several men standing guard there. As they rode under the gate Glen glimpsed bodies already hanging from the gates. Ignoring them he bent over Puzzle’s neck, arrows flying by.

They rode free of the gate but did not stop, Glen doubted any of them would be able to stop the horses now that they were given their heads to the fear that drove them. It was a mad dash through the city, Glen catching glimpses of the city. People ran about the streets, screams, and cries a cacophony of terror as buildings burned and mobs ran wild killing and taking what they pleased. As they neared the edge of the city the more crowded the streets became, people were fleeing the city. But none dared standing in the way of the horses, some did not get out of the way in time, Glen hiding his face from the sight of innocent people being run down.

Then they were free of the city, hitting the open road leading south. They were far ahead of others that were fleeing shortly, and hopefully pursuit as well. They did not stop until the horses slowed at last, coming to rest in an open moon lit field. Glen raised a prayer to Lun in gratitude, has hands shaking over the prayer signs.

They dismounted, the horses shaking and covered in a foamy sweat.

“What now?” Horace said, his sword still drawn. Glen bent and picked a handful of grass and motioned to the horses. “See to the horses? Glen Cair Leone just fell!”

Glen made the sign of savior and Horace grimaced. He nodded and helped Glen rub down all the horses as they grazed. Pricilla and Nicodemus sat together saying nothing, Pricilla silently weeping. Once their task was done Glen and Horace joined them.

“So, Regis falls,” Nicodemus said.

“No,” Pricilla said dashing away her tears. “It does not. I am Queen now, and I will not see my kingdom fall.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Nicodemus asked.

“By force,” Pricilla said. “We ride for Menfer, the Sect will aid us.”

“We rest first,” Horace said. “These horses will take us nowhere as they are now.”

Glen wondered if Pricilla would succeed, his mind going to the threads seeking answers but only finding them in a knot still. They lay to rest and Glen let his spirit wander. The lines were astir with the events of the night, Glen using the chaos of the aether to travel unnoticed to Astolat. He found Arke bent over her mirror still, knotting frantically at the tapestry she wove. He sat next to her marveling at her beauty though she never turned to look at him.

“Will Pricilla win?” Glen asked.

“I see her in a crown, and in a grave,” Arke answered. “The future is still unclear. But you should leave her and your brother all the same.”

“Why?” Glen asked.

“The song is about to be found,” Arke answered. “Eileen reborn is near, you must go where you are needed.”

“Where?” Glen asked.

“To the Battle of the Fells,” Arke answered.

“Is it the final battle?” Glen asked.

“There will be two great battles,” Arke answered. “One in Daun in the Battle of Troll Pastures, the other in Alda in a place that will become known as the Fells of Sorrow. Follow the threads, you will find it.”

“I will,” Glen said but did not rise to leave. “You will march then with your kin?”

Arke did not answer and Glen realized her hands had stopped on her weaving.

“I cannot turn away from my mirror,” Arke said and Glen felt a cold hand grip his guts. He reached out and cupped her face, Arke leaning towards his hand as if it were the only warmth she had ever felt.

“I will find a way to free you,” Glen swore and Arke shuddered, there was power in his oath in Astolat. He felt her tears as they slid from her eyes, he knew she wished to argue but at the same time her love could win against her concern.

“Go,” she said thickly. “You have a long road ahead.”

Glen nodded and stopped to kiss her hair before he rose and walked away into the waking world. Dew was thick on the grass as he rose, Pricilla and Nicodemus asleep under the shelter of a rowan tree. Horace stood over them, but Glen noticed he was dozing on his feet, a blessing no doubt of Arke. Glen did not have the time or heart for a farewell to his brother. He looked at him one last time before going to one of the horses, mounting and riding away into the mists of morning without a glance back.

#fantasy #series #please read #writing #fairies #dragons

0 notes

fableweaver · 4 years

Text

Arc of the Dragon Keeper

Iounn stood wearily alone in the command tend bent over the map that displayed their armies. It was now into the month of Sons, the height of summer passing to the hot dusty days just before autumn. They had wiped out five more tribes of the Orcs in two separate battles that had lasted weeks each and were still faced with fourteen other tribes. Three held siege at Dun Glas, Eight roamed individually over the moors, two held siege in Dun Eald, and one was headed towards Nyrgard. Sten had taken a force to chase the one headed to Nyrgard, but it had split many of their forces that they needed to fight the other tribes.

The ones in siege were not a problem, they attacked little and seemed content to sit on the cities and wait. Little did they know they would have to wait at least a year to starve out the cities. Having the warning they did the cities had time to build up fortifications, giving the Orcs the hard task of the siege. For now, the generals and Kings were fine letting the Orcs hold the cities in siege, it kept those tribes from moving, and only a few hundred (mostly women) were needed to hold the city. If need arose, they could send messages by crow to get aid.

The larger problem was the eight roaming bands of Orcs. They never united and pillaged the countryside. While settlements were scattered all over the moors meant that the Orcs had to travel far just to attack a single farm, it also meant defending those farms was impossible. The only benefit seemed that while the Orc’s attacked one farm they might miss another in a valley over just because the farms were so scattered.

With autumn approaching, and the need to harvest fields for the winter, the strain of chasing down the armies of Orcs was becoming apparent. They just didn’t have the manpower; they were always outnumbered. Even with the Griffins hunting down the Orcs from the sky and dropping the Dwarvish munitions, the toll of battle was dwindling the Duanish and Nyrgard armies. Iounn stood over the map wracking her brain for a way to draw the Orcs together and failing. She knew too that even if they were to draw the Orcs together, they would never be able to defeat such an army.

“You’ll drive yourself mad,” Hors said mildly startling her. Iounn turned to see the dragon child sitting on the corner of the table, having come in silently.

“It all just seems so hopeless,” Iounn said tiredly. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Hors answered. “But we are doing all we can.”

“It isn’t enough,” Iounn answered. “We need to get the Orcs all in one place, but if we do that, they’ll wipe us out.”

“What news from the other Kingdoms?” Hors asked.

“Bad,” Iounn answered. “Hyria and the Mark have moved east to aid in the war against the Lirian Orc army. Sten has sent a messenger to King Lonna but he has little hope of that messenger arriving in time. Here in this corner of the world their troubles go unnoticed until they strike further south. It is looking like we are on our own unless there are more of the Phay to aid us?”

“The Merrow, Dwarves, Griffins, Selkie, and Giants were the only ones of the Phay to remain in Miread after the march,” Hors answered. “The Selkie cannot venture far from the sea, too much of their essence is tied up in it. It seems the Orcs do not venture close to the sea except the time we drove them too it.”

Two of the tribes they had destroyed had been driven to the coast only to be destroyed by the Selkie army that had waited there. Sadly, that had been the only aid they could give, and many of the Selkie had died since they lacked armor and weapons. Even if they were to repeat the process Iounn doubted the Selkie could help again given thousands had died in that battle.

“That leaves the giants then,” Iounn said heavily. “We need to wake them.”

“We need someone powerful in the Elder Magic to sound the horn,” Hors answered.

“Is the King of the Dwarves not strong enough?” Iounn asked. Hors swished his tail seeming to think.

“I don’t know,” Hors answered at last. “Even if she were, we would have to travel all over the northern mountains to wake each Giant.”

“And gather all the Orcs in one place,” Iounn said wearily.

“That I have idea how to do,” Hors said. “But let us ask Runi, maybe she can help us figure out how to wake the giants since her people live in those mountains.”

Iounn nodded and Hors leapt up onto her shoulder. Iounn went to her tent first to find the horn. As she left her tent, she almost ran into Kree. Iounn stopped, she was no longer afraid of the feelings she had with Kree, she had accepted to be friends with her and found it an easy and good relationship.

��Where are you off to?” Kree asked with a cat like grin.

“To the dwarves,” Iounn said holding up the horn and explaining their plan.

“I’ll come along too,” Kree said seriously. “Maybe I can help.”

Iounn nodded, knowing she could not refuse Kree where she wanted to go. They went through camp, the tents a mix of the two armies of the dwarves and men. Runi’s tent was much like the King’s made to look like any other large tent of the army. Guards stood nearby so not to draw attention but still close enough should anything happen. They had not had any assassins from the Orcs, but it was best to stay cautious.

Entering Iounn found Runi with her captain Hákon, who seemed he had been in the middle of a lesson over tactics. They stopped and turned, Runi bowing her head to Iounn.

“Lady Iounn,” Runi said pleased.

“Runi you are king, do not bow to me a Baroness,” Iounn said and then blushed. “In all respects Majesty,” she added embarrassed at having lectured a king; it was hard for her to remember given Runi seemed so young and like her daughters. Runi blushed as well and nodded, and Hákon cleared his throat.

“What brings you here Lady Iounn?”

“A decision that should have been made a long time ago,” Iounn said relieved to move past the moment of embarrassment. “We need to gather the Orc armies and slaughter them. The only way to do that is to wake the Giants.”

“Impossible,” Hákon said. “We have lived with the slumbering Giants since the Phay marched and have tried to wake them many times. I do not think even the March will wake them.”

“We woke one,” Iounn said holding the horn aloft. “A mage crafted this with High Magic and Elder Magic. The dwarf Darin played it and woke a giant. We believe that if someone of greater power played it, they could wake the Giants.”

Hákon frowned but Runi answered.

“I have power,” Runi said.

“Untrained,” Hákon growled. “And still new.”

“The best kind,” Hors said. “In the Elder Magic the youth have the greatest power ironically. The power of chance and unbridled energy.”

“I can do this Hákon,” Runi said before her captain could object more. “And I will, understand?”

“Yes, my King,” Hákon said as he sighed and bowed.

“You do well as my captain protecting me Hákon,” Runi said warmly and Hákon grumbled as he blushed. “So how will we wake the Giants?”

“That is the trouble,” Hors said as he leaped onto the table strewn with maps and papers. “To wake the Giants, we’d have to go into the mountains, and wake them one by one.”

“That would take years,” Hákon said.

“What about through the aether?” Kree asked, Iounn unsurprised she could speak the Phay language. “If we ring the horn through the aether would that not wake the Giants?”

“No, the song already rings through the aether,” Hors answered. “It has not woken them. I believe they are too tied to Miread for that to work.”

“Then through the earth,” Runi said and Hors looked at her with his head tipped to the side. “We have tunnels through the mountains leading many places, with my power I can ring the call through the earth to the giants.”

“Were those tunnels not sealed so the Orcs could not access the cities?” Iounn asked.

“They were sealed around the cities so the Orcs could not enter,” Runi answered. “The rest are untouched, mostly abandoned form our mining and routes. They go everywhere through the mountains and touch many giants.”

“It seems the best option,” Hors said. “We are close to the mountains right now; are we close to a tunnel?”

“About five days,” Hákon answered.

“Then we should set out,” Hors said. “It could take the Giants sometime to get to us.”

“Maybe Liath can guide them when they wake,” Iounn said and Runi frowned.

“I do not think he went into the mountains for that,” Runi said. “He did not say so, but I believe he went seeking Goloria.”

“Why did you not mention that?” Hors asked.

“I wasn’t sure,” Runi answered. “And we had still been communicating by the Griffins then.”

“What is Goloria?” Iounn asked.

“A weapon,” Runi answered. “It is a giant’s sword of stone it lays in the mountains forgotten since none can wield it but the Giants.”

“And?” Iounn asked sensing there was more.

“And that is the only weapon the Giants have,” Hors answered. “They have never made weapons; they fight with their fists and feet. None is needed given their size. Goloria is a stone sword the Giants found in the ages of the Phay. It was a weapon wielded by a deity of the lines, lost in battle against another long ago. It fell to Miread from the aether, and the Giants found it.”

“Let me guess then, the one that wields it is the king of the Giants then?” Iounn said.

“No,” Hors said as he grinned. “The Giants never knew it was a weapon, they fight with their fists after all.”

“If they don’t think it’s a weapon why is Liath seeking it?” Iounn asked.

“They think it is a god,” Hors answered. “I believe he is seeking it thinking it would wake the Giants.”

Iounn tried not to laugh but Hors looked like he was ready to.

“Well that is good all the same if he finds it right?” Iounn said. “He can come back with it and we can tell him it is a weapon.”

“If Liath could lift it,” Runi said. “Goloria can only be lifted by the eldest of Giants, those the size of a mountain. And they can barely lift it at all. It has never moved from the crater that it made when it first fell to Miread.”

Iounn could not imagine the size of the sword let alone of a creature that could move and was larger than a mountain.

“Well then he’ll come once we ring the horn,” Iounn said tiredly.

“Only Goloria has power,” Hors said. “If Liath has gone to pray to the sword, I fear he might wake it.”

“And if he does?” Iounn asked, tired of the vague words Hors was giving.

“Then it might return to its master,” Hors said. “A deity that should have died in a battle long ago, but I suppose is rightly named. He is Koschei, He Eternal, master of the Everlands. He was a deity of greed and stole whatever he could to fill the Everlands with beauty and wonder. Until he stole the eye of another deity, La-Lu Aunidaras, She Makes the Winds and Waters, a deity of a world of water. When Koschei stole her eye, the sun that warmed the world she presided over, it froze, and the world died into a world of ice.

“Blinded La-Lu sought Koschei out and they battled, destroying several worlds and magical places, until La-Lu won knocking Koschei’s sword to Miread. She sealed him away in the dead places their battle had made, since she could not kill him. If he were to gain his sword again, he might break free of the seals that bind him.”

“And?” Iounn said. “Destroy all of Miread?”

“More likely go to seek revenge on La-Lu,” Hors said. “To do that he would probably kill her lover the Sandman. If that were to happen the lines may become too treacherous for the Phay to march, the death of a deity is no small thing.”

“What happened to La-Lu?” Kree asked and Hors shrugged.

“She died,” Hors answered, “their battle took its toll on her. The Sandman slumbers mostly now in mourning, though he would hardly admit it.

“Then why seek revenge on a dead deity?” Kree asked.

“Because it is the only revenge he could get,” Hors answered. “And he is that petty.”

“This was a wonderful story Hors but is his sword really likely to free Koschei?” Iounn asked.

“Yes, but I don’t really see how we could stop Liath if he has gone to Goloria,” Hors said. “Unless we ring the horn in time.”

“There is little time to waste regardless,” Runi said. “We should go now and see if we can wake the giants.”

“If we do how are we going to gather the Orcs in one place?” Kree asked.

“I’ll take care of that,” Hors answered and Iounn knew the secretive tone well.

“How?” Iounn asked hardly but Hors did not meet her eyes. “Hors, you will tell me what you are planning right now.”

“Just like a mother,” Hors said wryly. “Very well, I plan on baiting the Crippled One. He’ll gather the armies for us. It seems to be the only force to unite the Orc armies it seems.”

Iounn frowned, wanting to argue, knowing it would be dangerous, fearing Hors would come to his end, but could not because she knew this would be the only option.

“Very well but I will go with you in spirit to face the Crippled One,” Iounn said and it was Hors’ turn to chew on her words.

“Just like a mother,” Hors said as he sighed. “Very well, I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No,” Iounn said. “Now let’s get going while we still have the light to travel by.”

They left the tent and went seeking horses and supplies. Iounn sent a message to Dylan where they were going, and he sent two knights to accompany them. Runi also called on five of her own warriors to accompany them.

With the horses saddled and ready they left camp with the afternoon sun above. Summer was a time when wars often happened for the lands of men, but the Orcs seemed ill suited to the long days of the summer. They only attacked or fought at night and in the northern moors these were short. A cloud hovered over many of the Orc armies, a casting by the Crippled One according to Hors. It made finding them easy at times, but the clouds only seemed to linger over the gatherings of several tribes. Singular armies did not have the dark clouds, making them harder to track over the moors. These smaller ones were less likely to be traveling or attacking during the day, but they traveled far and fast at night, attacking small farms and killing everything.

They rode over the summer moors, drinking in the wild beauty of the wild moors in the height of summer. Gorse bloomed with heather, the air thick with wild wind and the smell of drying grass. Storms and rain were less frequent, and the sky went on for ages in a un-broken blue of a robin’s egg.

They rode following Runi and Hákon as they rode over hills and through valleys, following a dirt path used by shepherds. It was slow, the path twisting with the land rather than cutting through it, and when night fell, they took their rest in a ravine. Iounn was glad to have the Daunish knights and Dwarven warriors to guard them, the Orcs roamed far in the night. They slept and the morning dawned without sign of any attack. They ate and broke camp, riding out once more.

It took them five days of hard riding to reach the foothills and the entrance to the underground tunnel. It appeared as little more than an average cave, the entrance a dark hole in the lee of several tumbled over boulders covered in gorse bushes. A carne lay next to the entrance, and what appeared to be an old burnt out candle.

“What is this?” Iounn asked but Runi shrugged she asked the Daunish in the trade tongue.

“An old offerin most like,” one of the Daunish said looking at the little shrine. “Ta the spirits o the caves, the old ways still be strong in these boarder lands.”

“The Daunish made offering to the Dwarves?” Iounn asked surprised.

“Nawt,” the guard laughed. “It be an offerin ta the gnomes, the earth spirits.”

Iounn nodded though she doubted such spirits cared or even existed. Though she did have a dragon child riding on her shoulder so Iounn supposed she should put more faith in such things. It was hard to believe something exited if you couldn’t see or touch it.

“This is the route you used to get here?” Iounn asked.

“No, we had to close that one after us,” Hákon said. “This one is an old raiding tunnel.”

“How did you know it was here?” Iounn asked.

“We studied the maps of the old raiding tunnels before we came,” Runi answered.

“Could the Orcs be using these tunnels to escape from us?” Iounn asked, worried there could be a band of Orcs hiding in the tunnel.

“I doubt it,” Hákon answered. “The Orcs avoid our tunnels unless trying to attack us, they know the dangers of the tunnels since it is our home ground. Also, these tunnels are raiding tunnels, they were made for only dwarves to use. To make sure the Daunish never followed us or attacked through the tunnels they were made short and narrow, only tall enough for a dwarf or sheep to pass through easily. We also made them into a maze that only the dwarves knew how to navigate.”

Iounn nodded though she doubted that would have deterred the Orcs. She followed Runi and Hákon into the cave, only to nearly hit her head on the rocks. She crouched down but found even so she would have to crawl on her hands and knees of she wanted to go through the tunnel. She imagined then it would take some time just to get an army through such a small narrow opening that it would never be worth the effort.

“You can stay behind Lady Iounn,” Runi said, the only one able to stand in the tunnel. Even Hákon had to duck a little.

“No, I want to see this,” Iounn insisted. “But the two Daunish knights should stay behind.”

The men agreed, only the Dwarvish knights following them in. They made slow progress as Iounn struggled through the narrow tunnel. Runi now carried a light that came from a stone she carried, an invention of the Dwarves. It seemed like ages as Iounn crawled through the tunnel, getting stuck occasionally and having to have one of the dwarves behind her give her a shove. They stopped to rest and then kept moving, Iounn losing track of time without the sun to aid her. She wondered how these people could live underground their whole lives, the dwarves seem perfectly comfortable in the narrow tunnel.

At last they reached a cavern, Iounn able to stand and look around. It was a natural tunnel, the earth and rocks a tumble around them with a small pool of water in the middle of the cavern. It was no bigger than a large cabin room yet seemed smaller to Iounn’s whose head just barely missed the uneven ceiling of the cave.

“Here should be good,” Runi said looking around before turning to Iounn. “May I have the horn?”

Iounn nodded, still winded and tired from her journey, and handed over the horn. Runi took the horn and turned to the earth wall. Planting her feet, she put the horn to her lips. She blew out, a single melodious note issuing and then changing. She played the song Iounn had heard her late husband sing, the song Darin played to wake the giants. Only this time it was far more recognizable than Darin’s, and the sound carried deeper into Iounn’s chest. Runi played far longer than it seemed possible to hold breath, stopping at the last note.

She lowered the horn, Iounn expecting a rumble of earth or an earth tremor, but nothing happened.

“Did it work?” she asked softly, afraid to break the silence.

“Yes,” Runi said. “How well remains to be seen. Now we can only wait.”

“How long?” Iounn asked.

“Hard to say,” Runi answered. “But we’ve done all we can now.”

“Then we should move along to the next part and bait the Crippled One,” Hors said.

“Surely we should wait for the Giants to arrive,” Iounn said horrified. “If we gather all the Orcs without the Giants to aid us, we will be wiped out.”

“I do not believe we have the time to wait for the Giants to arrive,” Hors said. “Time moves strangely in the lines, I do not know how long it will take the Crippled One to communicate to the Orcs, let alone how long it will take them to gather. The March is approaching.”

“Can we not just let it pass then,” Iounn said. “Is it so dire that the Orcs be defeated before the Phay arrive?”

“I’m not sure Miread could take the strain,” Hors said. “The Crippled One brought these creatures here from another world, they are like the Phay in that they did not come from Miread. The Phay have tied themselves to Miread, being reborn here has strengthened ourselves to this world. So have the Orcs, by wounding the world as they do, they are like a tick on the back of Miread. But Miread has always had a delicate balance with the aether, parts of it touch into the lines, the dreaming places of the Phay and other natural occurrences in Miread.

“I’m not so sure Miread could remain in balance with the aether with two races from the lines existing in it. It might tip the scales, much like how Kur and the Serpent King could not exist in this world together, so they battled. We might be able to exist for a time, but if one of us wishes to stay her, the other has to go. I fear that battle will be harder and harder to win over time.”

“And could the lands of men hold a war that long?” Runi asked.

Iounn sighed knowing they were right, the faster you could end a war the better. But such a gamble seemed reckless to her, if the Giant’s didn’t show up, they would fail.

“I also do not think my plan of baiting the Crippled One will work if the Phay March,” Hors said. “After the Phay march either the Crippled One will be defeated or he will have devoured the Phay. After that I doubt he will care about my bait if he’s consumed the Phay. And if we defeat him there will be no force to gather the Orcs. Then there will be no point in calling the Giants, or the aid of the Phay. It will be down to hunting each clan into eradication.”

“Then maybe we should wait at least some time,” Iounn said. “How close are the Phay to marching?”

“The last ring of the song is not for several more months at least,” Hors answered. “But that all depends on Eileen, she could find the song before then.”

“Will there be warning?” Iounn asked.

“I may sense it before it happens,” Runi said. “But not by much time.”

“We need someone with the sight for that,” Hors said.

“You mean to see into the future?” Iounn asked and Hors nodded.

“Runi, do any of the Dwarves have the sight?” Hors asked.

“Not for centuries,” Runi answered. “It is not common among the Dwarves.”

“The Griffins then?” Iounn asked and Runi covered her mouth, smothering a laugh.

“The Griffins have never been adept in the Elder Magic,” Hors answered dryly. “Few Griffins can even use it, those powerful in the Elder Magic are a very rare thing for them.”

“Who is the sight common with then?” Iounn asked.

“The Banshee mostly,” Hors answered. “And the Trolls have their fair share of those with the sight. Though maybe a witch of the moors who has the Elder Magic may have the sight, it would be weak in comparison to a Banshee or Troll; but it might be enough.”

“Then we should go,” Iounn said and they all nodded. They started to make their way back through the tunnel, Iounn once again forced to proceed along on her knees. It seemed longer than before, the walls tighter and the earth darker. Once they were out of the cave Iounn had to stop to rest, putting her head between her knees and taking deep breaths until she felt better. Once she had some water and food and everyone else was rested, they set out again back for camp.

Four days after they left the caves, the morning was heavy with a mist from the moors. Iounn worried about ambush, especially as they were wending their way through the hills, the shepherd’s path they traveled unclear ahead. So, they rode cautiously, until after a bend in the path they came on a crossroads of sorts. It was a little dyke between three hills, the path branching off in three directions, a twisted old apple tree hunched over the path.

Under the tree stood a figure, hooded and cloaked but small and hunched. They rode over cautiously, but it did not seem like an Orc ambush given the figure seemed human. They reached the figure, seeing then it was an old Daunish woman, cloaked and hooded against the heavy mist.

“Hail old one,” one of the Daunish guards said as they drew near. “Are ye well? Do ye need aid reaching yer destination?”

“I have reached it,” she answered. “I just hope I am not late, or early?”

Iounn felt Horse emerge from her hair, holding out her arm so he could perch and be seen.

“You are right on time,” Hors said. “You have the sight.”

“As it is,” the old woman answered. “I be Grandmother Meredydd.”

Hors introduced their party his tail twitching.

“We should rest here, it is safe,” Hors said. They dismounted and took out their trail rations everyone sitting under the apple tree.

“So, your sight told you to meet us here?” Iounn asked.

“I saw us meeting,” Meredydd answered. “The when were tricky bit, I was almost early.”

“So, then you came to tell us the Giants will come,” Iounn said.

“They will, but I cannot tell when,” Meredydd answered. “I’ve seen a great battle o the dark creatures with the Griffin and men, Giants looming over all as they all battle. The battle lasts all through the day and inta the night. The stars be veiled behind clouds n smoke er else I could tell when the battle will be baint?”

“But you can tell us where,” Hors said and Meredydd nodded.

“Ta the south, in a place called Troll’s Pasture,” Meredydd answered. “An old home o the Trolls sos legend goes. Unce they had feasted there, dreamed n drank, many ages ago.”

“You can see it,” Hors said amazed.

“My dreams have been long of late,” Meredydd answered.

“I am sorry,” Hors said solemnly.

“Why?” Iounn asked, wondering why he would be sad over having long dreams.

“For one with the sight the longer, and further back their dreams reach, the closer they be ta death,” Meredydd answered. “This be the last time I will play a role in all this, at least in this life. I met ye here partly because ye were on my way.”

“Ye be on yer last journey,” one of the Daunish guards said.

“Last journey?” Iounn asked.

“In the old days fer the old ways the old when close ta death would walk inta the moors,” Meredydd answered. “I am old n the old ways be mine. I will walk inta the moors n lay down til I baint walk no more. The earth will claim me, n my spirit will walk the lines ta Tir Aesclinn.”

“We thank you then for your aid,” Hors said. “And may you walk in peace under the trees.”

“N ye elder,” Meredydd said and she stood. “I will be along then.”

“Wait,” Iounn said. “You can see into the future; do we win the battle? Do the Phay march? What will become of the Kingdoms?”

“So many questions lass,” Meredydd said with a sad smile. “Sadly, I’ve seen all, both failure n success, n all that be betwixt. What comes will be yer task, n ye face it all the same.”

Iounn frowned knowing a mother’s answer when she heard one.

“We thank you for your wisdom,” Hors said. “Go now in peace.”

“Thank ye,” Meredydd said. “Good-bye.”

She said the last like she were, just going for a stroll and would return shortly. She walked off into the mists, disappearing into the hills like a shadow.

“We could have learned so much more from her,” Iounn said bitterly.

“No, she told us what we needed,” Hors said. “Any more would only make the path ahead less clear not more. And she has little time left.”

“It seems barbaric, dying alone,” Iounn muttered.

“Some souls seek it,” Hors answered. “For peace and the clarity that comes from within. Who are we to deny a person what that without own beliefs or desires?”

Chastised but unwilling to admit it, Iounn went to her horse so they could set out again. They arrived back at the camp the next day, finding it unchanged from when they left. Finding Dylan in his tent they relayed the events and the coming of the Giants.

“Troll’s Pasture is not a place I’d expect a battle,” Dylan said. “At least one of our choice. Legend was it was a place the Trolls once gathered, a rare thing as legend says.”

“The Trolls are solitary,” Hors confirmed. “They rarely gather, only for feasts and weddings.”

“Well that place was said to be theirs,” Dylan said. “And matches them. It is an ancient bog, one that has not changed ever. It is mostly mud and a few twisted trees, a home to snakes and rats.”

“I expect the Trolls loved that,” Hors said. “All the same it is a gathering of the lines, a perfect place for me to lay the snare that the Crippled One will throw his armies into.”

“We should choose one that is a good place for us to battle,” Dylan said. “An open pasture or valley.”

“What is good for us is good for our enemy,” Hors said. “And we need it to not seem like a trap. You will ride a small army into Troll’s Pasture, seeming to be traveling through it, then the Orcs will think they have the advantage. Then the Griffins and Giants will attack.”

“No one travels through Troll’s Pasture,” Dylan argued.

“Except an army hunting an elusive enemy,” Hors answered but Dylan shook his head.

“Even with the Giants and Griffins the men on the ground will be slaughtered,” Dylan said. “I won’t agree to this.”

“Then ask only the volunteers willing to die,” Iounn answered.

“I have already asked that of them thousands of times,” Dylan said loudly. “I will not lead my people to slaughter, I will not be that King.”

Silence lasted for several moments until Runi spoke.

“My people have been at war with these creatures since the Phay marched thousands of years ago,” Runi said. “Every dwarf has been born with the knowledge they may die in battle.”

“And ours have only just faced this,” Dylan said. “Yes, we have faced war before, less than a generation ago we faced it. But not all of us, some have been shepherds in the hills, just as their fathers had been and their fathers, the people facing this horror now have never know death like this. And they face it fighting and die when they deserve to live, my people deserve to live.”

“And I am not denying that,” Runi said kindly. “I am saying that you are right, we will not ask this of you. We dwarves will be the force on the ground that will lure the Orcs into the trap.”

“Runi…” Iounn said kindly but Runi faced her with hard eyes.

“As I said, we have fought them for thousands of years and will fight them again. We are the ones better suited to fighting them grounded and in one position. The Daunish and Nyrgard forces can come in to box the Orcs in on their horses and with their archers. Then the Griffins can rain munitions and the Giants aid in what way they can.”

“This is no on solid ground,” Dylan said. “The bog is muddy and full of water.”

“Earth is earth,” Runi said. “We’ll make due.”

“Very well,” Dylan said.

Iounn wanted to argue but Hors dug his claws into her shoulder. She sighed and nodded, and they went on their way of planning for the coming battle. The next day Iounn left with only Hors out into the misty moors, before dawn so no one could stop her.

“You are sure about this?” Iounn said.

“I have to lure the Crippled One into this battle,” Hors said. “We have to get there before everyone else.”

“Why?” Iounn asked.

“I just think it will work better,” Hors said as he shrugged.

“And how do you plan on laying this trap?” Iounn asked but Hors merely shrugged. Deciding to let Hors be a cat about it, Iounn let the subject drop. They rode on through the moors, Hors guiding her since he seemed to know where the Troll Pastures were. Iounn supposed Daun was one of the Kingdoms that had remained mostly unchanged over the time the Phay had been away. Other than Xin, Daun seemed the most connected to the old times. It was fitting of course, both kingdoms were the ones in the far corners of the Nine Kingdoms.

They reached the Troll Pastures ten days after they had left the camp, after riding hard and long through the days. The Troll Pastures were indeed how Dylan and the others had described, a bog of mud and twisted low trees. Crows were the only birds here, no other creature seemed to be stirring through the mossy muddy ground. Iounn had to dismount to carefully lead her horse over the swampy ground, dark mud soon coating her up to her knees.

She followed a winding path of grasses that marked the only safe spots to walk until they reached what appeared to be a knoll sitting over the bog. The hill stuck out in the low wide landscape; it was the size of a cottage with a giant twisted tree sitting on top of it. Iounn noticed the tree was much like a seat in shape, in the crook of the twisted tree someone could have easily sat at their leisure.

“Mór Ríoghain’s throne,” Hors said. “The Troll Queen, this was where she liked to hold her court.”

“She lived here?” Iounn asked looking around for a palace.

“No, the Trolls preferred to wander,” Hors answered. “She only held court here occasionally. Mostly the Trolls wandered the moors, they had no houses or belongings.”

Iounn nodded though she couldn’t really imagine such a life. There were the Rhodin yes, but they had wagons, even the nomads had belongings they carried. What made the Trolls any different than beasts then?

“This is also a meeting of the lines,” Hors said, not noticing Iounn’s puzzlement.

“So, we will call on the Crippled One here then?” Iounn asked.

“Yes, it would be safer to call him rather than enter the lines,” Hors said. “I only hope he comes.”

He jumped down to the ground and walked over to a stump that sat before the hill. Sitting down he curled his tail around his claws and raised his head. Several moments passed, Iounn waiting for something to sound or happen.

“Well?” Iounn said hesitantly after nothing had happened.

“I sent out the call into the aether,” Hors answered. “It should work, I know his true name after all.”

Iounn nodded, not sure exactly what Hors meant by the name but was willing to wait and see. She hobbled her horse and brushed it down in the meantime, she was never very good at waiting unless she had something to do. Her chore finished, she ate some trail bread and water, but still nothing had happened.

“I don’t think it worked,” Iounn said.

“Time moves strangely in the lines,” Hors answered. “Be patient.”

Iounn sighed and sat down, deciding she would take a nap. She dozed off, the darkness of sleep giving way to a haze of color. Before Iounn could step into the dream, a sharp prick on her arm woke her. She woke to Hors standing on her chest, his eyes bright.

“Do not dream,” Hors said. “The Crippled One is near, it is dangerous.”

Iounn nodded, too afraid to say anything. Hors nodded once and returned to his post, staring up at the great tree. Deciding she would do the same Iounn joined him, finding a dry clump of grass to sit on.

She didn’t have long to wait, the air around the tree began to ripple and change. A darkness now sat on the throne of the Troll Queen, no shape or form other than a void.

“Pathetic little dragon,” the Crippled One growled. “Here to plead mercy for your kin?”

“You would not grant it if I asked,” Hors said. “You seek to eat them; I cannot convince you that it would never fill you or stop your hunger.”

“It will,” the Crippled One growled. “If not mercy, what do you seek?”

“To know your plans,” Hors said. “Why call the Orcs down from the mountains to attack the lands of men? Why are they scattered across the moors without reason?”

“There is reason,” the Crippled One answered. “Not that I would ever tell you my plans.”

“Really? It looks more like you have no control of them,” Hors said, his tail flicking.

“I have total control of my armies,” the Crippled One growled and Hors laughed.

“Then why scatter them? Why not gather them into one mighty force to crush us all?” Hors asked.

“You cowardly little whelp,” the Crippled One growled. “My plans are vast; I know of every little move you will make!”

“Then tell me what we are up to?” Hors asked mockingly.

“You are gathering!” the Crippled One said loudly, “I see you mustering your forces and armies. You mean to make a stand here, against my army but… Ah well I see now, I just need to crush your forces before they gather here.”

“And how will you do that?” Hors asked.

“I see the dwarves have moved out first,” the Crippled One said. “I will start with them and feast upon the souls of the fallen. Then the men are next.”

“It won’t work,” Hors said. “We will defeat you and your armies.”

“No cur, it is I who will feast,” the Crippled One said. He vanished into the aether, leaving the air feeling stale and dead.

“Did that work?” Iounn asked.

“By the time he gathers the Orcs the Dwarves will be dug in here,” Hors answered. “Hopefully it looks as if he is moving his armies here before the rest of our forces are gathered.”

“How did he know all of that?” Iounn asked.

“He must have a weaver telling him the goings of the world,” Hors answered. “Spying from the lines only lets him know a little. A weaver can see more at one time than a spirit peering out into Miread.”

“Weaver?” Iounn asked.

“It is a power of the Elder Magic,” Hors answered. “The ability to sense the threads that tie the world. The threads are events moving along in the woven tapestry of time. Those threads are woven together into the fabric of the present and into the past, but there are those who can sense the threads as they move into the fabric.”

“So, like a seer, like Meredydd,” Iounn said.

“No, the sight is different,” Hors said. “The sight lets your see into the future, often living in those times as it is hard for the mind to know the when of things. A witch with the sight sees and lives different times, never the past and rarely the present. A weaver feels the threads, they cannot foresee events or prevent disasters. It is a lot vaguer of a sense, more useful in sensing the present over the world than predicting events.”

Iounn nodded, not sure what it all meant but decided it was beyond her.

“Should we return?” Iounn asked. “I don’t want to wait here; this place gives me goose bumps.”

“Very well,” Hors said leaping back onto her shoulder. “Let’s meet with the Dwarves.”

They did not have far to ride, though the dwarves were on foot they had already covered half the distance to Troll Pastures. Iounn met with them just as the sun was setting over the moors, the sky a burning red. She met with Runi and imparted the news of the meeting.

“So, the bait has been laid,” Runi said sounding tired.

“Now we just have to wait for the Giants,” Iounn said.

“We received word of the Orc movements,” Hákon said pulling out a map to show Iounn. He wordlessly pointed to a place on the map not far from Troll Pastures.

“We’re there?” Iounn asked.

“No, we are here,” Hákon said moving his finger to the left. “There is one of the Orc tribes.”

“They are that close!” Iounn said.

“Seems so,” Hákon said.

“We need to alert King Dylan then,” Iounn said.

“He knows,” Runi said and Iounn frowned. “Lady Iounn, if he sends reinforcements the rest of the Orc armies might not come. We will have to defeat the early coming army on our own.”

“And can we?” Iounn asked shocked.

“We shall see,” Runi said. “It will be tight, but I suspect we will be able to get to Troll Pastures before the Orcs with some time to prepare bullworks and trenches. The Orcs have never been good at fighting in anything other than hand-to-hand. We’ve been fighting them since the Phay Marched, but they have never evolved much in that time.”

“Do not rely on that,” Hors warned. “The Crippled One is paying attention to them now, and the army to the east has managed to defeat the lands of men.”

“We will keep that in mind,” Hákon said but even Iounn was not fully convinced. She bowed and took her leave to rest in the tent the Dwarves provided her.

“You will want me to keep alert for trickery of the Orcs wont you?” Iounn said to Hors once they were settled.

“Yes, and I am glad you have Runi’s ear, she will listen to you,” Hors said. “I fear the dwarves have been fighting the Orcs too long and believe they know their enemy.”

“They may be right,” Iounn said.

“And I hope they are,” Hors said. “If not, our plan may fail.”

“But the seer…”

“Saw a possibility,” Hors said. “What she saw is not set in stone. And there was little detail in the first place.”

Iounn sighed a nodded, knowing a hard path of battle and death lay ahead.

#fantasy #series #writing #please read #fairies #dragons

1 note · View note