"Eloraine Chronicles #1: Holy Fire" by Dorothy ´Darkrose´ Freeman-Wittig

 

 

 

 

 

The Eloraine Chronicles – Book 1

 

–Holy Fire—

By Dorothy Freeman-Wittig

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

1.        The Cloaked Stranger                  5

2.        An Unexpected Gift                     18

3.        A Duo Is Born                              21

4.        Blood In The Rain                        31

5.        The Cleric In Black                       49

6.        Back On Our Feet                         60

7.        Hell Reawakened                          73

8.        The Quest Begins                        86

9.        A Royal Encounter                      98

10.     The Road To Misai                      116

11.     A Welcome Party                         130

12.     Black History                                154

13.     Separate Ways                             170

14.     Proposed Ideal                             182

15.     Unexpected Reunions,                193

                Sudden Partings

16.     Winter Road                                 213

17.     Shattered Lives                            224

18.     Andul                                             240

19.     The Miracle of the Story             257

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1:

The Cloaked Stranger

 

The night was cold and wet, with eerie shadows playing in the fog, cast into a thousand flickering pieces by the lamps lining the street. In fact, the scene would have been quite dismal if it were not for the wholesome noise emanating from the village pub. Light streamed out through the large inviting double doors and windows, providing a kind of beacon in the darkness. The atmosphere inside the lively room was completely opposite that of the street outside, with the smoky haze offering a warm glow brightened by the fire, providing a sense of comfort to the odd collection of travelers and locals huddled inside its shelter. There was a young man performing on a makeshift stage: three wooden crates piled together on which he sat with a small golden harp and sang. The people were all too involved in their games or their drink or the barmaid’s deep cleavage to notice the arrival of another traveler, particularly a small figure heavily cloaked with the hood drawn up. The stranger slipped in and took a seat in the darkest corner of the room, furthest from the warmth of the fire where most people were gathered.  

                The stranger’s bright green eye traced the room full of patrons - humans with a spattering of half elves - searching the faces of everyone there, stopping every once and a while for a closer examination before moving on to the next specimen. The stranger was wary, cautiously scrutinizing for the slightest trace of hostility, tense and ready as if expecting all of the men to suddenly stand and launch themselves for the kill at any moment. There was a particular amount of commotion revolving around a table near the stage where five ruffians played a noisy game of cards, and so that was where the eye rested the longest. A large man with a long ponytail seemed to be the leader and also seemed to have imbibed much more than his share. The game grew more competitive proportionate to the amount of alcohol ingested. The stranger’s eye passed over them and moved to the performer behind them.

                The bard was very young, no more than twenty at most, with dark blonde hair that fell over eyes the color of the open sky. One short pointed ear was peeking from behind the blonde locks, showing his race to be some kind of elfin. Long, delicate fingers plucked gently on his small golden harp and his sweet voice rose in song; a traveler’s tune, a tale of valor that has long since passed into legend. He had the look of one who has been traveling for a long time, for everything he owned seemed to be worn out and patched. His shirt was loose and his pants were tied with a bit of twine, and upon closer inspection his baggy clothes were meant to hide a pathetically frail body.

The stranger’s attention was abruptly brought back to the table, where some commotion had started over a bad hand. The pony-tailed man was standing up, reaching inside his jacket for his knife as a younger man, a half elf with black hair and the makings of a goatee, did the same.

The knife was out in a flash. “What do you mean, your money!? It’s not yours until I decide to give it to you!”

“I won it fair and square! You’d better pay!” Black hair was quivering with rage as the half elf stood to meet the challenge

“Maybe I don’t like your attitude!”

“Maybe I don’t like yours!”

“Maybe I should teach you a lesson…”

The men at the table stood and divided, choosing sides as they drew their weapons. The black haired half elf raised his fists in a fighting stance, clumsily attempting to keep his balance without holding the back of his chair. As the other people in the bar began to cringe and ready themselves to flee or join the upcoming fight, a loud noise brought the action to a sudden halt. The room unanimously turned to see what had caused the commotion: the bard was lying in the middle of a pile of broken crates, where apparently he had tried to make his escape and instead managed to fumble and fall.

“Oh, excuse me!” he said nervously, his voice shaking a little. “Didn’t mean to intrude, sorry, I’d love to stay and watch you kill yourselves but I have another gig. Later!”

In the back corner the stranger, who had made no preparations to fight or fly, now fixed a steady gaze on the bard as he struggled to his feet, tripping a few more times before finally managing a stable position, much to the delight of the audience, who in their drunken state were all now shaking with peals of laughter. The man who had grabbed his comrade had let go and was now clutching his side with mirth. The leader, however, seemed not to be so amused.

“Uh, sorry again! Have a nice night, all,” laughed the bard, smiling with such boyish charm that the tension relaxed and people once again took their seats. The barmaid leaned heavily against a table, placing her hand over her large bosom in relief. The boy began to pick up his harp, which lay neatly on its side on the floor, when his exposed ear was brutally caught and he was forced to his feet once again.

“Well what do we have here? It looks like we have another bastard half-elf!” The black haired youth looked down to the floor, red rage boiling on his face at this remark. “You think that was funny, do you half-elf?” growled the man with the pony tail, one hand on the bard’s ear and the other grasping his knife. He threw the boy to the floor, then picked him up again by the back of his shirt-collar, holding him as if he were something unclean. “Well I don’t. No one mocks Pondolick Glibson, no one! Come on boys, we need to teach this bastard a lesson!”

The half elfin bard was writhing now, desperately trying to find release from the terrifying grip of the man who had called himself Pondolick Glibson. The thought briefly crossed his mind that it seemed rather ironic to insist that no one mock someone with a name like that, but given his current predicament he let it go.

The five men paraded out the door, following their leader and his struggling captive with sadistic glee. The last one out was the black haired one, who followed willingly yet somewhat subdued. It might have been a common occurrence for these men to beat hapless performers because not only did none of the other patrons try to stop the inevitable fight, they didn’t seem to notice or even care that the person who had entertained them so well only moments before was in peril. Naturally none of them even batted an eye when the stranger in the corner whom they had not seen arrive quietly stood and followed the mob out into the darkness.

 

The men carried the boy to an alley where they threw him by the ear to land on the wall and slide to the filthy street below. The four followers crowded around, waiting for their leader to give the signal to announce the fun. “You thought you could mock me, half-elf? Well this should teach you some better manners.” The boy started to push himself up onto his elbows and had only enough time to look up when the first blow came. A sharp kick to his stomach sent him sprawling on the pavement again, followed by another kick to his head. As if a great wall had been broken, the four remaining men began to take their turns at beating the half-elf. Pondolick laughed as they rained punches and kicks upon the small form between them, and they all grinned with sadistic glee when the black haired one found a metal pole. The half-elf, for his part, was taking the blows as one who was used to them, yet couldn’t seem able to fight back. The leader kicked him in the face, and he didn’t flinch. He was mumbling something under his breath, his eyes half-closed. His hand twitched expectantly, and he maintained his intense concentration through the worst of the punishment. Then with a movement as quick as lightening the boy reached out and seized Pondolick by the leg, letting forth a blinding flash of light that caused a scream of pain.

“My leg!” he cried out, for where he had been touched began to burn with a raging fire. He dropped to the ground and rolled on the street in agony, crying and screaming. The men momentarily stopped their beating to stare at their leader, and at the fire that still gripped his pant leg. The chaos paused, the boy seized his chance. He leapt to his feet and began running like a maniac down the street and away from the alley. The black haired elf stood in shock, his mouth opening and closing as if he were saying something yet no noise came out. After a moment, he stammered “a- a- a magic user!?” and then regained his senses and pulled the metal bar closer to him.

The remaining men began to pursue, but before they could even prepare themselves to run, all four of them found themselves held at the blade of a sword. The man on the ground looked up to see a short figure in a heavy cloak holding the weapon.

“Who the hell are you? Friend of that boy?” he shouted.

The stranger didn’t respond, just stood there with the cruel sword placed at their necks. Suddenly, another sword came out of nowhere and crashed into the back of their heads, knocking them unconscious into the street. The cloaked stranger sheathed the twin swords and walked off in the direction the boy had fled, leaving not so much as a footstep behind to wake the sleepers.

 

All the boy knew for a long time was running. Lungs bursting, legs on fire, and a growing ache in his stomach seemed to fuel the escape until, finally, he fell exhausted to the ground in front of the great stone statue of Teslyn, the city’s namesake. Of course, no one believed in the Old Gods anymore, and most of the demigods and great spirits that had once been honored throughout the kingdoms were now completely forgotten and nameless. A pair of bright blue eyes stared up at the statue, eyeing the cascade of water that flowed from the god’s hands. He reached his fingers to the moisture and cupped the cold water in his hands, drinking deeply as he struggled to catch his breath. After a moment of silence when he was reasonably assured there were no pursuers, he relaxed a little.

I really have to stop doing that, he thought, then he smiled to himself. “Well, at least they didn’t kill each other,” he said to the empty street. He crawled to all fours and flopped over so that his back rested against the cold stone. The air was chill, and although he was still warm from his run he knew that soon the cold would catch up with him, accelerated by the sweat that dripped from his forehead like the water from Teslyn’s hands. The pain finally reared its ugly head then, and he pressed a fist into his side where he was sure there were broken ribs. The ache in his head had become like a vacuum now, ready to envelope his entire being in to the void it had created. Between the pain and the exhaustion and the immense effort he had conjured to create his saving fire, he felt his world slipping away. Not now! came the desperate voice that was his fading consciousness. There were three things that were plaguing his thoughts, the first being shelter, the second being warmth, and the third and perhaps most important being his harp, which had been rudely tossed aside back at the pub and he was quite concerned for its safety. This last thought was all that could be registered, however, as at that moment the spark of reality was lost to the growing blackness that revolved around extreme pain and tiredness.

It was no more than a shadow that crept through the night to where the young boy lay; it made no sound and the movements were so subtle that they could hardly be distinguished from a trick of the light. Those watchful green eyes hovered over the boy for an instant, then the figure bent and cradled him gently in strong arms and carried him away into the night.

 

********************

 

Morning broke wonderfully quiet and clear, the thin rays of sunshine playing upon the windowsill, a gentle breeze floating the curtains and bringing the warm scent of summer to the little room in the inn. A single chair sat in the corner, where a cloaked figure sat playing with a sword delicately balanced upon its tip, the reflection of sunlight on the naked blade sending washes of light across the room in an arc. Along the opposite wall a humble bed lovingly dressed in a red and blue quilt lay occupied by a small figure wrapped in bandages. A nightstand beside the bed bore the neatly folded and washed remains of a tattered shirt and leather breeches, and a pile of unused bandages lay in a jumbled heap on the floor next to a pair of dilapidated boots. An intense pair of dark green eyes subtly watched over the scene, and the silence was broken by a deep sigh from the bed.

The quilt shuffled a fraction, and a pair of bright blue eyes opened to the light of day. “Where am I?” said the half-elf. His mind sought out the memories of the night before, and he remembered collapsing on the side of the street.

“You would do well to rest, young bard,” came a soft voice from the corner, thick with an Elvin accent. “You’ve had a long night.”

The boy struggled to sit up. The pain in his stomach was furious, and threatened to take him back to that horrible black place that was unconsciousness. The pounding in his head was almost enough to rival it.

“Do not try to sit. You need to rest more yet.” The figure stood, and moved just into the half-elf’s line of vision. To his surprise, the figure was short, no more than five six at the most. A small, white hand emerged from the great brown and grey cloak and reached for a wet cloth in a bowl on the nightstand.

The boy’s own hand, large by comparison and still dirty from the night before, moved up to meet the hood of the cloak. Slowly, almost apprehensively, the hood fell free from the face of an elfin woman. It was a mask of indifference, hard and worn but strangely delicate, with large dark eyes that betrayed feelings of concern and caring deep within mistrust and cold distance. He could see himself reflected in her eyes the color of the forest, watched with wonder at the delicate stream of gold that flowed down around her neck, pondered the shape and length of those perfect, long white ears, and felt the tears well up in his eyes.

“Mother,” he choked. “Mother I missed you.” He knew then that he had, in fact, died, for here was his mother come to care for him. The hardness worried him though, because as he remembered his mother was always caring and loving towards everyone and it seemed odd that she would look so distant. He ignored the fact that he knew his mother’s eyes were blue, because in his happiness he was content, and so he slipped back into unconsciousness comforted by the knowledge that he was not alone.

 

The woman looked down at the feverish and confused child before her. Foolish boy, she thought. It was uncomfortable for her to be acknowledged as a mother, and she was still inwardly chiding herself for getting involved in a conflict that she had no part in. But still, there was something about the way he stopped that fight, some charm that had stirred memories within her heart she thought she had forgotten, and it prompted her to do what she did. Of course he’d tripped on those crates on purpose, no one who could play as gracefully as he would trip by accident. The men would be fine, except for a couple with lousy headaches and one with a very badly burnt leg. She still wasn’t quite sure how the small figure lying before her had managed to do that. He looked far too young to be a magic user, and more sweet than competent. Besides, magic was so rare that any child born with even the slightest gift was automatically pledged either to the Church or to the Great College in Ilydia. What one would be doing in the middle of nowhere was beyond her. She reached into the bowl of cold water again and mopped his face, as she had countless times throughout the night. So young, she thought.

She recalled how she had found him, lying in the middle of the street, and carried him to the small inn that perched on the outskirts of the village. She was at first surprised that he was so light, and then even more startling was how he managed to take the punishment he had when he looked little more than skin and bones. She had cared for his injuries and noticed that every single rib stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his body. It made her wonder what he had been through.

A faint noise from the boy brought her back to the moment. He would be all right, now, after he had some rest and a good meal. She didn’t have much money, being a wanderer she had little use for it. However, she had some talents as a healer, and she was able to get by most of the time. She was fairly well known in Teslyn, because she had once resided there. As much as she wanted to enjoy their recognition and friendliness, she preferred not to have their company, and so lived in the shadows whenever she neared civilization. She had called up a favor from the inn keeper to let her have this room. She was grateful for his kindness at the same time she pondered why she felt so concerned for a halfling boy she’d picked up off the street. She did not believe in destiny or fate, but if she had she would have been tempted to blame it on them.

She got up and wandered out of the room, down the winding stairs and into the entry, carefully drawing her hood around her face so as not to be noticed by the few people that were milling about. She meandered through the gate and out to the edge of the forest, where the freedom of the wilderness called to her, seducing her with shadows and delicate subtleties of light. She felt a little pull at her soul, but fought the urge to dive back into the bush. She set one foot in front of the other, and then the constant reassuring weight of her sword reminded her of why she was there to begin with.

She turned reluctantly from the inviting scene before her and walked back into the inn. By the time she returned to the little room at the top of the stairs, the boy was awake again. He was sitting in the sunlight, the blonde mop reminiscent of gold in the midday gleam. He turned to her, and smiled; a sweet, pleasant smile that stretched from one pointed ear to the other, forcing his eyes into tiny beads of glee. “So you are my angel of mercy,” he said.

She thought for a moment. “Yes,” replied the elf. “I suppose I am.”

“What is your name? I am Seamus Liadon, but everyone calls me Sean.” The overwhelming gentility in that voice was almost too much for the wild elf to bear.

“I am called Raithlyn Valeria, among other names.” The words came difficultly, as if they hadn’t been spoken in quite some time. She was speaking in broken Common, trying to find the shapes of a language she despised and so used as little as possible, and through long years of living alone she had all but forgotten.

“I see,” said Sean. Then, to Raithlyn’s surprise, he smiled again and addressed her in Elfin. “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Valeria. I am eternally grateful for your saving me.”

The sudden outburst of her native tongue caught Raithlyn off guard. She sought out the syllables of meaning that would clarify herself better, though she found her mind wiped blank with astonishment. Sean further amazed her when he tried the sentence in another three languages, rolling easily from Syllice to Draclyth, and then to another odd language Raithlyn had never heard before. Instead of finding words, she lost them completely, and just began to laugh.

“I never thought I could hear someone like you laugh like that!” smiled the boy.

“Well, you are a wonder, Seamus. I have not had much reason to laugh as of late, I think this must the first time in a very long while.” She spoke in flawless Elfin, a light and delicate accent that was refined yet somehow still wild. “And we are a linguist as well, are we?”

Sean laughed again, blushing a little in modesty. “Only a little,” he said, “because I’m a wandering bard, you see. I need to be able to converse with all that I meet in my travels. I heard you having some trouble with common, so I thought that maybe you spoke Elvin, but then I didn’t know about that either, and switched to the Moon Language, because you’re so very beautiful, and then I saw you were wild, and I thought maybe Draconic, then I thought perhaps you were an angel, and so I tried to speak in Angelic, but …”

“Whoa, there!” laughed Raithlyn. “You hardly have the strength to sit up in that bed, how can you wag your tongue so fast? Here, I brought you some food.” Raithlyn tossed him a bag with a small loaf of bread and some honeycomb she had found while out on her wanderings. His eyes grew as large as saucers before delving greedily into the spread, eating with such gusto that Raithlyn laughed again.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” mumbled the bard between mouthfuls.

Raithlyn thought it must have been a long time since he’d eaten, as was suggested by the wasted state of his body. “Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick eating like that. There’s plenty more, if you wish, and plenty time with which to eat it. Enjoy it, don’t inhale it.” Sean nodded, and slowed his pace quite a bit. The elf then reached inside her cloak and threw something small and heavy onto the bed. “Now you rest, I’ll be back in a while.” With a slight swish of the great cloak, Raithlyn disappeared out the door, leaving a bewildered Sean to sit clutching his harp in silent gratitude.

Chapter 2:

An Unexpected Gift

 

The streets were busy with the hustle and bustle of shoppers and sellers, mothers herding children to different stalls in the market, the sounds of laughter and bargaining ringing the ears of what seemed to be the entire village. Raithlyn, still cloaked from head to foot, glided through the throng and made her way towards an ancient store that stood down an alley with an old wooden sign that read ‘Maurice’s Weapons Emporium’.

The shop was cool and calm and quiet, a wonderful contrast to the hot and noisy street outside. There was no one behind the counter at present, but there was a faint humming coming from the back room, and Raithlyn thought it best to not disturb him. Her sharp gaze scrutinized the stock of weapons on display, easily pointing out the flaws and weaknesses of each particular piece as she surveyed the contents of the room. There was a good collection of swords, from the plain and useful to the extravagant and tawdry. Raithlyn scoffed in disgust at a particularly flashy longsword with a gold serpent twining around a silver skull with ruby eyes. “Useless,” she thought. “The blade is weak and brittle and the guard wouldn’t hold up to a child’s stone throw.”

Presently, a short, round, elderly yet strong man in an apron emerged from the back storeroom holding a brightly polished crossbow. He had his back turned to the elf, and was singing rather loudly to himself a very silly tune as he continued with his work, arranging the crossbow with a few bolts on a table for display.

“Hello, Maurice,” spoke the low voice in Elvin. The poor man jumped back in surprise, almost knocking the display table over in his astonishment. He turned, clutching his chest, and panting rather heavily.

“Don’t do that! You almost scared me to death! I’m an old man, you forget. You should know better by now!”

Raithlyn narrowed her eyes and grinned malevolently. “Then you should be used to it by now, right?”

The man laughed, and walked over to shake the elf’s hand, then grabbed the small woman eagerly in a great hug. “I suppose. Raithlyn Valeria! Long time no see! How’s my little Valley doing, eh?”

“Indeed, my old friend, it has been too long I fear,” she said, gasping for breath. “But please, if you would mind? I’m not a little girl anymore.” His hair was white and hung in sparse threads about his face but his grip was incredibly strong.

Maurice let go of the elf, gently setting her feet on the ground and holding her at arm’s length for a moment before moving back to his business. “So what brings you this far in to town? Last I heard you’d given up civilization entirely and was wandering somewhere out in the woods. Is something wrong?”

Raithlyn leaned against the back wall, making a show of examining her fingernails, which were all expertly long and sharp. “I just thought I could use some company, I guess. And some ale.”

“Hah! The day the Wanderer of the West comes to town for company is the day I give up my shop to be a flying pig! Come on, Val, tell me what’s going on. And don’t you blame it on ale. Old Madam Serie’s brew is good, but not that good.”

“Very well then, Maurice,” intoned the elf. “I need you to help me with something. My short sword is damaged; the tip’s bent and there’s a long crack running across the center. If I use it again, the whole damn thing’s liable to fall apart on me, and I can’t risk that. You’re the best smith I know, and the only one I trust enough to fix it.”

Maurice’s face was hard now, a look that didn’t seem to fit him. “Hand me the sword,” he said, all his former pleasantries forgotten.

Raithlyn drew back the cloak from her sides and threw it over her shoulders, exposing a small arsenal of weaponry. There were several small daggers stuck into a wide belt, a short bow hanging off her shoulder, and two swords; the shorter of which was soon loosened from its sheath and handed to the outstretched arms of the shop owner.

Maurice looked over the piece a few moments, evaluating the crack and the tip, also marking the numerous scuffs and scratches along its blade.

After a few minutes, what seemed like forever to Raithlyn, Maurice sighed and looked up to meet the penetrating glare of those green eyes.

“Well?” she inquired. “Can you fix it?”

Maurice sighed and looked down. “Val, I’m sorry to say that this sword is about as useful as a one-pronged fork. There’s nothing I can do.”

Raithlyn felt shock and apprehension grip her stomach and she turned desperately appealing eyes to the man. “Nothing? Are you sure?”

“Positive. This crack goes all the way through, and you knew it. You also know that this steel, while tough and sharp, is virtually impossible to repair. I might be able to hammer out the tip for you, but it’s my opinion that you should just throw the damn thing away and get a new one.”

The elf’s shoulders slumped as she accepted defeat. She lovingly held the blade that had carried her through so much danger relatively unscathed at her chest, and then handed it to Maurice to be melted down. “Goodbye, old friend,” she thought, and she let the pathetic remains fall into the pile of scrap.

The old man tossed it aside. “Might I ask what did that?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

Raithlyn returned her attention to her fingernails, and smiled bitterly. “What I kill is my own business, thank you.”

Maurice sighed, almost disapprovingly. “Well if it’s any compensation, I do have something special. Brand new, just came in… the only one like it. It’s a masterpiece, graceful and beautiful, totally unlike you,” he mocked. He wandered back into the storeroom briefly, then returned holding a sheathed short sword. The sheath was black leather with a vein of silver running down its length like the patterns on a skeleton leaf. The pommel held a single red stone of some kind, and the powerful sweep of the hand guard provided a sense of grace and architecture that far surpassed the elf’s previous experiences.

Raithlyn’s hands reached for the sword, gently gripping the handle that felt like it was made for her, drawing the perfect blade, seeking out flaws only to find there were none, and reveling in the power that she felt while it was in her grasp.

“So you approve?” asked Maurice. Raithlyn had been lost in her own world, and was almost surprised to find Maurice still standing there with that look of smug pride on his face he so often wore. She turned her head back to the sword, and nodded appreciatively. “It’s my finest ever,” grinned the man.

“You made this?” questioned Raithlyn, obviously impressed. Maurice nodded. “How much.” The way she said it was more like a statement than a question, demanding an answer and denying any right to refusal.

“That depends entirely on you. I’m having a special right now, buy one get one half off.” The sly man looked more like a fox than a human now, as from behind his back he produced another sword, alike in every way to the first except in length. “They were made as a set, you see… I don’t want to split them up. I think I can cut a special deal, because they were made with a certain individual in mind. I would be willing to part with them for… oh… three hundred gold?”

“THREE HUNDRED GOLD!?” screamed the elf, her eyes large and panicked. “You know I don’t have that much! Damn, I barely have enough to pay for a lousy mug of ale when I get into town! What are you thinking charging me a price like that? You get my hopes up and then you dash them to the ground. You were always doing this to me! You cheating scoundrel, you black hearted –”

“Easy there, Medusa!” laughed Maurice. “Oh, Val, you’re never going to learn, are you? I’m charging three hundred, but I don’t necessarily have to get the money now. Besides, what with your fighting skills and my perfect swords you should be able to make enough off of bounties to pay me back within the week! I made them for you, ungrateful wench, it’s not like I was going to make it so you couldn’t get them.”

Raithlyn breathed heavily, trying to calm the rage that threatened to break out upon her friend. “Thank you, Maurice. I truly do appreciate all that you’ve done for me. I will get you that money, somehow, I promise.” With that, she turned to walk out the door.

“Wait just one moment, please,” called Maurice, halting Raithlyn in mid-step. “I do require some kind of compensation on the spot. I won’t let you get away for nothing.”

Raithlyn turned deadly eyes on the man. The rage was threatening again. “Damn you, Maurice, I don’t have any money…”

“No, you fool. Your old sword: give it to me. You won’t be needing it anymore, and I can still make a few coins off that chunk of scrap.”

The elf smiled and calmed herself again. She carefully unbuckled the sheath and threw the wasted weapon to her old friend. Then she turned and walked out.

“One more thing:” called Maurice to the retreating back of the elf. “No more dragons. If you damage those swords, I’ll kill you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3:

A Duo is Born

 

It was almost evening when Raithlyn finally made her way back to the inn. The long shadows served to separate the land into bands of light and dark, providing contrast and substance to the darkening landscape. She might have thought it funny to find that the innkeeper was not downstairs, and there was no one in the commons, but she had other things on her mind and didn’t notice. The lack of people gave her some comfort; she had never been good in social situations and became very nervous when around people she hadn’t known for a long time. Maurice was one of the very few she considered a friend, and the only one she openly conversed with. She’d been living alone in the forest for the past hundred years, with the exception of the ten years she’d spent living in Teslyn, but that was nearly forty years ago.

She climbed the stairs slowly to the little room, where she was shocked to see the innkeeper and five or six guests gathered around Sean, who was singing merrily and plucking a lively tune on his harp.

“Thank you, that was lovely!” exclaimed the wizened old innkeeper. “Young lady, you should have told me that this wonderful boy could play so well! I tell you, such music has not graced us for many a year. What with those nasty thugs, the Redsleeves, running around people have been scared near to death! I’ll tell you what: for all this pretty music I’ll let you stay here as long as you want, free of charge.”

Raithlyn smiled grimly, and shook her head. “No, thank you but that will not be necessary. You don’t have to do that.”

It was the innkeeper’s turn to shake his head now. “I insist. It’s the least I can do for such wonderful music to treasure.”

The elf sighed and looked over at the broadly grinning face of Sean, who sat basking in the adoration of his audience. “All right,” giggled the bard. “I’m a little tired now, so I think I’ll be done, is that ok?” One or two of the guests dropped a few coins on the bed and the people departed, with many nervous looks aimed towards the cloaked elf who stood silently by, watching. The last to leave was the innkeeper. Raithlyn stopped him.

“You take good care of that boy,” she told him. “He deserves the rest. I will pay you when I return.” The innkeeper smiled sadly, nodding in acknowledgment before disappearing into the hallway, closing the door gently behind him.

“Oh, hello Miss Raithlyn,” said Sean. I was just playing for those nice people because they all seemed so sad. How are you doing?”

Sean’s naïve attitude towards the somber elf caught Raithlyn a little off guard, and though she smiled pleasantly enough she did not reply. Instead, she walked to the window and gazed fondly at the rising moon and the forest beyond.

“You’re going now, aren’t you?”

Raithlyn turned to look at Sean, and was surprised by what she saw there. Instead of the sweet and innocent look she was used to seeing on his face, there was an age; a weariness that comes of many hard travels and rough circumstances. There was a smile there, too, but it lacked the childlike glee that she had seen before.

“Yes,” she said, not knowing what to tell him. She knew that she should somehow explain her actions, but she found she could not find the words. She felt frustrated at her desire to relate and her inability to communicate, and so continued to stare out the window.

“That’s all right,” said Sean, as if he were reading her thoughts. “I understand. You’re a wanderer, just like me. You go where the urge takes you; you follow no one’s path but your own.” Raithlyn’s frustration grew at hearing the words she so desperately wanted to say spoken from the mouth of the boy behind her. She felt anger boiling inside at her failures, and hid behind a mask of contempt. “But unlike me, you’re a warrior,” continued the boy. “You possess the ability to fight with a strength and courage I will never know. And I will be forever in your debt for the kindness you’ve shown me, even though I know that I can never hope to repay such a debt.” Raithlyn was raging, though she could not find a reason why. The words the boy spoke were clear and true, and they pierced her like daggers. “In truth, Miss Raithlyn, I have not known such kindness since I left my home.”

This last sentence drove home all the feelings of guilt and frustration for Raithlyn, and she turned from the room and slammed the door. Sean sat in the middle of the bed, still smiling his weary smile. “See you tomorrow,” he said to the open window.

 

Raithlyn marched from the inn and flew to the edge of the forest, where she stood lingering just a moment longer before slipping delicately into the trees. She felt at home there, wrapped in shadow and surrounded by the mossy, moist smells of the wood. She felt her senses return to her; keen eyesight and exceptional hearing that helped her hunt and live in places most civilized people would not dare to go. She walked for some time, letting the purity of nature erase all the feelings of anger and frustration that had built up over the speech made by Sean. After what seemed like forever, Raithlyn sank into a mossy bank at the base of a large oak tree. She was thinking about the boy, and wondering why what he’d said had hurt her so much. She also thought about what the innkeeper said; about the Redsleeves. There was a name she hadn’t heard in a long time. She’d thought they’d died out long ago, and hearing their name mentioned again caught her off guard. She leaned back and unbuckled her swords. She liked to sleep with them at the ready, in case anything dared to disturb her sleep, and so she leaned on them for support as she slept. She had barely closed her eyes before she started dreaming.  

 

“Burning… something’s burning…” Two sleepy green eyes opened and looked around the little bedroom. It seemed strangely peaceful for the noise that penetrated the walls. Screams, yelling, and the roar of a great fire mingled with the smell of smoke, blood, and burning flesh. Panic gripped the heart of the tiny elfin girl who lay curled in her blankets, wishing to every deity she could think of that she was anywhere but there. Suddenly the door burst open and a hysterical elf woman screamed for the child, letting chaos erupt into the peaceful little room.

“Come, my darling, don’t be frightened, everything will be alright soon,” comforted the woman, clutching her daughter to her breast in a furious embrace.

“Mommy, what’s going on? What’s happening to our village?”

“There are some bad men, honey, but don’t you cry, we’ll be alright.”

The woman and child ran together through what seemed to be the very fires of hell. All around them there was flame and carnage, blood turning the streets to slick red mud. The cries of kinfolk echoed through the night and the terror in those agonizing screams was enough to paralyze, but still the two ran. They ran until they reached the forest, where the woman dropped the child and held her hand tightly.

“See, we’ll be alright now. The woods are safe; the bad men can’t get to us in here. Everything will be fine now, little Raithlyn, everything’s alright –” But the woman never got to finish her sentence, because at that moment a large man with red sleeves and a chain shirt had come up behind her, and with a sickening swing of his sword, the woman’s head was severed from her body. Blood spattered the terrified child in front of her, who still clutched her mother’s now lifeless hand. Those two large eyes that had held only love and wonder until that day now shone with a strange mixture of hatred and fear, and as tiny as the girl was she leapt to the man leaning over her, and clawed at his face with ridiculously sharp nails. The man recoiled in pain, clutching his bloody, mangled face with his hands and giving the girl enough time to break free from her mother’s death-grip and dash off into the forest.

 

Raithlyn awoke suddenly and was surprised to find that she was crying. She quickly wiped the tears away with the edge of her travel cloak, leaving little watermarks on the fabric. She began wondering what had brought back those images from her childhood, those traumatic scenes that she thought she had forgotten. She remembered stomping out on Sean because she hated the way he saw through her, with his childlike eyes. As she thought about the horrible dream and about Sean, she found herself unconsciously examining her nails again, just as she had in Maurice’s shop. As she fought through the confusing jumble of memories and emotions, she was suddenly looking at hands stained with blood, dripping in little crimson drops from each perfect fingernail. She shook herself, and her hands returned to normal, the horrifying vision dissipated. “The forest is safe, eh?” she thought. “Bull.”

When the sun finally broke above the trees, Raithlyn Valeria was already on her way. She had woken from her nightmare and went immediately to the sheriff’s station to get a good look at the bounties. There was no one about, and the morning fog muffled the sounds of footsteps on the flagstones. Raithlyn reached the station just as the Eastern sky was beginning to turn pink, and began to take mental notes of the list that was posted outside the locked door. One particular notice caught her attention.

“Wanted: any information that can lead to the location or capture of any member of the organization known as the Redsleeves,” she read. She stalked away from the wall and off toward the forest.

She glanced briefly at the inn as she passed, and felt a twinge of guilt at her heart before she departed from the village and began walking down the dirt road toward wherever. She hadn’t bothered with packing provisions; she had a water skin she’d filled before she left and she knew she could gather anything else she might need from the forest. After a few hours on the road, she began to feel a bit hungry, so she left the path in search of something that could pass for breakfast. It only took her about five minutes before she spotted a plump rabbit. She moved silently through the bushes, little more than a breath of wind on a leaf, then threw herself forward and gripped the rabbit by the ears.  The rabbit struggled wildly and kicked as it tried in vain to escape. Raithlyn was preparing to deliver the killing stroke when she noticed the three tiny noses poking out from a nearby hole. Seeing this, all her strength failed her and she let the rabbit go. The rabbit ran immediately for the hole, comforting her three little ones and shoeing them back into the deep nest, where they would be safe.

“What’s wrong with me?” she thought aloud. “Surely, that silly dream couldn’t be affecting me like this.” She shrugged her shoulders and the breakfast menu was altered from rabbit to salad.

Her meal was interrupted by the sounds of footsteps moving along the path. Raithlyn pulled her cloak around her and moved to the edge of the road where she could still see and hear any passersby, but would remain hidden herself. She had to stifle a sharp intake of breath when she saw the jaunty walk of the young half-elfin bard dance before her. He was humming to himself, and his eyes reflected the joy of the morning. A small sack was flung on his back, a walking stick sturdily held in his hand, which he leaned on for support.

“Well, I’ll be,” she thought, as he passed her by. Her focus was drawn, however, by the weapon he now possessed, for on his belt he wore a battered longsword that looked incredibly familiar.

She allowed herself to stand and lean against a nearby tree in full sight, removing her hood and examining her nails. “Seamus Liadon,” she said nonchalantly.

Sean’s face turned toward her, smiling his carefree smile and betraying no surprise. “Good morning, Miss Raithlyn.”

The evaluating eye swept past the sword upon his belt. “And where did you pick that up?” she asked nonchalantly, indicating with her gaze the subject of her interest.

“Oh, this?” smiled Sean. “I’ve been saving up for one for a long time. I finally decided I had enough and went to the armory. When I got there, the shopkeeper gave me this, and only charged about a fourth of the price I anticipated. I think it’s splendid, don’t you Miss Raithlyn?”

With that, he drew the blade and let the sun catch upon it. The steel was scarred and scratched and notched, the light illuminated various scuffs and kinks, but it was otherwise a good sword. Even the sheath was in a state of disrepair, made of dark brown leather and in much the same shape as the sword itself. Raithlyn found herself reminiscing on the sword, recalling how each mark was lovingly created in battles fought over the decades…

Then Sean sheathed the sword, and her wandering mind was brought back. She looked away.

“It’s a good sword, even though it looks like it’s in tough shape you’ll be hard pressed to find a weapon that equals it. Though there are many wounds on the blade, it is well balanced and has no weakness.”

“I know it’s your sword,” said Sean. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted it so much.”

Raithlyn smiled one of her all-too-rare smiles. She wanted to say, “I hope you weren’t planning on setting out on your own, were you Sean? The wild roads of this world are hard and rough, and only the strong survive. Why don’t you go back to the village now?” But instead, her words compressed themselves into “Go home, Sean. You have no place here.”

Sean smiled at her again, but this time it was the sad, old smile that she had seen back at the inn. “I wish I could stay there, Miss Raithlyn. I truly do. But there is a restlessness in my soul and a yearning in my feet, and I follow where the wind takes me. My life is a free one, albeit a fairly short one, and I cannot stay in one place too long.” A tender breeze lifted the hair away from his eyes, exposing the look of calm resign that was etched upon his young face.

Raithlyn understood that look, knew that feeling all too well, and nodded in acknowledgement of a fellow wanderer.

Without warning, the bard switched back to his gleeful persona, and grinned broadly back at her. “So where are you headed, Miss Raithlyn?”

“You’re not coming with me,” she replied curtly, turning her back.

“I never said that, but maybe we just happen to be traveling in the same direction for a time.” There was something besides innocence shining in his eyes now, something very akin to mischievousness.

Without a word, Raithlyn walked forward, taking great care not to let her eyes meet Sean’s, otherwise she knew she stood no chance of refusing him. But it was no use; the incorrigible bard turned his face to her receding form, and, after waiting for some small distance between them, followed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4:

Blood in the Rain

 

“Oh, the road is long and the way is rough,

But the will of the traveler’s twice as tough!

For the sun shines bright on the rocks and   stones,

And it’s miles to go ‘fore I reach my home!”

 

Sean was singing gaily as he skipped along the road, making an exasperated Raithlyn absolutely sure that there was something wrong with that boy. She was annoyed at him for following her, despite her best efforts to put him off. She was also somewhat impressed at the determination and will he showed, although she had hoped he could find a better use for it than his current course of action. She also vehemently wished that he could find some other use for his abounding energy than making so much noise.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he stopped. He uttered a deep sigh that seemed to communicate his love of nature and his joy and contentedness at being free. Despite his sickeningly perky attitudes, Raithlyn found herself enjoying his company to some extent; a completely new experience for her. She had lived in the forests almost as long as she could remember, keeping to the shadows, never trusting anyone… Until a clumsy, naïve, and sweet tempered young boy had nudged and prodded his way into her thoughts. How odd then, she thought, that two loners could find solace in each other’s company.

“Raithlyn?” called Sean. “Where are you going, anyway?”

The elf laughed silently despite herself. “Away,” was all she said.

“Oh, alright. I thought perhaps there was an actual destination in mind, with some kind of plan as to what you do when you get there. I think perhaps I’ll go to see my hometown, the Village Karn. It’s been a long time… about four years since I left to wander. My mother thought it was silly, a fourteen year old boy off on his own, but I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t useless. Even though I was shorter and weaker than any of the other boys, I wanted to show them all that I could do something with my life.”

Raithlyn stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly she turned to face the boy.

“Have I said something wrong?” asked Sean.

The elf struggled to keep her emotions calm. “Are you telling me… that you’re only eighteen years old?” As a response, Sean looked down and blushed. “And you’re a half-elf, right?” A nod, a pleasant smile. “Then what in Hell are you doing out here all alone!? You should be home, with your mother and father!”

Sean fingered the hem of his shirt, and his eyes seemed far away for a moment. Raithlyn still struggled to keep her breathing in line. At last, he looked up to meet the elf’s deep gaze, and there was no longer any glee or innocence in that face at all.

“My father was a wandering warrior, a human. He had a habit of womanizing and leaving a trail of broken hearts along the paths he chose to travel. One of those women was my mother, one of the most beautiful elves to ever grace this world. I loved her with my whole heart, although it was rough for us in the village. People used to say things about her, unkind things, and about me. To make matters worse, I was a runt and a weakling, and unable to keep up with the other boys my age. Instead of fighting and playing with swords and slaying dragons, I chose to listen to the Elders and learn tales, stories, and songs.

“Well, one day, my mother fell ill. The people in the village tried everything they could to save her, but she kept declining until, one day, she died. I remember promising her that I wouldn’t let them bully me, that I would become a strong person and find my place in this world. That’s when I ran away. I used the songs and stories my people taught me to spread music and happiness, all the while learning more about peoples and languages and cultures, each with their own songs and stories…

“So that’s how I became a bard. And why I’m here all alone, even though I know I’m still a child. And I thought you were an angel when you first saved me because… because you look so much like my mother.”

Raithlyn stood in silence, looking at Sean with entirely new eyes. He was, indeed, very young, although he was aged beyond his years. “So this is where the sad look in his eyes comes from,” she thought. She walked forward to stand directly in front of the boy, looking directly into his eyes. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, the only thing she could think of to do.

“I will go with you, Sean, to your village if you like.”

Sean seemed to swell with pleasure, and he was so happy that he grabbed the delicate figure before him and caught her in a tight embrace, so that she was actually lifted from the ground.

“Thank you, thank you Miss Raithlyn! You have no idea how much this means to me!”

“LET GO!!!” commanded the winded elf. Sean released his grip on her and let her fall back to the ground. “If you ever, EVER, do that again, I swear it I will kill you Seamus. Mark my words!” His only response was to grin foolishly, before falling back into line behind her.

The forest was shining with brilliance in the golden afternoon, letting little rays of sunshine dapple the winding dirt road that cut through the heart of the immense trees; great green masterpieces that stood as proud as stones and older than time. The scent of moist earth and distant wildflowers drifted lazily on a gentle breeze, which whispered through the grass and leaves like the song of summer. The only other sounds to be heard were the piercing tones of a handful of birds and the occasional hum from Sean. Raithlyn let go in this peaceful atmosphere, allowing herself to feel the warmth and glow of her home. Sean felt it, too, but considered himself more with the joy that he was alive and free.

The fist one to break the silence, surprisingly, was Raithlyn. “So where is this village of yours?”

Sean looked at her for a moment. “Karn is only about five days’ journey from here, to the Northwest near the River of Levalle.” He turned his face to the indicated direction. “I can’t wait to see the old folks again.”

 

Time passed quickly for the two travelers, four days of perfect weather and four flawless starry nights. They spoke little, though laughed much, as the entire world lulled them into a state of relaxed comfort. Raithlyn was glad for the change; she had wandered all the days of her life, but had never before enjoyed it this much, or for these reasons. Sean was also enjoying himself as he gradually loosened the tight shell that kept his traveling partner locked from the world, exposing more and more of the beautiful person within. Every day, Raithlyn would hunt some small creature and Sean would amaze her with his talents for preparing it. His knowledge of herbs and wild plants was astounding, almost rivaling the seasoned elf’s. Once or twice she had watched Sean in a state of wonder use plants she had previously considered weeds to flavor his creations. After dinner they left the fire burning, and Raithlyn watched while Sean slept; taking only short naps to supplement vigilant surveillance.

On the morning of the fifth day, the sky had clouded over in a threatening manner and the air was damp and cool. Sean was the first to wake, and he quickly glanced around to make sure Raithlyn was still there. He saw her sitting upright against a tree, her cloak drawn about her again, sleeping. He smiled at his lovely friend, and thought to himself how very like a child she looked; a lost, sad, lonely child, just like him. He decided that he would surprise her this morning with some breakfast, and he stood and walked a little ways into the forest. He had soon gathered some small samples of flavorful plants and a few ripe mushrooms and combined them in his little pan with some leftover salted meat from his pack.

Raithlyn vaguely recognized the smell of burning meat and wood from somewhere in her sleep, and woke with a start with her sword at the ready. Her heart was beating hard for a moment before she perceived the boy cooking something over the fire. He had been caught off guard, for he was looking at her with wide eyes glistening like stars, but then he smiled and returned to his work.

“Good morning, Miss Raithlyn. I made you some breakfast!” He removed the pan from the little glowing fire he’d stirred up and dished something onto a large leaf and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said shortly as she accepted the offering. Sean smiled again. He knew that she appreciated it; he could sense many of her meanings now although her words still seemed difficult.

“We should be nearing the village now, I think,” said Sean, helping himself to the remaining portion. “If I remember correctly, it’s only about two or three more miles from here, just past the river. We should make it by noon.”

Raithlyn finished her food and began to clean up their campsite. Very soon, they were ready to move again.

Sean still wore the same tattered outfit he’d been wearing that night in the pub, with a few of the larger holes patched. He shivered a little in the damp air, though he tried to hide it from Raithlyn. His sorry attempt to avoid the attention of the ever-watching eyes, however, failed miserably, and without a word Raithlyn undid the clasp at her throat and threw the great cloak over his shoulders. Sean tried to protest, but the look in the elf’s eyes was enough to crush any attempted argument, and so he accepted it. The cloak was warm and dry and very soft on the inside, and he felt safe wrapped in its subtle colors.

He then realized he had never seen Raithlyn without the cloak. What he now saw was a tiny woman with a thin, birdlike body and an amazing graceful step. He also saw the two swords slung at her sides, and a great longbow at her back, as well as the countless tiny daggers lining her belt and boots. She wore a gauzelike linen shirt underneath a dark green jerkin, with black leather boots, belt, and cuffs and some warm woolen breeches. She removed many of the daggers from her belt and handed them to Sean. “Put these in your bag.”

Sean did as he was told, careful not to let the weapons mingle with his cooking or camping supplies. “Thank you,” was all he said, but it was enough.

They walked in silence for the next mile or so until they reached the bridge over the Levalle, a massive structure of rotting wood and rope that had been patched enough times to look like a colossal jigsaw puzzle. Without warning, Raithlyn dropped to her hands and knees next to the bridge, examining what appeared to be a dark patch of earth near a bush. She looked at it, sniffed it, then took off into the woods at a flashing speed, leaving Sean to call futilely into the forest.

Raithlyn returned a few moments later, her face grim. “What was that all about?” exclaimed Sean.

“Go look behind those bushes and you’ll find out.”

Sean cautiously walked forward, fear building in his heart at what he might find there. When he reached the indicated spot and parted the shrubbery, he recoiled in shock and horror at the remains of a man, probably in his late twenties, who was lying on his back in a pool of his own blood. Sean realized that must be what the darker patch of soil was that Raithlyn had investigated. The face of the dead man was twisted in terror and agony, four large holes in his chest showing the cause of his demise. Sean looked at the gruesome sight with a face almost as pale as the corpse’s, and was only brought back when a hand was gently placed on his shoulder.

“There’s nothing we can do. Let’s go. Be on your guard.”

Sean resisted the calm voice of the elf, stricken dumb by the sheer brutality of it all. He turned furious eyes to Raithlyn, his chest heaving with passion. “We could at least bury him,” he said through gritted teeth.

Raithlyn looked across the bridge, betraying no emotion from a face made of stone. “I think we should wait until we bury all of them.”

Sean froze. “All of them,” he murmured, a look of understanding dawning across his face. “All of them… Karn!” and he took off across the bridge without a moment’s hesitation.

“Wait, stop you fool!” called Raithlyn, but Sean was beyond hearing anymore, as he lightly ran across the rotting bridge and jumped into the brush on the other side, tearing down the path with fierce determination. Raithlyn pursued him, cursing under her breath at her inability to better handle the situation. She dashed over the bridge and followed Sean, wondering a little at his speed.

Sean was leaping across fallen branches and bits of charcoal as he raced the paths he had known so well only four short years ago. The layout was familiar, but somehow horrifyingly different, because he knew that he should be hearing the sounds of his village by now, the women picking berries, children laughing and screaming, the hearty laughter of the men as they returned from their hunt… There was a bloody hand visible from behind a rock by the roadside, then more bloodstains and blackened markings. Sean fought to ignore these signs, desperately wishing to round that next corner and see his village, still as humble and quiet as ever, with all his friends standing with open arms to welcome him.

“Just the next corner,” he thought wildly, “and I’ll be home.” And then Seamus Liadon rounded the corner, and saw the last thing in the world he wanted to see. The great trees that had grown in the center of the little village had been cut down and burned, the skeletal remains of houses haunted the scene and gave an eerie look to the mist. All the streets were littered with refuse, blackened bits of wood, and… corpses. Little children with their mouths wide open in silent screams, women who still clung to infants, men who’s faces were so badly mutilated they could no longer be recognized as human. Sean fell to his knees, feeling all the strength in him ebb and evaporate like steam. He felt weak, unable to control his body anymore. “No…”

Raithlyn ran up behind only a few seconds later, and regarded the scene in silence. She saw Sean on his knees, shaking and pale, and knew there was nothing she could do to comfort him. She remembered a time when she, too, had beheld her native home after the attack that took her mother’s life. It was what caused her to turn around and go right back into the forest, never to look back. She felt his pain, a wounded child without a home, with no family or friends left in the world. She watched him slowly get to his feet, and stumble like a drunk through the shattered world of his past.

Sean didn’t know what he was doing, he just knew that he had to go somewhere, and followed the urge. He felt like he was drifting with the mist, floating on a sea of devastation. His feet seemed to know the way better than him, so he let them take him wherever they willed. Every once and a while he would recognize one of the dead townsfolk. There was Mrs. Clancy, the woman who used to watch Sean as a child. There was Tom Bolfolo, the hotshot hunter and a favorite among the girls. And old Mr. Shaw, who used to gather the children around every golden afternoon and tell them stories…

Then there it was, his own beloved home, where his mother had raised him and taught him love and kindness, where the Village Elder would come and teach him songs and the way music, where he had played in their vegetable garden. He could see the garden, overgrown with weeds and much burned. He walked in through the open doorway, choking a little on the soot and dust that permeated the little cottage. There were two rooms, the main room with the kitchen and the big wooden table where they entertained guests, and a little bedroom on the side that he and his mother had shared. He walked past the shattered table, crunching through a carpet of broken glass before making it to his room.

There were two beds, and one of them was still mostly intact. Sean walked over to it, and began straightening the shredded blankets and trying to wipe off some of the filth. This was his mother’s bed. As he smoothed the cloth down, he noticed something under the pillow; a lumpy, dirty, old little stuffed bear. Sean held the bear in his hands, memories of starry nights with his mother and his beloved toy flashing through his mind, a ghostly reminder of happy days that he knew he would never see again.

Suddenly, he was aware of the silent form of the elf behind him. Her presence had been momentarily forgotten in the trauma of seeing his village burned to the ground, and he registered her now with passive recognition. Suddenly his voice found itself again. “Gone,” he whispered. “They’re all gone.” As soon as he spoke those words, the shocked stupor that gripped him left, and the gravity of the situation threatened to crush him. His grief and loss welled up inside, and hot tears stung the back of his eyes. The weight of that grief forced him downward, and he fell forward into the waiting arms of his friend. Raithlyn helped him out into the street, letting him kneel upon the wet earth and cry. The tears fell freely, as if a mighty flood was released upon his body, and he shook with great sobs and immeasurable sorrow. As if in sympathy, the skies opened up and it began to rain.

Raithlyn held Sean tightly, letting him cry and release all the negative feelings that she knew he was feeling. Even as she tried to comfort him with her presence, her eyes narrowed and scrutinized the details of what she saw before her. Most of the people had been killed by swords or arrows, she observed, and the tangle of footprints indicated a large number of people in the struggle. As she had followed Sean through the village, she noticed a sickly residue on most of the walls that still stood, indicating that the fire had been fueled with some kind of oil. There were also some spent torches lying around, meaning that the fires had been caught by hand. Her gaze swept the scene over and over, looking for some detail of who the culprit had been. Abruptly, her vision focused on a tiny scrap of color snagged on the edge of a piece of splintered wood. She stood, gently letting Sean go, and moved towards the flash of bright material she had seen. When she got there, she saw that it was a part of a man’s clothing that had been caught by the broken shaft of a spear. It was a red sleeve.

Raithlyn felt the anger burn inside her, boiling to the surface like a fiery rage. Sean had become quiet again, and now looked at Raithlyn with a thin smile on his dirty face.

“I’m alright now, Miss Raithlyn. I’m done crying.” As sweet as his words sounded, Raithlyn noticed the silent tears that still rolled down his cheeks, and the rage inside her grew.

It was the men with red sleeves that destroyed her home as well as countless others, and she had always tried to stay out of their affairs. She was a wanderer, not a lawman. She had never had any intentions to live her life for the weak or oppressed, nor had she given any thought to the personal struggles of other people. Now, however, she saw the sweet and loving boy whom she had grown fond of writhing in agony at the destruction of his happiness by the hands of those whom had shattered her own life. She swore, by the twin swords at her sides, that she would avenge the deaths of so many and the misery of those people that had been hurt. She would kill the Red Sleeves.

Another noise brought her back to the moment, causing both her and Sean to look anxiously to the far side of the Village. It was the sound of heavy footsteps and men talking.

“Quickly, we must leave this place,” whispered Raithlyn, flying to Sean’s side and offering her hand. Sean nodded in silent agreement, and let the elf help him to his feet. “This way,” she beckoned.

The two moved swiftly, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the noise of the men, always traveling towards the center of the village. The men were definitely getting closer now, talking and laughing in the midst of so much devastation. Sean felt anger writhe inside him, and Raithlyn had to pull on his arm to get him to follow her. They reached the village square, where the shattered stone fragments of a statue loomed over them like a deformed giant, and they hid in the dark gap between two buildings.

“Ok, what now?” asked Sean.

“Now we wait,” whispered Raithlyn, her hands poised tensely above her sword hilts.

Presently, three men strolled into the square, talking with such ease and comfort that it was difficult to imagine them in that devastated environment. Two of the men were tall and well-built, with large swords swinging beside them on thick belts. They wore a chain tunic over a bright red shirt with long sleeves. Raithlyn felt her heart leap a moment when she saw them. The third man was smaller, thinner, and more devious looking. Tiny black eyes looked out over a neatly trimmed thin mustache and tightly pursed lips. Where the other two looked strong and handsome, this third man gave off an aura of power and fear. Dressed in a full black cloak, his was a presence to be reckoned with.

“Don’t worry, Ithykiel, there’s no one here that’s gonna talk. We made sure of that!” The first man was addressing the third, who glared back with a look full of contempt.

“How do you know there were no survivors? Did you check them all? I see you didn’t bury them.” His voice was like the grating of rusted metal, cold and sharp.

“Because just look at this place! We done good, eh bro?” The larger men grinned at each other in a large, rather goofy way. “We even got the Old Man! That dumb fool, thought he could protect the village with the power of the Gods!” They were mocking now. Raithlyn felt Sean bristle beside her, and held out a restraining hand.

“Well, just to make sure I want you to finish them. Each one. Pile them together and burn them if you like, or throw them into the river, or bury them, I don’t care. Just make sure there is no evidence you were ever here, got that?” The two stood at attention, barking a hurried “yes, sir” to the one they’d called Ithykiel.

Sean was furious. Not only had they destroyed his home, they had killed his friends, and the Village Elder who was his idol, and now they were just going to throw away the bodies like so much evidence. He wanted to jump at them and choke them all, one by one, run them through with his sword, make them look like all those people in the streets that they had slain. Every fiber of his being was gripped with hatred, his muscles tense and every ounce of attention he had was focused on those three men who stood there, laughing.

Raithlyn felt Sean tense again, and he shifted as if to get at his crossbow. Quickly she tried the restraining arm again, managing to keep him under control, but risking a little too much noise in the process.

“What was that?” asked Ithykiel. He looked quickly around, then pointed to the alley where the two watchers sat in hiding. “Over there, you two, go and check it out!”

Raithlyn knew that they couldn’t catch them in the alley, there wasn’t enough room for a full battle and their opponents would have the upper hand. Cursing a little at her foolishness, she lunged out the entrance to the alley, drawing her swords and then landing directly in front of the two stunned men before her.

Their shock at having seen a wild elf woman come flying out of a deserted village only lasted a few moments, but it was enough to give Raithlyn the upper hand. Before the soldiers could even draw their swords, she had run to the center of the square and gained a position on the base of the wasted statue. Then the battle began.

It was fast and furious, Raithlyn landing blows with her two swords like a whirlwind of steel, avoiding counter attacks with incredible grace and dexterity. Sean watched with fascination and wonder at his companion’s fighting prowess. One man was struck in the leg, a rivulet of crimson flowing onto the pavement around the statue. The other man soon found his head pummeled with the flat of the great long sword. Sean was intrigued, but then something peculiar caught his eye; Ithykiel was standing back, mumbling incoherently and gesturing wildly with his arms. Sean recognized the action, and called out to his friend.

“Raithlyn, look out! It’s a spell!” But it was too late. A great blast from the cloaked man raged forward like a herd of wild beasts, striking Raithlyn directly. She faltered for a moment, then fell to her knees, severely winded. This gave the man on the ground just the opportunity he needed, and he plunged the tip of his sword deep into Raithlyn’s now unprotected chest.

Sean watched the scene as if through a thick fog. Red blood fell like the rain that drenched the borrowed cloak still clinging to his shoulders. He dully heard the voice of Ithykiel ordering the two men to search the ally where the warning cry had come, but all his attention was on Raithlyn’s prostrate form lying there in the middle of the square.

Suddenly, something snapped inside the young half-elf, and he felt all the grief, the rage, and the hatred boil to the surface, and he grabbed his precious sword and charged, letting the elfin cloak fall off his shoulders into the shadows.

His attack was awkward and lacked the fluidity and grace of Raithlyn’s, but his entire heart was bent upon that moment when his sword would cut through fat and flesh and snuff out the life of that horrible, evil man before him. Perhaps it was because he caught them off guard, or perhaps it was the nagging headache that remained from being hit by Raithlyn’s sword, but somehow Sean’s blade managed to connect with the man’s stomach, running him through. The unfortunate man fell to the ground with sightless eyes, hitting his head upon the hard stones of the broken statue. Sean then turned to the next man, who was still on the ground near Raithlyn, and began to walk slowly towards him. The look of pleading in his eyes was pathetic, babbling something about “don’t kill me, please!” and trembling like a leaf. Sean was distracted by the harsh laughter coming from behind him.

 “So, she had a little friend, did she? Well, we’ve no time to waste on you. It was certainly a bit of luck that you managed to kill poor Daniel, but we’ll find another fool to take his place. My advice to you, boy, is run away from here and never once look back. Forget about this place! It is nothing.”

Sean put all his hatred into glaring at Ithykiel. He seemed to remember something about being able to make a person do whatever you wished them if you could glare at them just the right way. He would tell this man to use his magic attack to kill off the other man and then run himself through, but his thoughts were interrupted by more laughter.

“You think you can dominate me, boy? You don’t have a chance. I’m much stronger than you, and you know it. Now go!”

The force with which the man said this was enough to make Sean go weak, and he sank to his knees. He was left with the impression of laughter, rain, and the smell of blood, but was unable to consciously internalize any of it. He tried to fight through the haze that prevented him from using his free will, and worked to remember the details of the fight he had just witnessed. Suddenly, he found his truth that broke the spell of lethargy open and left him kneeling in the rain: Raithlyn.

Sean stumbled to his feet and ran to where the elf lay bleeding from a huge wound in her lower chest. He fumbled about for something to stop the bleeding, finally removing his own shirt and tearing it to strips. “Forgive me, Miss Raithlyn,” he said under his breath as he removed her jerkin and pulled her shirt up to expose the injury. He worked quickly, doing the best he knew how, to clean and bandage, but it was obvious his novice skills wuld not be

head onto his lap, cradling her like a child as the rain fell all around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5:

The Cleric in Black

 

                Dorian Zylith was eating. Warm mashed potatoes, a good chunk of red meat, fresh bread and fine wine. He relished in his meal, tasting the delicate flavors and letting them mingle on his palate. It had been far too long since he’d had a meal this good. Now all he needed was a haircut and a bath and he’d be content again.

He finished his food and laid a single gold coin on the table in gratitude. Quietly, he gathered up his cloak and walked out of the restaurant and into the street. It was fairly quiet, the night was warm, and the rain that had been falling for the past couple of days had abated, leaving everything refreshed and clean to sparkle in the moonlight. The sound of chirping filled the air like butterflies, and the cleric allowed himself to smile a little. Despite the warmth of the night, he threw his cloak on over his back and pinned the clasp carefully; a golden brooch in the shape of the sun. His long, black hair fell down in lustrous waves over his shoulders, colored like the wing of a raven and reflecting blue. He walked through the muddy street back toward the little inn where he was staying; humming a hymn he had learned back at the headquarters of the Church in Misai.

He reached the inviting double doors of the warmly lighted building, swinging them open and revealing a clean little pub sparsely occupied with a few rough looking men quietly sipping at their drinks. He was greeted with a few questioning looks and a grunt or two, but he brushed them aside and strode purposely toward the stairs.

The stairs led to a hallway that looked out over the pub on one side and a neat row of doors on the other, continuing on for some distance to either side. As he walked down the long hall that led to his room, he paused for a moment in front of one particular door, contemplating going in for a moment to check on its occupants. He sighed as he remembered the day they’d arrived, when the rain was at its worst and the village seemed as a ghost town. A young boy of some elfin descent had appeared; scrawny, bruised, muddy and shirtless, carrying what looked like a large wet brown bundle. He had walked the streets calling for some sort of healer, which had attracted the attention of the cleric. Dorian recalled his shock at finding the wet brown bundle was a rather maimed elf woman. The boy had brought her here, and had been at her side faithfully since their arrival two days ago, when the cleric had healed her injuries to the best of his ability yet had been unable to wake her.

Dorian decided he would visit them, but that it might appear rude if he just walked in. He instead went back down to the little pub and bought some food and a little pitcher of mulled wine before returning to tap tentatively on the door. He listened to the sounds of a chair being pushed back and footsteps nearing where he stood in the hallway. Dorian couldn’t help but jump a little when the door opened to reveal the strange boy half illuminated by the flickering light of a candle on the nightstand.

“Oh, it’s you,” said the boy gently. “You’re welcome to come in if you like.”

Dorian entered the little room, setting down the little tray of food and the pitcher of wine on a table before taking a seat. If possible, the boy looked even worse than he did when he arrived. His pale, thin body seemed almost transparent in the dim light, dark shadows illuminated the hollows in his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t eaten or slept for several days. Indeed, thought Dorian, he probably hadn’t.

“I brought you some food and wine, I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you so much, kind sir. I’m sure Raithlyn would also appreciate it if she were awake just now.” The boy turned a worried eye toward the bed, where the form of a sleeping elf lay peacefully. Then he took a seat beside the cleric at the table.

“You may help yourself, sir…”

“Seamus. Seamus Liadon, although you may call me Sean. And there, in the bed:” gesturing to the elf, “Raithlyn Valeria.” Sean served himself a little bit of food and poured a small glass of the warm liquid. “I don’t know if I introduced myself before, I was a little preoccupied. And your name is…?”

“Dorian Zylith, wandering cleric. Spreading the Love of God to all who care to listen, which is unfortunately a rather small number nowadays.”

“Pleased to meet you, Father.”

Dorian laughed and poured himself a full glass of wine. “I’m not a father yet! Actually, I’m just sort of a missionary. I do odd jobs for the Church, wander where I please, and just generally do good wherever I go. I have no intention on being stuck in a chapel for the rest of my life.”

Sean laughed, letting a little twinkle sparkle in his eyes, the first sign of happiness that Dorian had seen out of him thus far.

“Very well then, sir Dorian,” smiled the boy. “I suppose that means that all three of us have something in common: we’re all wanderers. I am a musician and storyteller, a bard. Miss Raithlyn is a wandering warrior. I suppose I could say we make a good team, but we haven’t know each other for that long.”

“Interesting. You act as if she were your only companion in the world!”

Sean’s eyes once again clouded over, his face darkening. Dorian cursed himself for bringing up such a sore subject.

“Yes,” said Sean. “She is my only companion. I have no family and no home, now…”

Dorian could see the sadness and the loss welling up inside the small boy before him, and held out his hand over the table.

“If you will have me, I would be your friend Sir Seamus. Then neither of us could say we are alone.”

Sean looked up at the man in black before him. His eyes shone with unshed tears, he let a weary yet sincere smile cross his lips, and he took the cleric’s hand.

“Good,” said Dorian. “I suggest you get some sleep, Sean. It looks as though you need it.”

“But Raithlyn, I want to stay…” Sean rose from his seat, catching himself on the edge of the table. Dorian gently took hold of his shoulder.

“I’ll watch over her, you need rest. You can have my room.” Sean’s eyes showed a mingling of gratitude and reluctance, but in the end sleep won over him, and he stumbled off down the long hallway.

“Great, now what have I gotten myself into this time?” sighed the cleric, walking over to look at the face of the elf who still lay sleeping in the large bed.

She was not young, yet not unspeakably old, which was not uncommon for an elf. Dorian guessed she was somewhere around one hundred years, perhaps older. Her face was hard and weathered, but wild and beautiful all the same. Long black eyelashes closed gently upon her cheeks, and soft blonde locks fell around her thin face like a golden picture frame around a priceless painting. Dorian shook himself and snapped back out of his mental meanderings, and took a seat by the bedside, beginning to understand how Sean could sit there for days, staring at her.

 

The evening wore on into night, and night into early morning. Dorian was just standing to trim the wick on the dying candle when there came a gentle rustling from the blankets on the bed. He continued with what he was doing before returning to his seat, watching with the same eager fascination as one who watches a butterfly emerge from its cocoon.

Slowly, the eyes opened. “Where – where am I?” Deep green eyes still clouded with sleep surveyed the room with calm interest.

“You are in the Village of Meibree, just outside of what used to be the Village of Karn, on the Western shore of the Levalle. You also happen to be in the Golden Sun Inn in room seven, I believe.”

The elf looked confused, and Dorian smiled warmly. “Meibree… Karn… Golden Sun…” murmured the elf.

Dorian laughed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. All you need to know is that you’re safe here, so rest.”

Raithlyn began to close her eyes, then suddenly snapped awake again, and began to sit up, gripping her side in pain. “Sean! Where’s Sean! And the men, please, is Sean safe? Owww…”

Dorian took her hand away from where it was still pressed against her wound and lowered her carefully back onto the bed with his other arm behind her back. “You should take it easy. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Sean is just fine, he’s sleeping now for the first time since he brought you here. Somehow that skinny boy managed to carry you all the way from the ruins of Karn, and still stay by your side nonstop. I must admit I greatly admire his devotion to you, beautiful lady.” Still holding her hand, he softly swept the slightly damp hair away from her face.

If Raithlyn could have managed to slap him, she would have. Her agitation was lost, however, as she found the relief that Sean was alright and they were both safe. Somewhere in the depth of her thoughts came the little warning that she should not trust this strange man beside her, but there was something about his mannerisms and the way he spoke to her about Sean that led her to believe that he was not a threat. “Tell me your name,” was all she said as she began to study the strange man before her.

“My name is Dorian, and you are the Wanderer of the West, Miss Raithlyn Veleria. Yes, I know who you are, don’t look so surprised. Sean told me your name, and it is not unknown in these parts. I, too, am a wanderer. I am a cleric of the Church of Holy Light. I mean you no harm.”

Raithlyn could read him like a book now, and he knew it. His grip on her hand was light and cool, showing more tenderness than aggression. Care reflected in his dark gray eyes, conveying the same look that occasionally shone through Sean’s young gaze. His face was set, however, as if he were hiding something, although the relaxed line of his jaw implied a master at concealing what he meant to stay hidden. This deep description seemed to satisfy the elf, and she let herself be tended by him. She worried a little at his touching her, and felt the first pangs of guilt that she wasn’t more uncomfortable with it than she was. In the end, she decided it was just because of her injuries and her excessive tiredness, and dismissed it before falling asleep in Dorian’s arms.

 

Dorian stayed with Raithlyn all night and into the morning before taking his leave. He was contented with the way she was healing, he imagined she would be up and about within another day or so. Having his main priority taken care of, he turned his attention to the half-starved and sleep deprived mongrel that was currently in his bed. He entered his room, where sure enough the boy was sleeping; a look of calm peace upon his face. The way he held his hands suggested the very young, although he carried himself more like a seasoned traveler. Dorian smiled, reminded of another time when he, too, had found himself in a similar position. Of course the boy was homeless, that much was certain. He was also very broke, only being able to pay the innkeeper and not to purchase food or clothing, although he did manage to repair Raithlyn’s shirt.

The cleric walked quietly, so as not to disturb Sean, and removed an old shirt from his pack. It was large and black, but should at least keep him warm. He hurriedly folded the shirt and placed it over the sleeping lump in the bed, then wrote a short note explaining that the shirt was for him.

Dorian left the room, closing the door behind him, and was beginning to walk down the hall when he ran into Raithlyn.

“Miss Raithlyn? What are you doing out of bed?” he asked.

Raithlyn was breathing deeply and leaning heavily on the wall as she walked. “I wanted to see Sean,” she said between breaths.

Dorian raised his eyebrows, but held out his hand. “He’s this way. I can take you to him if you like.”

Raithlyn didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes as she took his hand said “thank you” more than any words could manage.

He led her back to the room where Sean lay sleeping peacefully, and heard Raithlyn give out a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I will stay here.” Dorian didn’t question her. He just helped her sit by the table and draped his cloak over her shoulders. She sat perfectly still, wide green eyes focused on the boy, watching over him like a mother hawk.

“Would you like me to bring you some food?” A nod, and Dorian disappeared out the doorway and down the hall, leaving Raithlyn to sit in silence.

The elf took in her surroundings. The room looked fairly well lived in, as if the cleric had been staying there a while. Fresh flowers had been laid on the table, the wardrobe was hung with a few cloaks and other odds and ends. There was a cleric’s vestment there, too. Light filtered into the room through the little window, casting long shadows on the floor and walls of the various ornaments that hung in the way. There were a few books scattered about; on the table, nightstand, chairs, and wardrobe. Raithlyn began to look closer at everything, trying to uncover more details about who this cleric might be, and what exactly he was trying to hide. The clothes he owned were all threadbare and old, the books were tattered and stained and much loved. All the ornaments were made of wood or textile. In fact, the only thing that looked at all new or relatively unused was the vestment.

Raithlyn stood carefully, walking slowly, gauging how much weight her feet would hold, and keeping her balance with expert precision. She went to examine the contents of the wardrobe a little closer, to see if she could decipher any more clues.

“Aah,” she sighed at last. “I see.” There, in the bottom of the wardrobe, was another heavily used but well loved item: the black leather sheathed brilliance of a beautiful long sword.

“So I see you’ve found Kharish?” the question from behind startled Raithlyn, making her jump. “I figured as much. You don’t trust me yet; you need to know more about who I am.”

Raithlyn found herself annoyed at this man who presumed to know what she was thinking, and even more annoyed that he was right. Dorian entered the room, stealthy as a cat, and set down the tray of food on the table. Raithlyn glowered at him.

“Well, I suppose now I must tell you everything, eh?” he chuckled softly, letting his hair fall down over his eyes. “Or should I just take questions?”

Despite her irritation, Raithlyn asked, “What is ‘Kharish’?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Dorian. “Kharish is my sword; my companion and loyal friend. We travel everywhere together, and are never alone.”

Raithlyn was taken aback. “But, you’re a… a—”

“Wandering cleric, a priest, a man of the cloth, a holy man. Yes, I know. But I’m sure you saw by the look of my vestments how active a member of the Church I am. I just do odd jobs. I value my freedom too much to be tied down by a cloth.”

“A missionary.”

“Sort of a missionary-assassin, actually. Sometimes, for some Godly reason, they tell me to go kill someone. Some kind of blasphemer or threat to the Church, I suppose. I do what I’m told, and in exchange I get to eat wherever I want and stay for free. They pay me handsomely, but I usually don’t keep the money. That would be wrong.”

Raithlyn felt her head swim. Missionary-assassin? The church giving out blood money? And who the hell was this guy, who passed himself off as a priest and a do-gooder while being a part-time murderer? It was too much.

Dorian saw her confusion written plainly on her face. He walked slowly over to her and offered to help her up. Raithlyn didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the smile of amusement she heard so plainly in his voice.

“Please take my hand, Raithlyn.” This time, the quality of his voice changed. It was mellow, calm and dark like an ancient sea, and there was something else there too. It hinted at the hidden secret that she’d been trying to uncover from his personality, and curiosity overcame her and she looked up into those huge dark gray eyes. There she saw what it was she’d been trying to find, that tiny flaw that betrayed the mask he so desperately wore. The weight of that emotion was so heavy that it threatened to crush her, and she saw with a heavy heart the word that was written boldly across his soul: regret. So this, she thought, is Dorian Zylith; the cleric in black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6:

Back on our Feet

 

                “I’m going to go into town now, Raithlyn. You are welcome to come with me if you like.”

                Raithlyn was still staring at the man before her with wide eyes, taking in the implications of everything he’d said. She was debating staying with Sean for his safety, or following the cleric as a caution. In the end she decided that she would stay with Sean and they would both go into town later.

                “No, thank you,” she said.

                “Alright,” said Dorian. “Feel free to think of this room as your own, and you may help yourself to the food on the table. Oh, and don’t worry too much about Sean. He’s tired, but in full health. I will return later this afternoon.”

                Raithlyn watched him stalk out the door again, and waited a moment before walking back to the table. She still felt weak, but was regaining strength very quickly. She knew that she had been healed with Divine Magic; clerics were known for their immaculate treatments. He had done a good job; the only thing left of the great stab wound was a dull throb in her side. She felt herself lucky to be alive, and then spared a long look at the sleeping form of Sean sprawled out over the blankets. She ate rather quickly, then heeded the cleric’s advice and left Sean to sleep in peace.

                She made her way back to her room, only touching the wall for balance twice. There were the remains of a pitcher of mulled wine on her table that had gone cold, and she paused for a moment before pouring herself a glass. She was wearing her leggings and a bandage wrapped tightly around her chest and over one shoulder, and felt a little twinge of embarrassment that she hadn’t thought to cover up more before she left her room. All the same, she pulled her newly washed and repaired shirt over the bandages and laced the green jerkin over the top, securing the sleeves with the leather cuffs that protected her arms. She pulled her soft boots on over her bare feet, and fastened her belt around her middle, taking care that the pouches were easily accessible. She briefly considered wearing her swords, but decided against it. The biggest threat she had right now was that cleric, and he didn’t have his weapon on him. She settled instead on examining them, the way their blades curved gently in the light, the fine edge, the brilliant sharpness. She fumbled around for a moment in her belt pouches before producing a sharpening stone, with which she carefully filed down the cold steel to a deadly work of art, putting as much love and care into the job as she could possibly produce.

                Sean appeared at the doorway about an hour later, still somewhat groggy, but ecstatic at seeing his beloved Raithlyn up and about. He bounded in and gathered the elf in a great hug, which brought a little moan from Raithlyn and many happy apologies from her admirer.

                “Oh, thank the Gods, you’re alive!” cried the boy, actual tears flowing down his face. “I was so scared… I thought you’d left me too!”

                Raithlyn held him close, like an elder sister reassuring her younger brother. “I’m alright, Sean, get a hold on yourself. I won’t leave you.”

                Sean sat back and looked up adoringly at Raithlyn with such devotion that the elf felt she didn’t truly deserve it. It was then that she noticed he had no shirt.

                “Sean, what happened to your shirt?” she asked.

Sean blushed a little, and didn’t reply. Instead he stood and looked Raithlyn full in the face. “I think I might need to go to town…” was all he said.

Raithlyn laughed. “Alright, but do you really expect to go to town looking like that? Actually, I think the scruffy look kind of suits you.”

Sean looked down and for the first time really become aware of his appearance. Although he was clean for the most part, his pants were still in horrible shape from many scuffs and wanderings in the past. His boots had holes in their soles, and he could feel the ground beneath his toes. He had no shirt. His hair was unwashed and uncombed, and fell in a series of spikes around his eyes and ears. “Hmm…” he said out loud. “I might get used to this look. You know, if I had clothes, and stuff…”

Raithlyn laughed again and sheathed the sword she was working on, hiding it and its mate between the mattress and the bed. She furrowed around in the corner, pulling the little golden harp from its hiding place and handing it to Sean. “You’ll need this,” she said, “unless I’m mistaken in my assumption that you have no money?”

Sean blushed again and took the harp, and together they left the room.

 

Dorian heaved a heavy sigh of content as he sank deeper into the hot water steaming all around him. Although he was tired from staying up all the previous night, he was determined to stay awake to enjoy his bath. A few other men were in the large pool, too; a few boys splashed and played in the water but the atmosphere was serene for the most part. The male attendant came in with fresh towels and more hot water, and then took his leave quietly after performing his functions. Dorian relished the fact that the Church endorsed cleanliness; he could bathe as often as he wanted in one of the public bathhouses without having to pay for it himself.

As he basked in the relaxation of the water, he thought about his experiences the past three days. The arrival of two strange travelers had never been of any particular importance to him before, but somehow Sean and Raithlyn were different. He had done his duty by his God and his creed by healing them and helping them back on their feet, but what had made him talk to Raithlyn as he had was unthinkable. He knew he was not to discuss matters of Church with anyone but Church officials. There was something in that elf woman’s wild, penetrating gaze that stirred deep emotions and feelings within himself that he thought years of clerical training had abolished. Old wounds that were left to fester in his heart were suddenly brought to startling clarity, and he actually let his guard down long enough to let her see that.

Dorian shook himself again, determined to regain his prior feelings of relaxation and apathy. He envisioned all his worries slowly seeping away, flowing with the water, poisoning it, spreading…

“No!” he cried as he sat up again, causing the other people in the pool to look at him questioningly. He realized it was no use, he couldn’t relax again. Calmly he stood up, letting the water fall off him in little rivulets, and then taking a dry towel from off the towel rack near the door. Fully dry, he replaced his now clean clothes and progressed into the next room.

“Good morning, Brother!” shouted a tall man who looked suspiciously horse-like with a long face and a lean jaw. “Come for a trim?” The man brandished his scissors and a razor before him.

“Yes, thank you. I decided it was high time I got a hair cut.” Dorian took a seat in one of the high backed chairs in front of a long counter, hanging up his cloak on a nail in the wall as he went. “I just want it shorter, not too short mind you, just so there’s nothing to grab hold of.”

“You got it, sir.”

 

Dorian emerged from the building feeling clean and refreshed. He lifted his arm and ran his fingers through his hair, which now hung just long enough to cover his neck and ears. He specifically asked the barber not to cut his bangs, however: he liked them long to trail over his face, providing a sense of mystery and intimidating opponents when they couldn’t see his eyes. He was startled by a rather large crowd gathering around the fountain in the middle of the square. Quickly, he rushed over to see what the commotion was about.

“Let me through, what’s going on? Is someone hurt?” he asked of the people that crowded around him. The noise that surrounded them, however, was not one of fear or apprehension; it was laughter. As Dorian squeezed through the throng of eager watchers, he finally emerged into the front of the ring to see a rather amusing sight: Sean was sitting, bare-chested and grinning broadly, and plucking a lively melody upon a small gold harp and singing. Beside him on the ground sat what appeared to be an old beggar woman, completely covered in a cloak, holding open a bag into which people dropped coins for the entertainers. Dorian recognized the cloak as belonging to Raithlyn, and he fought back conflicting feelings of irritation and amusement. He let out a sigh of relief and frustration, then broke into a laugh and resigned himself to watch the show.

The bard really was quite good, his voice was clean and sweet and his fingers incredibly deft as they wandered across the shining strings. Sean was singing a comedic ballad about a grand hero that couldn’t find his horse. The ending of each phrase was followed by a roar of laughter from the crowd. When the song was done, many of the people cried out “encore!” or, “another song!”

Sean laughed. “Well, alright,” he said, “just one more.” Sean bent down to whisper in Raithlyn’s ear, and Dorian found himself curious as to what he was saying. He watched Raithlyn shake her head, and Sean smile and whisper something else. At first, the elf continued to resist, but in the end she broke down and let Sean do whatever it was he was planning to do.

“The last song I shall do requires the aid of my dear mother, here. Ma? Care to stand up and take a bow?”

The audience laughed hysterically as the ‘old woman’ stood, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, and raised one shaking hand to the audience. Sean began his song: an old favorite among the farmers of those parts, about the old woman who danced in the corn field. As he sang, Raithlyn did little twirls and tiny steps, all the while shaking like an old woman with her back hunched over and leaning on the cane. Everybody laughed, and even Dorian was gripped with pangs of hilarity as they acted out their parts.

Eventually the song came to an end, and the happy watchers left feeling content, dropping coins into the bag as they went, until the only people left in the center of the square were Sean, Raithlyn, and Dorian, who was clapping appreciatively.

“Very nice, that was good,” he said, looking at the pair.

Raithlyn removed her hood and looked daggers at the cleric, her face still burning red with the embarrassment of her previous actions. Sean smiled and turned to Raithlyn, who had begun to count the coins in the bag.

“So how did we do?” he asked.

“Surprisingly well. It seems that these people haven’t had much entertainment recently; we must have almost thirty gold here.”

Sean packed his lyre back in his bag and shouldered it. “Good, now we can do some shopping.”

Dorian looked from Sean to Raithlyn, then back to Sean again. “You two make quite a pair, you do. I never would have guessed that such a wonderful musician would wander into town, and Raithlyn! What a dancer!”

Raithlyn’s hand flew to the dagger that she had tucked into her belt pouch, her eyes glowing fiercely. Only Sean’s calming hand and gentle laughter brought her back from the edge of her rage.

“We’re sorry to disturb you, kind sir. We just needed to get some money so that we could re-supply. We’ll be on our way now; you needn’t worry about us anymore.”

Dorian was impressed by the eloquent way Sean spoke. On a hunch, he turned to the bard and told him, in perfect Angelic, that there was a wonderful clothing store just around the next street.

Sean’s eyes twinkled a little and he smiled, then replied “thank you” in the matching language before motioning to Raithlyn and walking away in the direction indicated, leaving Dorian to shake his head in wonder.

“What did he say?” asked Raithlyn after they were out of earshot.

“Well, he told me there was a very nice clothing store somewhere this way,” replied Sean. “He just said it in Angelic, that’s all.”

“Oh,” added Raithlyn, feeling somehow more confused after it was explained.

The two rounded the corner in the street and found the store Dorian had cited. Sean walked in first, followed by an apprehensive Raithlyn who stood fingering her dagger underneath her cloak. Sean meandered his way around the racks and displays of clothing, examining everything from wool and linen tunics to grand brocade and silk contrivances, mingling precious stones and gold embroidery. Raithlyn, on the other hand, was suspiciously eying the women’s garb, horrified and fascinated with the prospect of wearing all those layers of heavy fabric and laces.

“Can I help you, miss?” came a sickly sweet voice from behind a rack of chemises.

Raithlyn looked up uneasily, not sure whether to ignore the clerk or run. “No, I don’t think…” was all she managed to say, but the woman was already beside her, appraising the figure of the elf and suggesting colors.

“I think that you’d look best in lavender, dear. It would bring out the undertones in your cheeks. And there could be some green to pick out your eyes, and a lovely blue would show off the highlights in your hair. As you can see, we have a wonderful selection of all the latest fashions, complete with the most elegant and feminine styles that have ever been imagined. Is there anything you’d like to try on, miss? Perhaps this one…” and so on.

Sean looked back briefly at the floundering Raithlyn mentally combating the saleswoman, and chuckled to himself. “She’s been through tougher battles than this before, I think she can handle it,” he thought. He held up a simple shirt and vest, in plain dark colors that would be most functional as a traveler. The shirt was of a different material than he had ever seen before; it was like linen but softer and thicker, providing more warmth and protection than a conventional shirt.

“That, my boy, is cotton. It’s another plant fiber, like linen, but infinitely softer and stronger.”

Sean looked over to see another clerk approach him from the back. This one was a man, tall and well groomed. Sean desperately willed him to not come any closer; he didn’t want to fall into a trap like Raithlyn had. Luck was with him, as the man walked straight past him and on to help the woman who was still chatting away at Raithlyn, who was looking more and more like some cornered animal. “Cotton,” mused Sean, as he flung the shirt over his arm and bent to examine the boots.

Raithlyn had had just about enough of this whole shopping business. She was thoroughly revolted with the entire prospect of wearing a dress, which was exactly what that evil woman was trying to get her to do. She fingered her dagger under her cloak again, when her vision slipped past the outstretched peacock bodice and onto the handsome young man that now emerged from the back of the store. She pushed past the woman, completely disregarding the dress, and met Sean as he paid for his purchases.

“Wow,” she said as she inspected the bard’s new appearance.

Sean smiled pleasantly as he handed the coins to the man at the register. His new shirt was black with long sleeves and a collar that laced in front, and it was made of that wonderful material that was warmer and more durable than linen but soft like silk. He also wore dark brown wool breaches and an un-dyed leather belt and boots. He looked quite the dashing figure as he shouldered his pack, carefully tucking his new cloak in around his lyre.

“Do you approve then, Miss Raithlyn?” he asked.

Raithlyn only smiled. “It looks like we’ll make a decent wanderer out of you yet, Sir Sean.”

“I just have one more thing I’ve always wanted to do,” he said as he left the store. “Something I used to watch the boys do in Karn before I left. It’s almost a sign of power, a right of passage among the men of our village.”

Raithlyn was puzzled, and followed him with growing curiosity. Her curiosity mounted when they stopped at the entrance to a lady’s jewelry store.

“You wait here, Miss Raithlyn, I’ll be right back.” And with that, Sean entered the store.

After about fifteen minutes, Sean strolled back out into the street, sporting a single gold ring dangling from his left ear.

“See? What do you think?” asked Sean, beaming with pride.

Raithlyn casually glanced at him, and then scathingly replied, “You look ridiculous.”

Sean laughed. “Oh, come on, Raithlyn, it can’t be that bad! I rather like it. I think it might look nice on you, too, if you wanted to give it a try. We would still have just enough money left over for room and board if you did.”

Raithlyn gave him her ‘you-have-to-be-joking’ look and turned to walk down the street, leaving Sean to call after her in vain.

 

They met up with Dorian back at the inn. It was late afternoon, and the warm sun began sinking behind the trees, causing the shadows to grow and lengthen. Dorian greatly approved of Sean’s new attire, and thought the earring was ‘charming’, much to the irritation of Raithlyn, who accused Dorian of encouraging him.

“Why don’t we all eat together tonight?” asked the cleric. “That way we can have a little more chance to talk together about our many adventures.

“No, thank you,” began Raithlyn, “because we’re planning on leaving tomorrow and—”

“We would love to eat with you, kind sir,” interrupted Sean. “Though we can hardly hope to repay you for the great charity you’ve done by us.”

Raithlyn was glaring furiously at Sean. How dare he try to decide things for her? Then she caught his eye. That mischievous twinkle was sparkling again, and she read his thoughts as he knew she could. They would keep an eye on the cleric tonight, then, make sure he was no threat to them, and then leave before he could do anything about it. If they simply left right then, they were risking their backs to the honesty of the questionable cleric.

Dorian smiled slowly. “It’s all set then. Meet me downstairs at dusk. That should give you enough time to prepare yourselves for your long journey before you. Oh, and Raithlyn: I bought you a gift. I would greatly appreciate it if you would wear it tonight, seeing as how it is probably the last time I shall see you, and I would like you to live in my memories as more than just a strange warrior. Good afternoon.” He handed Raithlyn the package and bowed deeply before stalking back out into the street.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” asked Sean, teeming with expectation.

Raithlyn unceremoniously took her dagger from her belt, sliced open the rough twine that bound together the bundle, and stood in complete shock as Sean laughed loudly, holding up a beautiful peacock blue dress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7:

Hell Reawakened

 

Dorian was watching the sun set. Great golden glow on mystic mountain, red and lavender tinged clouds floating like foam upon an endless blue-black sea. He felt a prayer rise to his lips, thanking God for the beauty in the world. He dwelt on his memories, for the most part, as he always had. But somehow, something had changed in him these past few days, and he saw things not as they were, but as they are. He wandered this world, looking for meaning in meaningless things, writing off abnormalities as functions of God, and would leave it at that. However, there simply was no explanation for Raithlyn or Sean. Despite hard times in the world, they carried on walking their own path. There was loyalty there, and love and deep friendship that the loner cleric had never before experienced firsthand.

He thought about their great kingdom, Tylania, which sprawled out over three mountain ranges and a great plateau as well as uncountable acres of forest. He thought about the young king, who sat on his gilded throne in Misai and didn’t bother with the growing discontent of the people in the more rural areas such as the West. He thought about the church, the only governing factor that existed in most places, which either ignored those in need or felt the compulsion to kill all those who stood in the way of its ideals. It was a corrupt society, and there was nothing left in the world but greed and hatred, with fear and poverty pressed upon all those who did not wish to lose their sense of humanity. Dorian had never before had to justify his actions, and the weight of his many un-sins wore heavily upon his heart. It made him squirm even more to think that Raithlyn knew that.

The sun finally dipped down beyond the distant mountains, leaving only a sky that looked stained with blood. With a heavy heart, Dorian made his way back to the inn.

He entered the pub, now entirely empty except for the barmaid who sat polishing mugs by the fire, and he sat down beside her.

“Oh, good evn’in, Brother. What ye be doin’ tonight, then, eh?” She smiled in her good natured barmaid way, as she hailed the cleric.

“I’m planning on entertaining some company tonight, because they will be leaving tomorrow and I wished to say farewell to them.”

“Oh, I see. Do ye mean them strange elfin folk? Nice lad, very sweet. Can’t say much about the lady, meself… I don’ think I heard her spoke once. Looks rather s’picious, if you ask me. I wouldn’ worry my head about her, that’s for sure and certain.”

Dorian would have protested, but at that moment Raithlyn and Sean walked down the stairs. Dorian felt his mouth go dry and he rose to his feet on shaking knees as he glimpsed Raithlyn.

The peacock blue dress fit her perfectly, and flowed with her movements like water. In Dorian’s eyes, she was as a princess attending a royal affair. He offered his hand to her as she walked down the stairs, which prompted a look of resentment from the elf. Dorian heard the barmaid behind him make an ‘I-told-you-so’ kind of noise, but he brushed it off.

“Miss Raithlyn, you look ravishing!” he exclaimed. Raithlyn ignored him.

Sean smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry we’re late, we had a little trouble figuring out how to get the dress on.” Dorian nodded in acknowledgement. It was then he noticed that Raithlyn had fastened her belt on over the dress, and was wearing her sword.

“I don’t imagine you’ll be needing that tonight, Miss Raithlyn,” he said, gesturing towards the sword. Sean shot him a warning look, too late of course.

“I will not go without it,” replied Raithlyn curtly, discomfort and embarrassment ringing in her voice.

“As you wish, my lady,” said Dorian as he bowed low. “Shall we be off then?” he asked.

“Yes, let’s,” said Sean. Raithlyn made no response, just gathered her skirt about her and began to walk toward the door.

 

Dinner was eaten in an almost awkward silence. Raithlyn didn’t speak a word the entire time, just picked at her meal until Dorian was inclined to feel sorry for it. The cleric tried in vain to start several conversations, all of them ending rather quickly as Sean avoided answering any direct questions.

“So where did you come from before you arrived here?” he asked.

“We’ve been wandering for some time,” said Sean. “We came from nowhere and everywhere at once, if that answers your question. Sorry I can’t be more specific.”

“What about your hometowns? Surely you must have grown up somewhere.”

“Isn’t it wonderful how people can grow when they’re out on their own? Wandering through the forests and mountains, meeting people and learning the secrets of nature. I think that is the true nature of growing up.”

“What about family? Do you have any family? How about a family or clan name?”

“All of the earth’s creatures are my family, because I look upon every man as my brother and every woman as my sister. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work, Brother Dorian?”

Dorian went silent. Raithlyn had finished and was drawing little designs on her plate with her knife. The cleric gathered his nerve.

“So Miss Raithlyn… how do you like the dress?” He knew it was a stupid question as soon as he’d said it. He’d expected some kind of scathing comment or perhaps an outburst of violence, but he was not prepared for what actually happened. Raithlyn looked up at him, and the feeling portrayed in those large green eyes was enough to make one weep. Shame and embarrassment, sadness and irritation, they mingled and played upon the surface of her being, showing her full contempt of the situation. Dorian felt terrible. He had tried to make Raithlyn look like he wanted to remember her, beautiful and cultured. Instead, he had taken something wild and wonderful and tried to tame it, fit it into a pretty cage for his own selfish reasons, and in doing so he lost the thing he thought most beautiful of all. Sudden self resentment caused him to lose his appetite and feel faint. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, Sean looking up at him questioningly.

“Well, I am very tired; I think I shall leave you to your meal in peace. Here,” he said as he tossed three gold coins on the table. “This should pay for the meal. I hope you two have a wonderful life, maybe we’ll see each other sometime in the future. Farewell, Sir Sean, miss Raithlyn.” And with that, he left.

 

Dorian wandered the streets, hopeless and lost. He felt guilty and ashamed at his selfishness. He was jealous of the wonderful friendship they possessed which he had never known. He felt contempt for his life, for all the terrible things he had done and the horrendous sins he had committed under the cover of holiness. He felt dirty, and decided that he would leave town that night. Quickly, he paced back to the inn and climbed the stairs, pausing for a moment to listen to the packing sounds coming from Sean and Raithlyn’s door, then entering his own room and throwing things haphazardly into a bag. He tidied up the room and left a note on the bed, apologizing for his hasty departure, and leaving billing instructions for the church. He fastened his sword to his side, grabbed his bag, and left without a word into the night.

He got about as far as the Eastern border, thinking about where he was going and what he would do, when he heard the sounds of many men talking quietly from a little ways off into the woods. He decided he would go investigate.

He set down his bag near a tree and began to crawl through the brush, praying he would not be seen or heard. After about five minutes of creeping, he saw a glimpse of torchlight coming from a large encampment of men in a clearing.

“Oh, God,” he thought as he saw the men. There were about twenty or more large, burly men, dressed in bright red tunics with chain shirts over the top. They all wore swords and carried bows, many of them had spears and a few had axes. They were lighting torches and talking amongst themselves. One of them had a brightly polished breastplate with a red sword emblazoned upon it. He appeared to be the leader.

“Almost time now, men,” he said as he oversaw the lighting of torches. “Do you all remember your parts?”

“Yes sir!” they all agreed.

“Good. First rank charges, archers light the roofs, and then the second wave flanks them from the West at the signal. Bilkens! Do you remember the signal?”

Bilkens, a stout man with a large torch, stood on the outer circle of the encampment. “Uh, when I light the inn, right?”

“Right. Be ready everyone, only another thirty minutes before showtime.”

Dorian choked back disbelief, then carefully crept back out of the forest onto the path. Ignoring his bag, he ran straight back to the inn.

Sean and Raithlyn looked up as Dorian slammed the door open, panting heavily and panic stricken.

“Men, in the forest… torches, they’re going to destroy the village! You must do something!”

Raithlyn was on her feet at once, fastening her two swords to her sides. “Which way?” she asked.

“East, about twenty yards from the road.”

“How many?” asked Sean, who had also fastened his sword.

“About twenty, although I think they said there’s another rank to the West.”

“What did they look like?” asked Sean as Raithlyn shouldered her quiver and grabbed her bow.

“Large men with swords, red tunics and mail shirts, the emblem of a red sword.”

“Redsleeves!” growled Raithlyn, who grabbed her cloak and ran for the door.

“Redsleeves?” asked Dorian. “You know them? Who are they?”

“No time to explain,” huffed Sean. “They’re the ones who destroyed Karn. Now we need to try to get everyone out, and gather any capable fighters in the village. Quickly!” he shouted, as the remaining two rushed out of the room.

They started banging on doors and screaming out to the people to evacuate, and as people began pouring out into the streets chaos erupted. The first flaming arrow caught a house on the Eastern side, spreading quickly across the thatched roofs, sending the already frightened people into a state of hysteria. Sean and Dorian did their best to heard the people to the Northern side, but many just ran off into the woods to be slain by the fighters, and some ran back into the fire that had now consumed almost half of the village, perpetuated and spread by the constant hail of flaming arrows. Now screams could be heard from the West, as the second wave of Redsleeves crashed into the mass of people, hacking and slashing with brutal glee.

One woman was doing her best to get her three small children to the Northern exit, but one was so frightened she couldn’t move and the infant in her arms prevented her from carrying them. Sean watched in horror as one of the hulking forms of the fighters came up behind her, blood dripping from a savage looking axe. Before he knew what he was doing, Sean had drawn his sword and was running to get between the woman and the axe.

The look on the man’s face was twisted with hilarity as he looked down into the ferocious eyes of the small elfin boy.

“You think you can stop me with that puny sword of yours, little boy?” he laughed. Sean tightened his grip on the hilt. The woman cowered behind him.

“You aren’t even worth my time. Out of the way, brat,” he said as he swung at Sean with the great axe. Sean leapt easily above the swinging blade, thrusting his sword downward as he flew, creating a brutal gash in the villain’s left arm.

The man changed from mildly amused to furious in an instant. “I was going to let you live, little boy, but now I think I’ll kill you. Prepare to die!” he screamed as he lifted the axe above his head, preparing for the killing blow. Sean reacted quickly, running around to the side and jumping as high as he could, putting all his energy into moving his sword in a smooth arc across his line of vision. The sword swung heavily and the man’s head fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” asked Sean as he sheathed his sword and held out his hand for the woman.

“Yes, thank you. Thank you so much, you saved my children,” she cried.

Sean helped her to her feet and picked up the frightened child, and together they ran for the safety point.

They reached the Northern woods without further mishap, and Sean set the child down next to her mother. The woods were teeming with life, people sat or leaned against trees, eyes wide with fear and disbelief as they watched Meibree burn. Many of them were badly burned or bleeding, looking like wounded statues in the wicked light. Sean looked into the raging inferno, catching his breath and cooling down a little, preparing to jump back through the flames. Just then he saw Dorian enter the refuge, with an injured man leaning heavily on him and limping. Sean watched as Dorian set the man down on the ground and held his hands above the large gash in the man’s leg. He closed his eyes and murmured something, and the wound closed itself up slowly, just enough for the man to get back on his feet.

“That’s a pretty neat trick,” said Sean as Dorian moved to the next patient.

Dorian looked up for a moment, then performed the healing magic on a woman whose face was horribly scalded. Without looking at Sean, he asked, “Where is Raithlyn?”

Sean took another deep breath, then unfastened his shirt and threw it to the ground with his pack.

“You can’t possibly go back in there. You’ll be burned alive. We’ll just have to trust that she knows what she’s doing.” There was fatigue in the cleric’s voice now. Sean knew that magic had an incredible drain on the physical body, and Dorian was working quickly to heal all the injured villagers, not giving himself a chance to recover.

“I have to go back,” was all Sean said, and he ran back through the fire into the burning village.

The heat alone was enough to impede his vision, and the smoke made it so he could hardly breathe. All around him were sad reminders of the few brave souls who had tried in vain to fight, but had been consumed by fire or rent by enemy blades. Sean searched for signs of life, but it appeared that even the Redsleeves had taken their leave. He ran through the streets, dodging burning debris that fell in his way, with his arm up over his eyes to shield them from the heat. He listened for any noise other than the evil roar of fire, but was unable to detect anything.

“Raithlyn!” he called, over and over into the flames. After what seemed like a lifetime of searching, he finally found her; silhouetted in a ring of fire. She had actually managed to hold off the first rank of men single-handedly! She looked like a typhoon of steel, with her swords catching the light of the blaze and glowing an eerie red as she spun. All around her were the bodies of Redsleeves soldiers, and there were two more that were still standing, brandishing their weapons against her. Sean watched her fight, like some angel of death battling in the very fires of Hell. Suddenly, another man crashed through the fire, charging at Raithlyn whose exposed back was unprotected.

This time, Sean didn’t hesitate. He ran, drawing his sword as he went, and got between the blade and Raithlyn’s back as quickly as he could, parrying the would-be fatal blow. Sean looked up into the face of a tall man who wore a breastplate with a red sword emblem on it. The man grinned in perverse delight, slashing wildly with his sword. It was all Sean could do to keep from getting killed, this opponent was much better than he. He stayed at Raithlyn’s back, guarding it with his life. However, the heat and exhaustion were starting to catch up with him, and he felt his strength giving out.

The man laughed. “Foolish boy,” he said as he continued his rain of blows. “You are no match for me, I see you weakening. I could do this all day! You will die!”

Sean gritted his teeth and continued to block and dodge as best he could, although he knew it was useless, the man was right. Suddenly, the look on the man’s face changed; he looked scared, and his sword arm dropped limply to his side as he backed up.

Sean spared a quick look around, and saw Raithlyn hovering over him, looking like a demon staring at the man before her. The man regained a little of his composure, and called to his remaining comrades to retreat.

“I will get you yet, this isn’t over. This is far from over!” he screamed, his voice trembling with rage and fear.

Raithlyn continued to glare at him. “You’re right,” she said slowly, her voice a mean growl. “This is far from over.”

The man glanced around very quickly before turning tail and fleeing back into the forest, about five or six of his frightened followers scampering after him.

“Raithlyn, thank God you’re alright!” panted Sean, getting to his feet with a little help from the elf. “I was worried!”

Raithlyn smiled calmly. “It appears that I owe you a debt of gratitude Sean, again. You never cease to amaze me. Now quickly, we must get out of here. Where are the villagers?”

Sean motioned towards the direction he’d come, and Raithlyn took off. Sean began to run after her, but faltered after only a few steps. Raithlyn raced back to his side, and silently pulled him to his feet, supporting him as they ran back through the raging chaos.

 

Dorian fought the fatigue that plagued his body and remained standing, working his way from person to person, healing the worst of the wounds and comforting as he went. All the while, he kept his eye on the burning village, desperately hoping for a glimpse of Sean or Raithlyn, who had not been seen since Sean darted back through the fire. A few people were helping to conduct a head count, disbelieving their estimates before starting again. It looked like only about half the people had made it out.

Dorian finished his work and leaned heavily against a tree, trying to focus his blurring vision on detecting any movement within the flames. A sudden movement caught his attention, and he stared at the spot with hope in his heart. Then, in a burst of fire, two figures ran out of the inferno and stumbled towards the wooded refuge.

The cleric ran out to greet them. They were both almost completely blackened from soot, but appeared to be otherwise uninjured. Dorian clasped them both in a great hug.

“God bless you both, I thought I’d lost you!” he cried. Sean was limping weakly, being almost carried by Raithlyn, who looked as though she were also on the edge of collapse. Dorian knew he wasn’t much better, but all the same he let them lean on him as they made their way into the cool woods.

Dorian found a likely looking patch of moss and attempted to let the two of them down there, gently laying the now unconscious bard and the wiped elf by the base of the tree before his strength gave out totally, and he collapsed between them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8:

The Quest Begins

 

The sun broke over the crest of the Eastern Mountains, shining gold and brilliant and coloring distant clouds a gentle pink. It was almost a mockery of the devastated scene below; a blackened landscape still smoldered where a village had stood only a day before. People wandered the wasted streets like ghosts, searching out treasures and loved ones they knew they would never see again. Some of the more industrious people were clearing away rubble and debris, already starting the process of rebuilding their lives. Others were gathering snippets of supplies, preparing to make the long trek to wherever. Still others hadn’t left the forest yet, still faintly grasping trees as if they were hanging on for dear life, unable to come to terms with the reality at hand.

Lying at the base of a nearby tree were three perfectly still figures. It almost appeared as if they had been tossed there, out of the way of the busier people. Two shades of blonde and black hair mingled on the ground in front of where Dorian still lay with both his arms flung out to protect his charges.

Raithlyn was the first to wake. She felt the cleric’s heavy arm across her, and opened her eyes. She was lying on her back, and so found it easy to sit up and disentangle herself from Dorian’s protective grasp. She got shakily to her feet, that last run through the fire had taken her to the edge of her limits. She remembered that hot choking sensation of smoke in her lungs, and the terrifying sensation of burning alive as the heat ripped at her skin. She counted herself very lucky to be alive, and it was truly a miracle that she was not at all burned.

She looked down at the two boys who lay sleeping, and smiled. They looked so calm and peaceful. She bent down to look at Sean a little closer, to see that he was alright. He had spent more time in the fire than she had, and without any protection from the heat. He had also taken quite a few hard blows from the commander of the Redsleeves, which served to further fatigue him. She didn’t know why Dorian had been so tired, she had not seen him fight at all and he appeared to have no mark on his body.

Raithlyn looked out to survey the damage. The village had burned to the ground, and was still smoking in places. People were dousing pockets of flame with buckets of water, causing steam to fill the area and lending the scene an eerie quality. Despite the situation, she felt a little twinge of cheerfulness: there were people who had lived. Half the village had made it out, whereas in Karn there had not been a single survivor. She noticed Sean’s shirt and bag a little ways off, and went to them. She gathered his things for him, and removed his new cloak from his pack. She then went back to the sleeping figures and gently draped his cloak and hers over the two, carefully tucking the corners and making sure they were covered up before going to see what she could do to help with the restoration effort.

Sean was the next to wake. He felt stiff and sore, and a burn across his chest had started to sting. He managed to sit with some difficulty, pulling the cloak around him for warmth as he shivered in the cool morning air. He noticed his shirt was neatly folded and lying on the cloak next to Dorian, so he put it on and stood up.

Raithlyn was fixing a splint on someone’s leg, tightly tying the bandages to support their weight. Sean watched her from a little way off, and then began to approach her. On his way, the tiny girl he had carried the night before ran in front of him.

“Morning!” she smiled at him. Sean looked down and gave her his most pleasant smile. She couldn’t have been more than three or four.

“Good morning, little one. What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Suzie,” she said, twirling a finger through her hair.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Suzie. How are your mommy and big sister?”

“Good.”

“Splendid. Now I’m going to go and help some people, ok?”

“Ok.”

“You run along and play, alright?”

“K.”

Sean watched the little child skitter off and disappear around a pile of debris before continuing towards Raithlyn.

“Good morning,” he said to her as she finished tying off the splint. The man stood and bowed his thanks as he limped back to the work.

“One hundred and twenty one out of nearly three hundred… but they’re alive, Sean.” As she spoke she looked out among the people, watching them with respect and admiration.

“Yes,” said Sean, as he too watched them. “But there are a lot of graves to dig.”

Raithlyn seemed lost for a moment, then snapped back to reality. “Yes, many,” she said. Then, turning to Sean, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he replied quickly.

“Let me see that burn,” she said, and she helped Sean to take off his shirt. A large patch of skin was pink and tight, and when she touched it she could feel Sean wince.

“I’m fine, really,” said Sean, reaching for his shirt.

Raithlyn restrained him. “Wait here a moment,” she said, and walked off into the forest.

She returned a few minutes later with a handful of thick leaves, which she began cutting with a dagger. After the pieces were sufficiently small, she placed them on a small square of thin, clean linen and tied off the corners, making a pouch.

“Brace yourself,” was all she said as she held the makeshift bag over Sean’s burn, and squeezed.

A thick green liquid began to seep out of the bag, dripping down over the burn and coating it with a sticky residue. Sean gasped and gritted his teeth because the salve burned horribly. He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out.

“Hold still,” said Raithlyn. She finished with the pouch and set it down, then wrapped bandages around Sean’s chest.

When she was finished, Sean pulled his shirt back on over the top. “What was that stuff?” he asked.

“Maylon leaves. The sap they produce is very powerful against burns; it will keep the skin flexible and protect it from infection as the new skin grows over the top.” Raithlyn picked up her things and put them all into a bag. “By the way, do you know what happened to the missionary?”

“Oh, Dorian?” said Sean. “He’ll be fine after he gets some rest. He just used up more than his fair share of energy trying to heal all those villagers, that’s all.”

Raithlyn looked confused.

“When you cast a magic spell, like when Dorian was healing all those people, it takes a lot of your energy away. That’s why people don’t just use magic all the time; it’s difficult. The more spells you cast, or the more difficult the magic involved, the harder it gets, and the more energy it takes out of you. Dorian cast healing spells so many times he wore himself out, but he kept going because he wanted to save all those people. That’s why he’s so exhausted.”

The elf seemed content with this explanation, and began to help some men lift a heavy beam out of the road.

 

Dorian woke last, sitting up slowly and nursing a raging headache. He turned around to look out over the devastation and felt a surge of hopelessness well up inside him. He turned back, and was surprised to see a tiny girl looking up at him with huge blue eyes.

“Morning, mister,” she said. “I just wanted to say… thank you for helping daddy, he’s all better now. Mommy got real sad, but now she’s all better.” The child held up a single daisy. “I picked this for you,” she said bashfully.

Dorian stared at the child in wonder; the large eyes and the tiny hand and the outstretched daisy, and he smiled. “Thank you so much for the lovely flower. It really helps me a lot, you know. And I’m so happy about your mommy and daddy. They are certainly lucky to have a wonderful little girl like you. God bless you, little angel.”

The girl blushed and smiled, then ran away. Dorian looked at the flower for a moment, then tucked it into a pouch at his belt. He began looking for people he knew, especially Raithlyn and Sean. He spotted them off a little ways; Raithlyn was lending a hand to some men who were clearing things out of the road, and Sean had his lyre out and was entertaining an eclectic and rather dirty group of children. It was to the latter party that Dorian made his way now.

“And the Captain cried ‘Hey!’ and they went on their way, all the nine thousand men cross the wide open sea. Then the children all laughed for they knew he’d been tricked, for there’s nothing there over the sea, the sea, there’s nothing to see o’er the sea.”

The children laughed and smiled at the silliness of the song, and forgot their worries and cares for the moment in the magic of music. Sean sat on a patch of grass on the edge of the forest, his lyre on one knee and a little girl on the other. He laughed with and smiled at the children, then plucked a handful of long grasses and began to twist and tie until all the children were mystified. When Sean was done, he held in his hand a grass doll, with a grass skirt and a leaf top. The children applauded, and Sean began to tell a story about a little princess who ran away from home so she could learn more about the world. He acted out the story with the grass doll, and another figure made of sticks tied together with string. He threw in props for effect, and the children all screamed in delight at the wonderful show they were receiving. Dorian watched the bard with approval, then began to walk away when Sean pointed him out.

“Look children! It’s Brother Dorian. Shall we say ‘good morning’ to him?” And in chorus, all the children from the near infants to the almost grown said “Good morning, Brother Dorian.”

Dorian smiled somewhat uncomfortably, and bowed. “Uh, good morning… children.”

One little boy tugged on the edge of Dorian’s black tunic. “Tell us a story, Brother Dorian.” This caused all the children to start asking, until Dorian felt thoroughly self conscious, and he floundered in his mind for a suitable story to tell the children. However, the sudden onslaught of tiny voices was too much for his brain, and he just stood there in awkward silence.

“Now, now, children. Brother Dorian is a very busy man! We shouldn’t have to bother him just now. Besides, I still haven’t told you about Sir Thomas and the great red dragon!” The attention of the young ones was immediately drawn back to Sean. Dorian gave him a grateful look, and Sean returned his ‘don’t mention it’ gaze.

Raithlyn was taking a break, sitting on a felled tree and calmly munching some dried meat. She briefly lamented the fact that Sean wasn’t available for cooking right then, because the meat was flavorless and cold. She watched Dorian’s approach with the same air of a cat stalking its prey.

Dorian felt a little exposed at Raithlyn’s penetrating stare, and he looked away. He stood in front of her, avoiding her eyes, and asked her, “Are you all right, Miss Raithlyn?”

Raithlyn continued staring at him for a few moments, then became very interested in her fingernails. She was silent for what to Dorian seemed to be an eternity before she spoke, her words quiet and harsh.

“It… is difficult… to express. My feelings for them, those… murderers. Words have never been easy…”

Dorian interrupted her. “Then say what you like, my lady, in whatever language suits you. I might not understand your words, but I can hear the meaning in your voice.”

Raithlyn gave a weary smile to her hands. She looked somewhat relieved, and then began to speak in Elvin with Dorian’s rapt attention secured.

“The Redsleeves did this… they will pay. They destroyed Karn. They also destroyed Valerian. They have been pillaging, plundering, killing, and destroying for so long. They have killed countless hundreds, maybe thousands. I was there when Sean viewed what was left of his beloved village; I saw the pain that was written on his heart. I felt his suffering. I swore then and there that I would kill every last one of those savages, and wipe their cruel existence from the face of this world forever. This –” she said, indicating the village with a sweep of her hand, “—only serves to strengthen my resolve.”

Dorian sat down beside Raithlyn, feeling her flinch a little as he did so. His thoughts meandered around the blackened piles, to the tiny children gathered around Sean, many of them now orphans, and to the few frightened people that still milled about or clung to trees who would most likely never again know the warmth and happiness of life. He spoke to her again, in Elvin this time.

“I know the hatred you feel for these men, the Redsleeves as you call them. I have watched many people die because of them, and I have been powerless to save them.” His voice was low and guttural, and he choked back emotion before beginning again. “I once held a tiny boy, no older than five years, who I had plucked from his burning home in an attempt to save him. There was an arrow through his chest, larger than he was. He was crying because he was afraid he’d never see his parents again. I told him not to worry, because they were all going to be alright. I tried to heal him but…” He paused. “I told him he was going to see his parents very soon, because he was going to a wonderful, magical place called Heaven where everything is beauty and light and you never have to worry about pain or sadness ever again. He looked so happy. Then I… then I killed him.”

Dorian’s head hung low, and his black hair fell over his eyes. Raithlyn looked at him tenderly, watching him struggle with the emotion that threatened to swallow him up.

“I had to, there was no way to save him, and he was in so much pain… and he just wanted to go to heaven and see his mommy and daddy again…” Dorian snapped out of his recap when he felt a soft hand gently caress his cheek. Raithlyn was looking up at him, bright green eyes shining. Her presence was comforting, and Dorian was able to compose himself. He stood up quickly, careful to avoid looking directly at the elf.

“I’ve got work to do. I must go to Misai, this needs to be reported to the Council. Goodbye, Raithlyn, and tell Sean I give him my regards. Go with God.”

“Wait!” said Raithlyn, and Dorian stopped dead in his tracks. “We will go with you. As much as I loathe dealing with government officials…”

Dorian knew what she was saying, but he had always been a loner and felt he had to make this trip alone. He had no idea what made him do what he did then. “Very well then,” he said. “You may come with me if you like, but I leave immediately.” He cursed himself under his breath. He walked through the chaos to the Eastern side and began searching for his deserted bag, all the while reprimanding himself for his foolishness. He found the bag where he’d left it, tucked between two tree roots just off the path. On a whim, he decided he would investigate the campsite where he’d first heard the men plotting the fate of Meibree.

There seemed to be nothing extraordinary about the circular clearing; from the trampled grass and the burned out campfire it appeared that it could have been any ordinary group of travelers. Dorian picked his way through the grass, looked through the blackened bits of burned wood in the fire, and examined under and around all the trees that bordered the site. He was about to give up on his endeavor when his hand closed around a metallic object that had been carelessly dropped in the long grass. He picked it up and examined it.

He held in his hand a beautiful and ornate pendant of the symbol of the Church of Holy Light. It was set with several small precious stones, and the quality of the silver suggested a very fine maker. Dorian felt anger that such evil men could possibly have this precious ornament. With his newfound treasure, Dorian walked back to the village.

 

“What took you so long?” asked Sean. Dorian had been lost in thought, and upon seeing the bard and the elf totally packed and standing in the center of the road caught him off guard.

“I thought you’d like a little extra time to finish your story, that’s all,” said Dorian, snapping back into his usual self. He tucked his negative thoughts deep inside, hoping with all his strength that Raithlyn wouldn’t question him. She didn’t, and the three shouldered their packs and began down the Eastern road together.

“Wait!” cried a voice. Sean, Raithlyn, and Dorian turned around to see a short, chubby little man bumble up to them.

“On behalf of the village of Meibree, we wish to thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Without your courageous course of action, none of us would have survived the onslaught by the villainous Redsleeves.” Many people had now gathered around the spokesman, who appeared to be the village leader. “We wish to leave you with a parting gift:” another villager handed the leader a small item. “For your bravery, and the subsequent help with the restoration, we hereby bestow upon you the honor of our greatest treasure: the Diamond Leaf!” The man handed Raithlyn a piece of black cloth to thunderous applause from the villagers. On the cloth was a single skeleton leaf that appeared to be made entirely of diamonds. It hung suspended from a thin gold chain, wrought delicately so that it weighed almost nothing.

Raithlyn looked at the trinket with concern, not knowing what to make of the thing. Sean stepped forward and bowed deeply to the people, flashing them his most brilliant smile.

“We wish to thank you for your most wonderful and gracious gift, kind people of Meibree. We shall honor it for as long as we all may live. Farewell, good people. We may see you again someday, after this quest is finished. Until then!” Sean waved his hand to much cheering and applauding, and some of the children ran out to wave one last time, before Sean, Raithlyn, and Dorian left the wasted village of Meibree behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9:

A Royal Encounter

 

Dorian was annoyed. He hadn’t wanted company on this trip; he had wanted to find peace in the silence and solace in solitude. He walked quickly, ahead of the others, not wanting to deal with Sean’s perpetual cheerfulness or Raithlyn’s penetrating looks. Sean was humming quietly to himself, occasionally throwing in a little dance step or a skip to his walk. Dorian noticed that Raithlyn made no sound at all when she moved, and for that he was grateful, although he could feel her eyes burning into the back of his head.

Hours went by, and evening began to set in. Raithlyn stopped them with the suggestion that they make camp and rest for the night, and so they did. Sean made the fire and playfully mixed ingredients into a tasty-looking dish while Raithlyn sat examining her fingernails. Dorian meditated upon the flames, reflecting on his actions and their consequences, trying to tie them all into some kind of rational order.

“So how far is it to Misai from here?” asked Sean as he served the meal.

“It’s about a month’s journey,” intoned Dorian, who looked at his food with some doubt. He had never tasted Sean’s cooking, and wondered if it was as edible as he made it out to be. Raithlyn, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy her dinner, and so Dorian ventured a bite.

“This is good,” he said as he ate. Sean smiled, and packed up his supplies.

After supper, Sean took out his lyre and began playing a song. “I’ll take first watch,” he said as he played.

Raithlyn pulled her cloak around her, covering her face with the hood as she leaned against a tree by the side of the road. She braced herself with her swords, so that it looked perhaps like she was not sleeping but preparing for a battle. Dorian just stretched out on his cloak next to the fire, folding his hands over his stomach and looking up at the stars.

“You worry too much,” said Sean absentmindedly.

Dorian was a bit surprised. “How do you mean?” he asked.

Sean smiled gently, closing his eyes as he felt the music. He was silent for a moment. “You have a very good soul, Brother Dorian,” he said at last. “But I wonder what might be preventing that good soul from shining through?”

Dorian shifted uncomfortably. He went back to gazing at the stars, feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable. Sean continued.

“There is a lot of pain in your heart. You advertise your skills as a healer, yet you cannot heal yourself.”

Dorian felt as if Sean had sent an arrow straight through his heart. All this time he was trying to hide from Raithlyn and it was Sean who managed to see through him.

“You know, Dorian… I felt like that too, right after my mother died. I was so alone in the village, but I knew that I had to find my own way. I found my peace by bringing joy to others, spreading harmony through music. That’s why I wander, although I’m never quite alone as long as there’s someone else to talk to, even if it’s just a bird or a squirrel. Why do you wander, Dorian?”

Dorian stared up at the sky. So many beautiful stars, he thought. He lay there, listening to the music of Sean’s harp, feeling the warmth of the fire on his bare arms, watching the stars glisten in the night sky. He felt the gentle weight of Kharish at his hip, as he contemplated his answer.

“It’s hard to explain,” said Dorian at last. He listened for some reaction from Sean, but there was none, and so he continued. “I suppose I wander so that I don’t have to deal with, something. I don’t know, maybe it’s people I don’t like. Maybe it’s the Church, maybe it’s—”

“You?” said Sean. Dorian choked. Sean closed his eyes again. “I think it’s about time for you to sleep now, Dorian. If you’re to take second watch, that is. Sweet dreams.”

Dorian settled down and tried to find sleep, but it was difficult in coming. He thought about what Sean had said, and how amazingly true it was. He wandered not so that he could spread the mission of the Church, or so that he could grow as a person, or even to keep away from people he couldn’t deal with. He wandered because he couldn’t deal with himself. When he stayed in one place too long, he’d begin to see flashes of all his misdeeds and was haunted by the faces of the countless people he’d been forced to kill. After several long minutes of battling his memories, Dorian fell into an uneasy sleep and dreamed of a tiny boy with an arrow through his heart.

 

“Burning, something’s burning…” Raithlyn was fighting. Bright sword blades flashed in the firelight, tearing through flesh and bone and bright red tunics. She was surrounded by a ring of fire, and the enemy kept coming through, as if they were the fire. She was soaked with blood, the blood of Redsleeves, the blood of criminals and thieves and murderers, or so she thought. Then, suddenly, she was standing on the edge of a forest, watching her beloved Valerian burn. With horror she realized she was with her mother, and she screamed out in terror.

“Mommy, mommy look out! The bad man is coming, look out!”

Raithlyn’s mother looked at her sweetly, and hugged her tight. “Don’t worry, Raithlyn, the bad men can’t get us in the forest, everything’s going to be alright.”

Raithlyn screamed and screamed, but her mother didn’t seem to understand. “Don’t you listen, mother? The bad man is coming! He’ll kill you! You’ve got to get away now!”

The fire raged. The huge man with the great sword loomed in front of her as she tugged vainly on her mother’s hand, trying to get her into the forest before the inevitable happened, but it was too late. Raithlyn’s small form was soaked in her mother’s blood as the beloved head she remembered so well but knew so little rolled to the ground. Her mother’s death grip held her fast to the spot, unable to get away. In a flash, Raithlyn reached up and brutally clawed the man’s face, her fingernails dripping with blood and still bearing the little rolls of skin she’d managed to remove in her desperate attempt. The last thing she heard as she was running back into the forest was the death-curse thrown at her by the man she’d clawed, and the sounds of fire roaring as her beloved Valerian burned.

 

“Raithlyn! Please, Raithlyn, wake up!” Sean was gently shaking Raithlyn from her nightmare. The elf opened her eyes, and was slightly embarrassed to find that she’d been crying. “Are you all right, Raithlyn?” asked Sean. Raithlyn composed herself easily, and looked at Sean directly. “It’s your watch now, Raithlyn. Dorian’s gone back to sleep. I figured that if I took your watch, you might be able to hunt us some breakfast. Is that all right with you?”

Raithlyn nodded briefly, silently thanking Sean for giving her something to distract her from the nightmare. She flung her quiver over her shoulder, picked up her bow, and set off into the forest.

It was calm and peaceful in the pre-dawn chill, and some of the leaves had started turning gold at their tips. Autumn was setting in. Raithlyn moved through the undergrowth, silent as a shadow, feeling out with all her senses toward some unknown prey. Nothing could escape her watchful eye; a slight rustle of a bush or a broken twig hinted at the size, speed, and direction of some animal or another. But this morning she had the luxury of time, and didn’t feel like wasting her efforts on small rodents and squirrels. She felt like something bigger, like a goose or a small boar. Unfortunately, all she managed to find that was worth eating were a handful of rabbits. She brought a few of these back with her, lamenting the fact that she had to use up arrows on such pitiful game.

When she arrived back at the camp, she found Dorian fully awake and staring into the fire as Sean sat hunched over, looking at something in his lap. She sat down next to the fire and began cleaning the rabbits with her dagger.

“What are you looking at?” she asked in Elvin. They almost always spoke in Elvin now; they all understood it well enough and Raithlyn didn’t like Common.

Sean looked up and blinked, almost as if he were coming out of a trance. “Oh, I was just looking at this leaf necklace, Miss Raithlyn. I just thought it was interesting, that’s all.” Sean set the necklace down, carefully wrapping it back up in its black covering. He pulled his backpack onto his lap and began shuffling around inside it, until he found his cooking pan and one of Raithlyn’s daggers. “I’ll go get some ingredients,” he said and took off.

Dorian remained silent. He was meditating upon the fire, praying to his God to give him the strength to protect and heal all of God’s children. When he was finished, he sat back and watched Raithlyn start in on her third rabbit. Sean was nowhere in sight, but the little black pouch was lying next to where he was sitting, and Dorian felt interested. He reached over and picked up the necklace and examined it closely.

The instant he touched the delicate veins in the Diamond Leaf, he felt the little warm pulse that courses through anything that is imbued with magic. Dorian was surprised; magic items were rare and highly prized. Why then did the people of Meibree; the people who probably needed magic the most, give them their treasure? Dorian’s suspicions were now fully aroused. He decided to try to identify what the magic was.

He forced his mind into a calm state, then let his consciousness drift, finding its way down the length of his arms, gathering momentum and power as it went. Even though his eyes were now closed, he began to see a picture of the necklace shimmer in his mind with a bright white aura rippling outward from the pendant. He waited for a moment, letting the magic strengthen, then reached out to tentatively touch the necklace.

As soon as his magic touched the necklace, there was a horrible snapping sound like the twang of a bowstring and Dorian was thrown backwards hard against the ground. He lay there reeling, staring up at the sky, fighting to find his consciousness again. From somewhere far away, someone was shouting his name.

“Dorian! Dorian! What happened?” Sean was leaning over him, helping him into an upright position.

Dorian’s head was pounding painfully, and he felt very weak. “What the hell was that?” he asked through gritted teeth. He looked for the necklace, and found it lying nonchalantly on the ground nearby. He glared at it.

“What were you doing, Dorian?” asked Sean as he handed Dorian the waterskin.

Dorian accepted the water. “I was trying to identify that necklace. It’s a very powerful magical item, and I wanted to know why those people gave it to us. But something happened, I can’t explain it… it’s like the magic is protected in some way, so that it can’t be tampered with easily. Not even for identification. It’s odd…”

Sean picked up the necklace and wrapped it back into its cloth covering, then tucked it away into his pack. “I don’t know about this necklace,” he said, “but I think that it’s best left to a professional in Misai when we get there. For now, I think we should just concentrate on getting there.” He set the backpack down after removing his cooking things. He busied himself with herbs and spices and the newly cleaned rabbits and left Dorian to brood.

 

Things went well over the next three weeks of travel. Raithlyn hunted, Sean cooked, and Dorian sulked. Sean and Dorian would occasionally get into complicated discussions on philosophy and religion, which caused Raithlyn no end of irritation. All the while they were growing closer. Dorian now looked to Sean as a brother, enjoying a freedom of soul he had never known before. Raithlyn was silent for the most part, although she did take part in some of their conversations. She spent her time listening to the boys bantering, or to the squirrels who were busy packing away their food for the winter, or to the flapping and calling of the migrating birds. They were all painfully aware of the presence of winter, which loomed before them like a great white shadow. They knew they had to get to Misai long before then, because they were not prepared for travel through the cold snow.

As they traveled, they began to see villages and settlements becoming more frequent and more heavily populated. Small groupings of houses around a general store gave way to large towns with specialty shops and the summer homes of the rich. It was into the largest of these towns that the three companions went on the morning of the eighth day. They had run out of suitable water, and even with Sean’s spectacular cooking they were all tired of rabbit.

They decided they would stay there for one day, enough time for them to regain their strength for the last leg of their journey. The first thing Dorian did was find his way to the public bathhouse. He invited Sean along, but he refused, saying that he was going to look around a little first, and maybe get the strings changed on his harp. Raithlyn said she’d just rather stay at the inn, and they all agreed to meet there that night.

Sean began to wander the streets, looking at all the buildings. There was a store for everything. Jewelry, clothing, weaponry, armor, animals, pottery, artwork… the list went on. Sean was particularly interested by a large window with the word “Bakery” neatly painted in gold letters. On display in the window were the most beautiful cakes Sean had ever seen, and he imagined them to taste wonderful. He continued down the street, then went into a store called “Gullivers Musicians”.

A little bell tinkled merrily as Sean went through the door. A kindly looking old man was hunched over in the back, tuning some kind of instrument that was like a lute, but much larger and had six strings. All around him were the most wonderful looking things, from tiny golden harps as big as your hand to a giant organ set up all against one wall. There were baskets of scrolls lying in places, and Sean unrolled one to see that it was notated music. He himself didn’t know how to read the little black dots and funny shaped lines, but he knew that some people did and could save beautiful melodies forever if they wrote it down on paper.

“Good morning,” said the man behind the counter.

Sean looked up at him. “Good morning,” he replied. He rolled the scroll back up and set it back into its basket, making his way back to the counter. “I was wondering if you might be able to look at my lyre. It’s a bit out of tune, and needs new strings.”

The old man took hold of the instrument, which looked ridiculously small compared to his large hands. “Hmm,” he said in his low voice. “Yes, indeed, needs new strings…” he plucked a chord. “And definitely could use some tuning. I can have it done in an hour, for a reasonable fee. How much are you willing to pay?”

Sean reached into his backpack and shuffled around a bit. “Is three gold reasonable?”

The man took the money and looked at it for a moment. “Yes, well, this should cover the price of the strings. I usually charge a few extra silver pieces for the tuning, but in your case I think I’ll let it slide… on one condition.”

“You have but to name it, my good sir,” said Sean eloquently.

“Will you play for me? I sometimes get tired of hearing the same old songs all the time… perhaps one of the wild tunes of the West?”

Sean smiled and nodded. “Of course,” he said.

The old man handed him a lovely harp from the display shelf, and Sean playfully let his fingers stroll across the gold strings while the old man worked.

 

Raithlyn was wandering the streets. She had no real direction in mind, only to find an inn that was nearby and not too expensive. The streets were crowded with people, examining items and running around doing their shopping. Raithlyn began to feel a little self conscious at the sight of so many well-dressed and important looking people. She couldn’t help but feel a considerable amount of contempt for the situation, and this made her even more alienated from the people she passed.

Perhaps it was the confusion of the busy street, or maybe the number of people that seemed to flow like some great river from store to store, but somehow Raithlyn was horribly distracted and wasn’t watching the road nearly as well as she should have been. At that moment, there was a great crashing sound and Raithlyn found herself launched into the air to land hard on the dirt road.

She looked up to find out what had hit her: a large and very elaborate looking carriage drawn by two white horses. The driver, a rather short gnomish fellow, was waddling toward her with cruel words on his lips.

“You stupid elf, watch where you’re going next time! You’re lucky I didn’t kill you! You’d better—”

“Miss, are you alright?” A gentle voice interrupted the gnome, and the little driver fell silent at once and removed his overly large feathered hat to someone in the carriage. The door opened, and a figure stepped lightly out.

“Your Majesty, I really don’t think that you should bother with the likes of her, she’s just a dirty little elf!” The gnome cut off there, because a sharp look from his master indicated silence.

Raithlyn fought through the fuzziness to bring this new person into focus. It took a few seconds, but when she finally managed it she had to gasp at what she saw. Standing before her was none other than his Royal Highness, the ruler of Tylania: Prince Kyler Tylan himself. He was tall; at least as tall as Dorian. His hair was blonde, like Sean’s, and it hung in a long ponytail down his back. He wore a white jacket with gold buttons and trim and navy blue pants, his deep blue eyes shining brilliantly. Raithlyn suddenly felt very aware of her pitiful appearance: the worn leathers that were so thin and stained; the shirt that had been repaired so many times it looked like it had been constructed from scraps; her dirty thin face and her long unkempt hair… the list went on.

“Are you alright, Miss?” he asked gently, and held out his hand.

Raithlyn looked up for only a moment, and she actually saw care in his eyes. She felt herself being swept with an emotion that was not contempt or annoyance and she struggled to find the words that would be suitable for addressing a Royal.

“Are you alright, Miss?” he repeated, this time in softly spoken Elvin.

“Yes, Your Majesty, thank you. I am alright,” she said, lowering her eyes as she accepted the Prince’s hand, thanking the Gods for the blessing of the Elvin tongue. There was quite a gathering of people now, as everyone from the entire town, it seemed, gathered around to watch the spectacle. Imagine, a Crown Prince, stopping to help a dirty, common elf!

“Ha-ha! So you do know who I am! Well, then. What is your name?” asked Kyler.

“Raithlyn,” replied the elf. “Raithlyn Valeria.”

“That is a beautiful name, Raithlyn Valeria. I would talk more with you… but not here. Come, sit with me for a while, and we’ll talk. I feel I should do something to make amends for almost running you over. Come,” he beckoned as he headed back towards the carriage.

Raithlyn drifted along as if pulled by a leash. At that moment, in that place, she felt like she would have followed him to the very ends of the earth, if he’d let her. Kyler helped Raithlyn into the carriage, then stepped inside himself, leaving the people on the street to gossip about the wonder they had just witnessed as the carriage drove off.

Raithlyn had never seen such luxury as what she found inside the carriage. Two lush couches sat opposite each other. They were softer than clouds and covered in rich, thick red velvet. Matching gold tasseled pillows adorned the seats, and Kyler moved one of these aside so that Raithlyn could sit. There was a fresh bucket of chilled wine, and two cold wine glasses hung on a special rack above. The curtains were some thinner material, so that they still let light in but blocked the view from outside.

Kyler flopped comfortably back onto his couch. “So tell me, Miss Raithlyn, how you came to arrive in Bastian?”

Raithlyn blinked. “Bastian?” she asked.

Kyler laughed; a rich, sweet laugh. “Do you not know where you are? This is Bastian, my Lady, the third largest city in the kingdom.”

“Oh,” said Raithlyn, blushing. “We were traveling to Misai and stopped here along the way.”

“We?” asked Kyler.

“Yes, my two traveling companions and myself. We’re going to Misai to address the Council. Your Majesty, terrible things are happening in the West, and we—”

“—shall talk of business matters later. I came here to get away from the Council and try to find some peace and quiet, maybe have an intellectual conversation with someone that wasn’t just trying for a piece of the King.”

Raithlyn lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

Kyler gently lifted her chin, so that he could gaze into her eyes. “Please,” he said softly. “Call me Kyler.”

 

Dorian strolled through the door of the inn just as sun set, wrapping his cloak around him tightly in the biting chill of an autumn evening. He found Sean easily enough, for the bard had taken it upon himself to perform for the residents of the inn and the people in the pub. The two glanced at each other briefly, but it was long enough for Dorian to understand that Raithlyn was not there yet.

He took a seat at a table near the bar where he could see the door with ease. A plump, pleasant-looking barmaid waddled over to take his order.

“Do you have any good wine, Little Sister?”

The barmaid chuckled. “Of course we do, Brother. The manager brought some very good wines back with him when he went to Portslea, because the King himself was rumored to come to Bastian nigh on last week. Unfortunately, no one’s seen hide nor hair of His Highness since his supposed arrival. There’ve been a few wayward sightings, but none to be trusted in particular.”

Dorian listened with renewed interest. “The king, you say? But why would he be here, of all places? I thought he resided in Misai?”

“Oh, of course he does, Brother, but can you really blame him for wanting to get away for a while? Says he wanted to see the leaves turn something besides brown. Says he wants to get away from the Council, he did. Then he just up and left! ‘Tis a mystery indeed…”

Dorian sat back to ingest this new information. “Interesting,” he said at last. “Thank you, and would you mind bringing me a glass of wine? Not too expensive, but something I can drink Sacrament with.”

“Of course, Brother. On the house. Finest we have, for a Holy Man like yourself. Be right back…” and with that she departed, wagging her overly large behind as she went.

“What was that all about?” asked Sean, who took a seat at the table.

“Just some information that could prove useful. Did you know that Kyler Tylan is actually here?”

Sean looked thoughtful for a moment. “No,” he said after a while.

Presently, the barmaid returned with the glass of wine and a pint for Sean. “This here’s on the house for you, too, boy; for playing so fine and bringing in all this good business. And here’s for you, Brother. Hope you enjoy!”

“Thank you, Sister, and God bless.”

Sean looked questioningly at Dorian. “So do you have a sign on your head, or something? How come everyone always knows who you are?”

Dorian sipped delicately over his wine. “I’ve been around,” he said. “And this helps, too:” and he pointed out the pin that held his cloak into place. “See this sun? It’s the sign of the Church of Holy Light. Only members of the Church can have one, and it’s like a trump card to use for food and lodgings. I don’t have a lot of money, I just live off the people I help.”

Sean nodded in understanding, then turned around to look at the door uneasily.

“Has she been gone long?” asked Dorian.

Sean turned around again, and shook his head. “Nobody’s seen her all day. She hasn’t been here. Dorian, I’m a little worried…”

“She’s fine. She’s a tough girl. She probably just got too overwhelmed with the amount of people here. You and I both know what a social butterfly she is.”

Sean smiled. “Yeah, you’re right, of course.” Still, he turned to look back at the door again.

 

Evening wore on, and still no sign of Raithlyn. Dorian nursed his glass of wine, occasionally calling the barmaid over for a refill. Sean drank about three sips of his pint, then switched to water. The pub emptied slowly, people finishing their drinks and games and drifting up to their rooms or out into the darkening street. By the time there was no one left in the room but Dorian, Sean, and the barmaid, the two companions were very worried.

Raithlyn strolled casually through the door, her eyes twinkling and the edges of her mouth twitched upward into a thin smile. Sean jumped up quickly, knocking the table as he did so.

“Raithlyn! Thank God you’re all right! Where were you?”

Raithlyn glided to the table and sat down heavily on a chair, a rare smile plastered on her lips. “Sleep well, we’ve an early appointment tomorrow. We must be packed and ready to go by sunrise.”

Dorian and Sean looked at each other. Why was the usually sullen and quiet Raithlyn acting so happy? What had happened that made her so late getting to the inn? Sean sat down again, and took a deep swig of his pint. Dorian looked at Raithlyn over the rim of his wine glass. Her smile had faded, but the aura of cheerfulness still surrounded her.

“So are you going to tell us where you’ve been?” asked the cleric quietly.

Raithlyn looked far away. “I went for a ride,” she whispered. “With… Kyler.”

Dorian spit his drink across the table in his surprise. Sean was frozen in mid drink. “Kyler? Kyler Tylan? The king!?” demanded Dorian, reverting to Common in his agitation.

Raithlyn smiled calmly. “He’s taking us to Misai tomorrow morning at dawn. We can stay as guests in the palace, and address the Council at the first opportunity.”

Dorian and Sean just blinked. Sean shook his head in wonder, and Dorian simply stared in stunned silence.

Raithlyn drifted out of her seat and began walking to her room. “I’m going to bed now, take care not to oversleep. Goodnight,” she said, and then she was gone.

Dorian made a noise in the back of his throat. “Great, I go take a bath and she skips of with his Royal Highness.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Sean in the same tone of voice. They sat together for a while, finishing off the last of their drinks, then walked up the stairs to the room they would share that night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10:

The Road to Misai

 

Morning found Sean and Dorian groggily getting their things together while an irritated Raithlyn stood sulking by the door frame. She had burst through the door just before dawn, expecting them to be ready, and had found them both still in bed. She began barking orders and shouting packing instructions while the two boys scrambled about.

At dawn, the cleric, the bard, and the elf left the inn and followed the Eastern road to where it met the forest. Three fantastic carriages were waiting for them. Raithlyn led the way to the most extravagant of the three.

A tall blonde figure stepped out from behind the carriage, and smiled brilliantly when he saw the three travelers.

“Good morning, Raithlyn! Are these your friends?”

Raithlyn smiled in return. “Yes, thank you Kyler. This one here is Dorian, a cleric of the Church; and this short one is Sean. He’s a wonderful musician.”

The boys bowed awkwardly, mumbling something to the effect of “Good morning, Your Majesty” as they went.

The young king laughed. “I’m very pleased to meet you both. Please, won’t you join me for a bit of breakfast? There will be a feast when we reach Misai, of course.”

Dorian and Sean both stood to attention. “Breakfast?” they asked simultaneously.

“Yes,” said the king. “We’re serving rabbit.”

Raithlyn and Kyler both laughed hysterically as they watched the boys’ faces fall.

“Just kidding,” laughed Kyler. “Raithlyn told me you were sick of rabbit, so I brought smoked goose and eggs. Sound good?”

The boys nodded emphatically. They all climbed into the carriage, with Raithlyn sitting next to Kyler on the soft couches. There were quite a few people running around, gathering last minute things and preparing for the journey back to Misai. One servant, a tall, heavily-built man, stood at the door to the carriage and handed each person a tray of food and a glass of wine. Sean tasted his drink with caution, he typically didn’t like alcohol and especially not with breakfast. Dorian carefully smelled the wine, appraising the bouquet, before sipping at it delicately.

Kyler loaded a piece of bread with the goose and sat back. “So, you are Raithlyn’s traveling companions. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like I know you already.” He took a bite of his breakfast and a drink of wine. “Have any of you been to Misai before?”

Dorian looked up from his tray. “I have,” he said.

“Really? Fantastic. When were you last there?”

“It’s been about three years,” replied the cleric.

“I see,” said Kyler. “Where did you come from, Brother?”

Dorian looked uncomfortable, and swirled his bread in the eggs on his plate. Sean spoke for him. “Being wanderers, we tend to not feel any particular attachment to any one place. We go wherever our feet take us.” Dorian relaxed a little. Kyler laughed.

“Is that so? I see. I won’t press that question, although I am now very curious. Do you have a home Sean?”

Raithlyn tried to prevent this question with a warning look, but too late. Sean looked directly into the eyes of the young king. Raithlyn began to notice now how very similar they looked in face shape and coloring.

“I come from Karn, Your Majesty, but I have no home.”

Kyler looked confused, but he caught Raithlyn’s glance and didn’t further the subject. Instead he took another bite and sat back into the cushions as the carriage drove off.

“Kyler,” said Raithlyn after she had finished. “I think that we should talk about the reason we came now. It is very important…”

Kyler squirmed uneasily. “I think we should wait on business matters until we get back to Misai. I plan on enjoying my vacation as long as I possibly can.”

Raithlyn locked eyes with Dorian and Sean in succession. The boys nodded. “Alright,” said Raithlyn. “We’ll wait for Misai.”

 

Hours flew by, with the four people talking and laughing as if nothing at all was wrong in the world. Dorian and Sean dragged Kyler into one of their philosophical debates, and after a few glasses of wine they began to get very silly. Raithlyn remained primarily quiet, occasionally dropping a line or two into the conversation, but seemingly always looking out the window.

After a while, she sat back and asked, “So who else is traveling with you?”

Kyler smiled. “Oh, in the other carriages? It’s mostly just supplies, although I do have about five of my closest servants with me. One of the clerics from the palace came with us, but he left right afterward with his two guards. He said he had business to attend to elsewhere. I think his name was Ith… Ith… well, Ith something. I haven’t seen him since.”

“I see.” Raithlyn looked back out the window.

“So why did you leave Misai, Your Highness?” asked Sean.

Kyler paused for a moment, then answered casually. “I just felt I needed a vacation, that’s all.” He sat back and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Actually,” he said, his voice now low and quiet. “The Council was frustrating me. They were constantly bickering and arguing, fighting amongst themselves. As you all know, I shouldn’t be king yet; I’m too young. But when father died, I had to… so I called on the Council to help make decisions that would be best for the kingdom. Instead of working together, they became power hungry and selfish and began causing more chaos than what they were called upon to deal with. My personal advisor is the head of the Church, I believe you might know him Dorian. He helps me immensely. I… decided to take a break from the Council and the stress of Misai. My father had a home built out here so that he could relax, and every autumn we used to go and watch the leaves turn. That hasn’t happened since he started to get sick, so it’s been two years since I’ve seen that house, and I felt it was time to visit.”

“The Council is divided?” asked Sean.

Dorian looked at him sharply. “Yes, Sean, it is. The Council tries to present a unified front because that’s what keeps us commoners under their thumbs.”

Kyler looked confused. “You know about the Council?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” said Dorian quietly. “Why do you think I left Misai?” The young king just blinked while Dorian avoided everyone’s eyes.

They traveled together for another three days, talking laughing and sharing stories, when on the last evening the coaches pulled to a stop by the side of the road. Sean, Dorian, Raithlyn, and Kyler all exited the carriage to stretch their legs and inhale the cool air. Raithlyn had never been this far east before, and was fascinated by all the different plants and trees there were. She began to examine them, feeling their leaves and bark and smelling their perfumes. She was increasingly aware of the presence of mountains growing ever larger and more looming as they went. The Eastern Mountains were visible from a long ways off and were eternally snow capped and majestic.

Raithlyn took her bow and quiver of arrows and slipped off into the forest. She felt more at home here, and she felt she needed a break from the constant presence of civilization that surrounded her in the carriage. As she walked, she tried to sort through her thoughts. Kyler… she had known him for less than an instant when she felt like she’d followed him her entire life. She wondered at this emotion that was not agitation or discomfort.

Kyler had told her he thought she was very strange, because he had never before known of a woman that didn’t wear skirts, and the clothing she wore was taboo for a female in every town he had ever been to. Raithlyn had never been interested in what people thought of her before, and she was irritated with herself for feeling such embarrassment when Kyler had spoken of her like he did. And yet, he had told her that he liked the fact that she didn’t look like any of the other women he’d ever seen before, her attitudes were refreshing. He talked a lot, and Raithlyn had mostly listened. It was obvious that he was very lonely, and he kept referring to the ladies at court who were too busy fawning over him and could never seem to spare an instant of their busy lives in an actual intellectual conversation. They were always trying to impress him by wearing the most extravagant of clothes or using the most eloquent of phrases, but Kyler wanted a companion, not a trophy.

Raithlyn in turn had told him of some of her adventures in the wilds of the West. She described encounters with dragons and giants, beautiful spirits and wicked faeries. Kyler was enchanted by her stories, and actually laughed when he said he was glad he ran her over.

Raithlyn had also told him about how she met Sean in Teslyn and their journey to Karn. She left out everything about the Redsleeves and the devastation of the two villages; Kyler became uncomfortable every time she tried to mention anything having to do with government or politics. She would tell him on her own time.

The elf woman stopped and threw herself down on a patch of soft moss. It felt wonderful to stretch out and smell the forest again. As she lay there, she remembered the morning after Meibree was burned. She had been lying on a patch of moss there, and she could distinctly remember Dorian’s arm across her, protecting her…

“I’ll have to remember to hurt him for that later,” she said aloud. The sweet Elvin words drifted lazily through the branches and Raithlyn sighed. Home at last, she thought. Distantly, she heard someone shouting her name, and so she stood up, ready to go back to their camp. On the way, she spotted a large blue flower growing out of a tree stump. Curious, she went to examine it. It was very beautiful, and she wanted to know what it was, and so she picked it and took it back with her.

“Raithlyn! There you are!” smiled the king. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to. What’s this?” he asked as Raithlyn showed him the flower.

“I wanted to know what kind of flower it was, because I liked it…”

Kyler gently took Raithlyn’s outstretched hand in his. “It’s a cornflower. Beautiful,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

“Oh, God,” groaned Dorian, who was leaning against the carriage door while Sean prepared the fire. And then, clearing his throat, “Oh, God, please watch over our humble campsite as we prepare to sleep. I pray you fill us with your light and help us to complete this journey. Amen.”

Sean crossed himself, then continued working on the fire. Raithlyn went to get her cloak from the carriage, slapping Dorian on her way. She then found a likely looking tree and, wrapping herself up in the cloak, propped herself up in her usual position with her swords balanced and at the ready. One of the servants brought a comfortable-looking chair out from the third carriage, and fluffed up one of the pillows on the seat for Kyler. The king nodded his thanks and took a seat by where Sean had finally managed to light a little blaze on the wet wood.

“You’re good at that,” said Kyler. Sean looked up and smiled. His face was covered in soot, and Kyler repressed a laugh.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Call my Kyler.”

“Alright. I’d say you could call me ‘Sean’, but it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

Kyler laughed. “I suppose,” he said. He turned to look at Raithlyn, who was staring at the fire. “Does she always sleep like that?” he asked.

“Who, Raithlyn? Yeah, as long as I’ve known her. Which, I admit, hasn’t been all that long.”

“When did you two first meet?”

“We met in Teslyn. About a month ago, I’d say.”

“I see.” Kyler looked back at Raithlyn. “What do you know about her? She always seems so sad.”

Sean wiped his face off on the edge of his shirt. “I don’t know anything about her, really. I know that she’s a fighter, and has become quite infamous as the Wanderer of the West. She is also a healer, good with medicines and such. She’s saved my life quite a few times. The only thing I guess I really know is that she is my friend, and a wonderful person, and anyone she chooses to spend her time with should count themselves lucky.”

Kyler nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, let us have dinner, shall we?”

Sean smiled and sat up straight on the hard ground. Kyler noticed, and offered him a pillow. “No thank you, I’d prefer to feel the earth beneath me. It’s reassuring.” They both laughed. Somewhere in the shadows, Dorian heard them and walked away.

“Where is Dorian?” asked Kyler half-way through a plate of turkey.

Sean swallowed his bite and smiled. “Oh, he’s around somewhere. He’s a brooder and needs his time to sulk. We were being unfair when we forced him to be sociable all day!”

At that moment, Sean felt cold hands grab him around the mouth. “What was that about brooding?” came the voice of the cleric.

“Ah, there you are Dorian! You almost missed dinner!”

Dorian took a seat next to Sean. “I was just looking around, doing a bit of scouting. It’s a beautiful night and I didn’t want to waste it. Besides, if you ask me, it’s Raithlyn that likes to brood.”

“No, Raithlyn likes to sulk, there’s a difference,” Sean corrected him.

“But isn’t it the same thing?” asked Kyler, and they were launched into another debate.

 

Kyler had finished his dinner and gone to bed, leaving Dorian and Sean alone in front of the campfire. Dorian had found some mushrooms on his ramble, and Sean had devised a rather ingenious method of cooking them, using the end of his sword to toast them over the fire, sending a little trickle of wine down the channel to flavor and moisten the morsel. They sat back and looked up into the sky. The stars were bright that night in the absence of a moon, and the boys pointed out the constellations they knew.

“See that one there? That’s Andronis. See the head?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sean. “And that one there… the bright one next to the tree… that’s the Eye of Elyn.”

“And the three smaller stars there, that’s Dorian the Magnificent. It’s a very powerful constellation talked about in all the ancient texts.”

Sean raised his eyebrows and dropped his hand onto Dorian’s stomach.

“Hey!” shouted the cleric. They both chuckled.

Dorian sat up and stared into the fire. “Hey, Sean?” he asked.

Sean sat up too, and propped himself up on his hands. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever tasted Dwarven Mead?”

Sean blinked. “No, I can’t say that I have…”

Dorian picked his cloak up to reveal a large, earthen jug with a hefty stopper that exuded a potent smell. “Well, boy, it’s time you learned how to drink like a real man!” said Dorian as he unstopped the jug.

“I don’t know about this,” said Sean, who was already feeling a bit queasy just from the smell.

“Don’t worry, I’m a healer remember? And it’s not like we’re doing anything tomorrow. We won’t get into Misai until late.”

Sean sniffed the contents of the bottle and made a face. “Are you sure this is alright? And where did you get this stuff, anyway?”

Dorian pulled two tankards out of nowhere. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure. And I bought it from the lady at that bar last night, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Dorian filled the two tankards to the brim and handed one to Sean.

“Cheers,” said Dorian, and the two boys tilted up the bottom of their mugs to the starry sky.

 

When morning arrived, Kyler stepped out of his carriage to see what had become of his traveling companions. Raithlyn was wide awake, watching with keen interest the two boys who had collapsed one on top of the other, still clutching their tankards. Kyler had to repress a giggle when he noted the empty jug of what smelled like Dwarven Mead.

“Alright, you two,” he said in what he hoped sounded like a stern voice. “It’s time to get moving. Pack it up,” and he turned and walked over to Raithlyn. “Do they do this often?” he asked her.

Raithlyn’s eyes positively glowed with amusement. “I don’t envy them; Dwarven Mead is never something that should be taken lightly, and Sean’s a lightweight that’s never actually had a drink before.”

Kyler’s jaw dropped, his lips parted in a full grin. “Wow… do you think they’ll be up to traveling?”

“No,” replied Raithlyn curtly. “But they will. I think it’s time someone woke them up,” she said as she stood. She dug through Sean’s bag until she found his cooking pot. Kyler cringed… he knew what she was up to. She held the pot above the sleeping figures and struck it loudly with the pommel of her short sword, causing the boys to jump a foot off the ground and scramble to sit up.

“Aaow, what the hell was that for?” moaned Dorian. He propped his head up on his knee, holding his head in his hands.

Sean was overly groggy and couldn’t seem to get into an upright position. Dorian punched him in the gut.

“Come on, boy. Pull yourself together!”

Raithlyn smacked him in the back of the head. “What on earth were you doing?” she demanded. “How much did you make him drink?”

Dorian smiled weakly. “He had his fair share. Tell you what, I’ve never seen anyone with less tolerance than him. He was almost gone after only one drink, but I helped him out and he got through oh, maybe a fourth.”

“Of the jug!?”

“Ssshh!” Dorian hissed. “Keep it down, will you? Yeah, about a fourth of the jug. I had a hell of a lot more than him, and he’s the one that’s lying there like a wimp. Sean!”

Raithlyn stopped Dorian from kicking Sean. She went to the boy that was lying in a daze on the ground and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet and leading him to the tree where she had slept, then disappeared into the forest.

A few minutes later, she returned with some kind of leafy plant and made Sean eat some. She then walked over to Dorian and handed him a handful of the slimy looking plants.

“Eat this,” was all she said.

Dorian looked doubtfully at her. “No way,” he said.

Raithlyn calmed her temper and offered it again. “It will help with the hangover.” Dorian sniffed it, then made a face and turned away. Raithlyn was now furious, and thrust the handful of plants into his face. “Eat it, Dorian.” This time Dorian complied, more to get her to stop yelling than anything else, and choked down the bitter leaves. He was surprised to find that as soon as he’d swallowed, the headache faded considerably. He looked over to see Sean raise his head a little, just enough for Dorian to catch the daggers that seemed to emanate from his eyes.

Raithlyn helped him to his feet again and dragged him into the carriage. She began to head towards Dorian, but he stood up saying, “I can walk all by myself, thank you,” and stumbled into the carriage to fall on to the couch therein.

Kyler had watched the scene with amusement, and now he noted the disapproval in Raithlyn’s eyes.

“Don’t be so upset, they are just boys you know.”

Raithlyn looked at him. “I know,” she said. “But you’d think a smart man like Dorian could figure out that a small, skinny, eighteen year old boy wouldn’t be able to hold his liquor. And Dwarven Mead…”

Kyler led Raithlyn to the back of his carriage, where there was a ladder built on to the wall. “After you, my lady,” he said with a flourish of his hand.

“Why thank you, my Liege,” Raithlyn responded before deftly climbing the ladder.

Up on top there was another seat; smaller and less comfortable than the one inside, but the air was fresh and the weather was warm, and the view was wonderful.

“We can ride up here for the last little bit, Raithlyn. Then all the people of Misai can welcome us!”

Raithlyn turned pale. “All… the… people?” she murmured.

Kyler laughed. “Of course! Don’t worry Raithlyn. They’ll think you’re beautiful.” Raithlyn blushed and looked down at her clothes again.

“I said don’t worry,” smiled Kyler. “If you’re that upset about your appearance, then just pull your cloak around you, like this… and let your hair fly out, like this…” Kyler adjusted her cloak and hair around her. Raithlyn thought that his touch felt warm and pleasant, although she didn’t dare voice those thoughts, even to herself. “There,” he said, sitting down again beside her. “Now you look like you could be a princess.” Raithlyn smiled, and settled down comfortably beside the king, letting her hair blow freely in the breeze as the carriage lurched forward, starting in on the last few miles of their journey to Misai.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11:

A Welcome Party

 

                As the carriage sped onward through the autumn gold of forest, Raithlyn began to feel that she was very comfortable sitting there with Kyler. She had never before been able to tolerate a stranger’s presence, yet she felt like Kyler was someone she had known forever. Her conflicting emotions and thoughts sought to plunge her into the depths of frustration and anger, so she decided that she would just enjoy her time here with the young king, and not try to think anymore.

                The morning was beautiful. The trees were glorious gold, the grasses had gone to seed, and what was left of the wildflowers still in bloom were little patches of dark blue dotting the roadside. It seemed that about every few miles they would encounter another small village or town, to the extent that it was almost as if there was only one big city there. Kyler seemed amused by all the people they passed. They would look up from whatever it was they were doing; harvesting crops, chopping wood, sewing; and shout ‘It’s the king!’ and then everyone would look up and Kyler would wave and smile. Everywhere they went they were bombarded with happy solutes and waves and shouts of ‘long live King Kyler!’ or ‘welcome home, Your Majesty!’

                “Do you receive this response every time you travel?” asked Raithlyn.

Kyler smiled and waved at a pair of children playing by the side of the road. “Of course,” he replied happily.

                Kyler leaned back into his seat and they continued to ride in silence for quite some time. “You’ll love Misai, Raithlyn,” he said at last. “Everything is beautiful there. I can’t wait to show you the palace! There will be a feast tonight, and I want you all to be my special guests. And you’ll meet all the members of Court, and the Council, and Father Belanus, who is my personal advisor and the head of the Church of Holy Light. I’m sure Dorian would be glad to see him again. And Sean can play his harp for us! It will be wonderful.”

                Raithlyn felt a little queasy. She had never been to any kind of social gathering, and was not at all sure how to act. Kyler saw the worried look on her face and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” he said as he took her hand. “You’ll do fine. All you have to do is enjoy the feast and the music, and if it gets too much for you I won’t be upset if you leave.”

                “Thank you,” said Raithlyn.

                “You’re welcome,” whispered the king.

 

                Inside the carriage, Dorian was sitting on the couch opposite Sean. He couldn’t explain why, but he was angry. Angry with Raithlyn for yelling at him about Sean. Angry with Sean for being such a child. Angry that Raithlyn seemed to do nothing but follow around that stupid king. Angry with himself…

                Dorian shook his head and cleared his mind of the thoughts that were all turning against him. He wanted to just blame it all on someone else, something else, but somewhere inside he knew it was his fault.

                He looked over at the sleeping form of Sean. The bard was sprawled out on the couch with a wet towel on his forehead. “Poor kid,” thought Dorian. “I didn’t mean to make him sick.” The carriage hit a bump, and Sean winced. Dorian felt the guilt wash over him like a wave.

                Dorian remembered his first drinking experience: he was fourteen. He remembered hearing somewhere that drinking makes you forget things, and he desperately wanted to forget because that was the night he had committed his first murder. He saw it as clearly as if it were yesterday; he had been instructed to kill a family in Kor and he wanted to know why, so his supervisor told him that they were evil people who worshiped a Dark God and were plotting the deaths of hundreds of people. The man didn’t even know what hit him when Dorian sunk Kharish into his neck. At that moment, the woman rounded the corner of the house, and saw her dead husband lying in a pool of blood with the boy standing over him. She didn’t scream, and she didn’t look angry, which was what Dorian had anticipated. He expected some kind of retribution, or hatred, because after all these were evil people. Instead, he received a look; a look of sadness, of fear, and of pity. The look winded him, but his sword acted of its own accord and the woman’s head fell to the ground. The child was next; he had been sleeping. At first, Dorian didn’t want to kill the boy, but the words of the High Father came down to him and sat on his brain, about how even the child was a servant of the Dark Lord, and so he knew what he had to do.

                Of course, Dorian had buried them. But the looks on their faces… the innocent and fearful looks, had haunted him ever since. They did not look like evil people, and that’s when a fourteen year old boy decided never again to trust anyone because appearances were so deceiving. That night he had wandered into the storeroom of the Church in the basement of the temple, and downed an entire jug of ale. The feeling of being drunk was wonderfully free, because he didn’t have to think about anything and all his memories left him. Of course, he had been sick… but not punished. No one punished him except the High Father, and Dorian always feared him because of his cruel methods of ‘just punishment’.

                Sean’s eyes snapped open, and he stared up at the ceiling of the carriage. “You alright?” asked Dorian.

                Sean slowly turned to glare at him. “’Don’t worry!’ you said. ‘Not doing anything tomorrow!’ you said. ‘Time to learn to drink like a real man!’ you said. Bah!”

                Dorian slumped his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sean, I didn’t think—”

                “Precisely!” said Sean as he struggled to sit up. “I’m sorry, Dorian, I shouldn’t yell like that. It’s just this headache! It’s making me irritable.”

                “Yeah,” said Dorian. “Hangovers can do that.”

                Sean smiled. “Well, I did learn something from that experience: never drink Dwarven Mead!”

 

                “Here we are Raithlyn,” said Kyler. “Home at last.”

                They had broken out of forest a few miles back and were now driving through a beautiful grassy plain, where the hulking forms of the Eastern Mountains dominated the horizon. Sprawled out before them, vast and beautiful, was a city. The high walls were constructed of white marble, with a delicate architecture that caught and reflected light in a myriad of ways. The entire area seemed to glow with an aura of sunlight, and Raithlyn realized why some people called it the “Shining City”.

                “Oh, Kyler, it’s beautiful!” Raithlyn turned to see that Kyler had been staring at her. “What is it?”

                Kyler’s shining blue eyes were focused intently on hers. “You just looked so delighted, that’s all, rather like a child. It made me happy to see you so.” Raithlyn blushed. “How old are you, Raithlyn? I’ve heard elves can live a long time, and I was just curious.”

                “That depends… do you want to know how old I am in years? Or human equivalent?”

                “Both,” said Kyler.

                Raithlyn thought for a moment. “In years, I am one hundred and twenty one.” Kyler’s face fell. “But in human equivalent,” she continued, “I am approximately twenty, or thereabouts.” She watched as Kyler brightened a bit.

                “That’s just what I wanted to know,” he said and he turned his attention back to the Shining City that grew closer with each thundering step of the horses.

                As they approached the gate, a loud trumpet call rang through the city, announcing the arrival of the king. The doors of the city opened, and people began pouring out onto the street from every corner.

                “The King has returned! Long live King Kyler!” The shouting continued as Kyler beamed at his adoring subjects and waved to everyone. Many people were staring at Raithlyn, and she could hear whispering. Someone shouted “The King has found a Queen!” and it was repeated in a few places, but for the most part everyone reacted to Raithlyn differently.

                “It’s alright,” said Kyler, and he put his arm around her. “They love you!” Kyler waved again, which prompted cheers from that side of the street. He waved to the other side with the same reaction. Raithlyn laughed, and Kyler smiled at her.

                Dorian and Sean had enough sense to stay out of sight. This was Kyler’s show, and if the crowd saw other people in the carriage they might think something was wrong.

                “They sure do like Kyler,” said Sean as he peaked through the thin curtain.

                Dorian was sitting back quietly. “Supposedly,” he said. The shouting continued.

                “Isn’t this wonderful?” asked Kyler. Raithlyn didn’t seem to think it was wonderful, but she tolerated it with a certain grace, and Kyler appreciated it. “It will be over soon, we’re almost there. Look, see? There’s the palace!” Kyler pointed straight ahead, and Raithlyn viewed the Royal Palace with intense fascination.

                The inner gates of the palace swung open and the carriages entered. Kyler’s carriage was brought to the front of the palace, and the other two were driven around back to be unloaded. The area was filled with servants and nobles standing in respect for their king.

                “Welcome home, Your Majesty,” said a tall, thin, awkward looking youth who held out his hand to help Kyler down. He had flame red hair and was wearing nicer clothes than the rest of the servants, and his face was stretched with a huge toothy grin.

                “Thank you, Edward. I missed you, too!” Kyler dropped down from the ladder and then helped Raithlyn, whom everyone was staring at. “Edward is my personal manservant, and the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had,” explained Kyler.

                Dorian and Sean made a fairly graceful exit from the carriage, and Kyler gathered them all together and spread his arms out over their shoulders. “I’d like for you all to meet my friends: Dorian Zylith, Seamus Liadon, and Miss Raithlyn Valeria. I want it understood that they are my personal guests and are to be treated as such. Furthermore, they are to stay with me here in the palace, and are to be given proper rooms, attire, and servants as they choose. Thank you all, and I look forward to seeing you tonight at the feast!” This speech was followed up with applause, and without further ado Kyler stepped into the palace.

                Raithlyn, Sean, and Dorian were immediately swept away by the beauty of their surroundings. Everything was ornate, detailed, and rich. There were fresh flowers everywhere, and the entire area radiated a sense of luxury and wealth.

                “This way,” said Kyler as he directed them towards a staircase. As they began to climb the stairs, they noticed people running about preparing things. Every time they saw the king, however, they stopped what they were doing and stood at attention until he passed. What was even more surprising was that Kyler seemed to know them all.

                “Welcome home, Your Majesty,” squeaked a nervous looking girl in a tight fitting bodice.

                “Thank you, Anja. I’m glad to be back. How is your mother?”

                “Fine thank you, Your Majesty.” The girl threw a hasty curtsy and left.

                “Do you know everyone here, Kyler?” asked Raithlyn.

                “Of course! Just because they’re servants doesn’t mean I don’t think of them as people. I try to get to know everyone I have to interact with. Anja is one of the girls who comes in to take my food tray back to the kitchen. Every other day, at nine o’clock. She alternates with Rebecca.”

                “I see…” said Raithlyn, impressed.

                They continued up the stairs until they reached the fourth floor. “Here we are,” said Kyler as he led them down a red-carpeted hallway. The walls were hung with portraits of old kings and their queens, and suits of armor stood every ten feet or so down the length of the hall. The end of the hall was a heavy oak door that was elaborately carved with the seal of Tylania. It was into this door that Kyler led them.

                “Home sweet home,” he said. The three companions beheld an elegant sitting room, with a large fireplace that could have fit three Raithlyns and a Sean. Although it was very formal, it seemed to also have an air of comfort and casualty, much like Kyler himself. “This is my sitting room,” he said. “Through that door is the bath, and that one leads to my study. We can sit in here and take tea while we figure out what we’re doing.”

                Kyler pulled on a little cord on a wall, and a few minutes later Edward came rushing in.

                “Yes, Your Majesty?” he asked.

                “Would you be so kind as to bring me Bellinda, Naila, and Genevieve, please?” asked Kyler, switching to Common. “Oh, and tea and cookies for all, please.”

                “Yes, Your Highness.” Edward bowed quickly and ran from the room. Kyler flopped down on a chair that looked like it was constructed from pillows.

                “Bellinda is the Royal Seamstress, she knows better than anyone about how to dress properly and isn’t afraid to tell them so. Naila and Genevieve will find you all rooms and orchestrate their preparation. Please, sit.”

                Raithlyn studied the room, trying to decide what chair or couch she should sit in. She racked her brain for proper etiquette; should she sit far away from Kyler and let him invite her close? Or should she sit next to him as sign of his acknowledgement? Her answer was decided for her, as Kyler offered her a chair.

                “Here you are, Raithlyn. Would you like me to take your cloak?” Kyler, too, was struggling to find the correct custom for the situation. He had always been taught to let the servants do everything, but he wanted to be a gentleman to Raithlyn. Thus the moment was awkward for the both of them.

                The situation resolved itself when Edward entered with the tea and the three ladies Kyler had requested. After setting down the tea tray, Edward offered to take Raithlyn’s cloak. The elf handed it over, and Edward departed the room.

                “Where is he taking my cloak?” she asked.

                “He’s taking it to your room, Miss Raithlyn.” Kyler stood and addressed the remaining three servants in Common. “Naila? Genevieve? I would like for you to prepare thee rooms: one for Miss Raithlyn, one for Sir Sean, and one for Brother Dorian.”

                “Don’t bother, Your Majesty,” said Dorian from a corner. “I do not require my own room.”

                “He can stay with me,” said Sean, giving Dorian a look that suggested cooperativeness. Dorian didn’t say anything more.

                “Alright then,” said Kyler. “Two rooms, please. Thank you.” The girls curtsied and left. “Bellinda? I want you to find suitable attire for my friends. They will be attending the feast tonight, as my guests. Just keep that in mind. I also want you to take special care of Raithlyn, who is from far away and does not know much of our customs yet. That will be all, thank you Bellinda.”

                Bellinda, a pleasant looking round little woman, put her arm around Raithlyn’s back and began directing her towards the door. “Come with me, little darling, that’s it. We’ll get you all cleaned up, won’t we? Oh, you’ll be the prettiest thing this palace has seen since the old Mistress died.”

                Raithlyn faltered a little, but was so overwhelmed with everything that she didn’t resist much. Kyler kissed her hand. “I will see you tonight, fair maiden.” And with that, Raithlyn was shoved out the door and into the dark hallway.

                “So what is your name again, dearie?” asked Bellinda.

                “Uh… Raithlyn,” she said quietly. They walked down a flight of stairs and through a labyrinth of hallways and doors until they stopped in front of a pair of white double doors with gold embellishments.

                “Here we are, dearie,” said the woman. “This will be your room, and the doors opposite this hallway are going to be for the boys. Now in you go…” She herded Raithlyn around a back passageway and they entered a little locked door hidden behind a tapestry. They entered into a beautiful bathroom, with a white marble tub that looked to Raithlyn like a small lake. Little angel statues on one end poured hot water through their golden urns. The ceiling was high and done in a mural of bathing angels.

                “Why is there a side door to the bathroom?” asked Raithlyn.

                Bellinda chuckled warmly. “Because we need to get fresh towels and tea to you for your bath, and don’t want to go through the main room. It might disturb the guest. Right now, they’re busy preparing it for you, and it would be improper to just walk in. Now, dear, I want you to undress and give me your clothes.”

                “What!?” screeched Raithlyn, folding her arms tightly around her.

                “You need to get undressed for your bath, dearie, and we’re going to wash your clothes for you. So if you would be so kind…”

                “No!” said Raithlyn firmly.

                Bellinda sighed. “I figured as much. If it’s any help to you, I won’t watch. We’re both women, now, so there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Just leave your clothes there on the chair and get into the water and soap up a bit and I’ll take your clothes to be washed. And don’t worry about having nothing to wear. All you have to do is think about what you want to wear. I’ll stand over here and look that way, and you get into that tub, alright?”

                Raithlyn thought this was reasonable enough, and although she didn’t much care for the idea of changing in front of someone, especially a complete stranger, she decided it was best to trust Kyler and cooperate with Bellinda. She turned her back and took off her clothes, feeling wonderfully free and surprisingly comfortable without them. After all, they were old leathers and that wasn’t the most comfortable of materials. She slipped into the tub, easing her way into the hot water, and let herself relax.

                “That a girl,” said Bellinda, folding Raithlyn’s clothes onto the chair. “I’ll be back later to wash your hair and bring you a towel. In the meantime, I want you to enjoy your bath. Is there anything that you would like? Tea, perhaps?”

                Raithlyn shook her head.

                “Alright then. Just one more question: what kind of gown would you like to wear tonight? I have just about every color and style imaginable, and I wanted your opinion.”

                Raithlyn thought for a moment. “What is Kyler’s favorite color?” she asked.

                Bellinda laughed again. “Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” she said. “Blue, my dear. His Royal Highness’s favorite color is blue.”

                The elf sank into the water and thought back to the previous evening, when she had found that lovely blue flower. Kyler called a ‘cornflower’, and so that’s what she said to Bellinda. “I want to wear a cornflower blue dress,” she said.

                “I have just the thing,” squealed the woman. “Perfect! Tonight shall be a night to remember, and you’ll be the prettiest thing this old castle’s ever seen! How wonderful,” she said as she walked back out the door.

                Raithlyn sighed deeply. The water was warm and comfortable, and she was happy. Tonight was certainly going to be a night to remember, and she couldn’t wait until Kyler saw her in the lovely dress. She couldn’t quite see the dress in her mind; all she knew was that she was beautiful and Kyler loved her. She paddled around while she daydreamed, and stared up at the angels on the ceiling, and sat under the cascading water that poured from the statues. All the while she was thinking about how wonderful she felt. “Is this what it feels like to be in love?” she asked herself out loud, speaking in Elvin and delighting in the way the echoes bounced off the walls and made the words float like water. She decided to sing a song, a lovely elfin song about a maiden who went to the river to bathe and fell in love with the River God, and then how they were married and all the streams flowed together into the mighty Levalle so that they might witness the union.

                While she was singing, Bellinda walked back in with a towel and a little basket slung over her arm. “My, but don’t we have the loveliest voice!” she said.

                Raithlyn smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

                “Was it an elfish song?” asked Bellinda as she removed a glass bottle from her basket.

                “Yes,” said Raithlyn.

                “Beautiful.” Bellinda knelt down by the side of the tub and set the glass vial on the edge. “Now come over here and let’s try to tame that wild mane of yours, my pretty.” Raithlyn swam over and sat delicately balanced on one of the underwater seats that were built into the walls of the tub. “That’s a girl,” said Bellinda. She began to wash Raithlyn’s hair, which made the elf feel very uncomfortable and nervous, but Bellinda didn’t seem to care. She pulled and twisted and rubbed and scraped until poor Raithlyn felt as if her head would just come off of its own accord. As she went, she told stories about her time in the palace.

                “Of course, I told old Betty Jones that she should have waited until the evening on the third day, that’s how you get a boy. But she just didn’t listen, and it was a girl, and she just thought, ‘oh well, I’ll just have to try it again,’ and now she has nine children and all of them girls. She always was a silly thing, Betty. Her husband doesn’t seem to mind so much, though. At first he said he wanted boys, but then he decided he liked girls after all, because they were so sweet and kind. He taught them to act a little like boys, though, rustling around on the floor and hunting and all that, but they’re happy and I’m glad for them. Then there’s Margaret, and oh did she ever have problems!”

                “How long have you been working at the palace?” asked Raithlyn suddenly.

                “Eh? How long you ask? I’d say about thirty years or more. I was but a young girl when I first started working at the palace. A seamstress’s apprentice, if you will. I also provided comic relief to Her Highness, the Queen, God rest her soul. She, too, was a very young thing, a lot like you in fact. She was the daughter of one of the Nobles around here, and the old king was about Kyler’s age. They fell in love, and were permitted to be engaged. I was her Nanny and provided some relief to the angst of being a teenager in love. It was my job to take care of her, watch over her and make sure she was amused when she was on her own. I was her lady-in-waiting, you know. Then she became the Queen, and I began to talk to Kylan, Kyler’s father. It was both a glorious and a sad day that morning that Kyler was born. It had been a difficult birth, and we almost lost his mother. From that day forward, she was very weak and could only walk with assistance. It was fairly obvious that she’d never have another child. She loved that boy though, and she loved Kylan, and then when Kyler was five years old, she left us. Almost like an angel, sent from heaven, who was only here for a brief moment but touched all our lives.”

                Bellinda finished washing Raithlyn’s hair and rinsed out the soap with fresh water. Raithlyn looked down, trying to comprehend the information she had just received. “What was Kyler’s mother like?” she asked after a moment.

                “She was an angle on Earth. Sweet and kind, with a tongue like honey and a heart of gold. Gentle, graceful, gracious to everyone she met. Kyler is a lot like her, in many ways. She truly was a queen, in all aspect of the word. Now, out you get.” Bellinda held the towel out and wrapped it around Raithlyn’s shoulders as she stepped lightly out of the tub. “You don’t need to put the dress on just yet; dinner won’t be for another few hours. In the mean time, you can just feel free to lounge about your quarters. There’s tea and biscuits on the table and books all along the shelf. I’ll be back later with the dress. Here, put this on,” and she helped Raithlyn into a thin white robe. “There you are. Now you take good care of this robe, you hear? It was the Queen’s.”

                “Thank you,” said Raithlyn, wrapping herself up in the soft material. “I do have one question to ask you…”

                “Anything you like, dear.”

                “Who… what was her name? The Queen’s?”

                Bellinda smiled and walked toward the door. “Ayonastia. Ayonastia Liadon de Tylan.” She opened the little door, flipped past the tapestry, and was gone.

                “Ayonastia Liadon de Tylan…” repeated Raithlyn. “Liadon…” The word echoed around the room. She gracefully padded across the floor and opened the door into the next part of her suite.

                The sitting room was not quite as large as Kyler’s, but every bit as elegant. All of the things in her room, however, were blessed with a feminine touch. There were flowers on the tables and lace on the chairs. The mantle had a very large bouquet in a pink and white vase, and all around it were tiny porcelain figurines. There were dancing ladies in beautiful ball gowns, fairies with gossamer wings, unicorns with golden horns and hooves, and happy smiling woodland creatures. Above them all was a portrait, and Raithlyn choked down shock at seeing a face looking down at her that could have been her human sister. She had the same blonde hair, the same thin face, and the same intense eyes that only differed from Raithlyn’s in color. “That must be Ayonastia…” thought Raithlyn. She walked away from the painting and examined a large bookshelf by the window. The books were mostly storybooks, with vivid pictures of beautiful damsels and gallant knights. Raithlyn took one book that had a lot of pictures and sat down on the window seat. The pillows were soft and warm, and Raithlyn snuggled down into them and flipped through the pages of her book. She tried to imagine what that story was, and felt more than a little remorse at the fact that she couldn’t read the words, which were written in some very odd language. After a few minutes of this she put the book back and walked through the other door into her bedroom.

                The first thing Raithlyn saw when she walked through the door was the bed. It was at least as wide as she was long, and covered in a delicate pink and white floral quilt. The headboard and posts were made of a dark wood, carved to resemble a flowery vine reaching up to the ceiling and hung with a sheer pink curtain. Little wooden fairies were carved on the flowers, and there were paintings of flowers and fairies on the walls. A large, white stuffed rabbit lay on the bed, as if it had been discarded there to watch over the room. Raithlyn walked over to the rabbit and picked it up. Unlike everything else in the room, it was old and shabby. The glass eyes were scratched but shining, the crooked mouth twisted into a lopsided smile, and the nose had been loved so that it had turned sideways. Raithlyn held the rabbit like a child, and then pressed it to her in a loving embrace. She fought hard to remember her childhood, but there was nothing except fire and blood in her memory. She set the rabbit down onto a tiny wicker rocking chair by the nightstand.

                There were many interesting things in the room: a dollhouse with a family of tiny porcelain dolls, a few more stuffed animals, and a music box that had a dancing ballerina that twirled when you played it. Raithlyn felt strangely comfortable in that room and found herself actually enjoying being there. She walked back into her sitting room and began to nibble on her biscuits and tea while daydreaming about a little girl with a stuffed bunny.

 

                As soon as Raithlyn had left the room, Kyler flopped down onto his chair and offered the tea and cookies to Sean and Dorian.

                “Thank you,” said Sean as he helped himself to a cookie that had the seal of Tylania stamped on it in sugar.

                “Dorian? Would you like some?” asked Kyler as he gestured toward the tray. Dorian, who was sitting in the corner about as far away from Kyler as one could get, shook his head.

                “No, thank you, Your Majesty,” he mumbled under his breath.

                “Alright then,” said Kyler. “Feel free to help yourself when you would like some. So what do you think of Misai?”

                Sean swallowed his cookie and washed it down with a large gulp of tea. “I think it’s beautiful,” he said. “I can tell why it’s called the Shining City. Everything here is so clean and bright, I think it must be a wonderful place to live.”

                Kyler seemed pleased with this answer. “I’m glad,” he said. “I can’t wait until tonight,” he added. “Feasts are always nice, and I have a feeling tonight will be extra special because you three are here. I told the head chef to serve whatever he wanted, as a kind of surprise. He has wonderful creative instincts, and every once and a while I like to let him act on them.”

                Sean smiled and took another cookie. “He must be a wonderful cook to have made such excellent fare as this,” he said, holding up the cookie before shoving about half of it in his mouth.

                Kyler laughed. “Yes, he is a wonderful cook.” A knock on the door proclaimed the arrival of Naila, who curtsied deeply and announced that everything had been prepared and she could show Sean and Dorian to their rooms now.

                “Thank you, Naila. And I look forward to seeing you two at the feast tonight. Thank you for joining me for tea,” he said to Sean as the two boys followed after Naila and departed the room.

                Naila led them to the white and gold double doors opposite Raithlyn’s, and ushered them inside. “These will be your rooms,” she said politely. “I’m afraid we were unable to set up a second bed for you, but the couches are comfortable and there’s the window seat. Your bath has been drawn, and Bellinda will be in shortly to take your clothes. She instructed me to tell you to leave them by the smaller door in the bathroom, so that she could just pick them up on her way. If you need anything, just ring the bell on the wall and someone will arrive presently to help you.” Naila curtsied again and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

                As soon as she was gone, Dorian collapsed onto the couch and put his feet on the arm rest. “Glad that’s over,” he said.

                Sean raised his eyebrow at him. “What do mean?” he asked.

                Dorian didn’t say anything, just settled down further into the couch. Sean gave him an incredulous look, and then explored their three rooms. They were furnished similarly to Raithlyn’s suite, with less of a childish motif and a considerably higher degree of formality. Sean nodded his approval, and then headed for the bathroom where the oversized tub was steaming invitingly. Dorian got up from the couch and followed Sean into the bathroom, hanging his cloak on the hook by the door as he went.

                “Some place, eh?” asked Sean as he stared at the tub.

                “Yeah,” said Dorian, and he began to take off his clothes. Sean followed suit, and they set their things down on a chair by a smaller door built into the wall. Dorian settled in quietly, but Sean felt the need to jump in, sending a spray of water all over the room. Dorian shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Sean emerged and spouted water towards the cleric before paddling around to sit next to him.

                “Pretty neat place,” he said. “Great acoustics in here…” and he burst into a lively song.

                Dorian rolled his eyes and sunk into the water, covering his ears and thanking God that sound didn’t travel well in water. The door opened slightly and a hand poked through, quick as lightning, to take their clothes from off the chair. A few minutes later, the door opened again and the plump figure of Bellinda entered, carrying two towels.

                “I thought you might like some towels,” she said as she hung them over the back of the chair. “And you must decide what you’re going to wear to dinner tonight. We’ll start with you, elf-boy. What’s your favorite color?”

                Sean closed his eyes and thought. “I like all the colors of the rainbow,” he said. “And gold from the morning, and silver from the night, and black like the sky, and wintry white.”

                Bellinda laughed and smiled. “Very well then, boy, I’ll see what I can do, although I’ve never before attempted to weave a rainbow I might have something. And what about you, Mr. Gloomy?”

                Dorian sat silently, giving no reaction for a moment. “I’ll wear what I have, thank you,” he said.

                Bellinda smiled smugly. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, blackie. I do, however, think I have just the outfit you might wear. I’ll bring your clothes by in a while, until then you have free reign of your apartment. Enjoy your bath.”

                After Bellinda left, Sean eyed Dorian carefully. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’ve done nothing but sulk ever since this morning. What’s going on?”

                Dorian continued to sit there, not giving any reaction whatsoever.

                “Wake up, Dorian!” shouted Sean, and he kicked a large wave of water into his face. This prompted a reaction. Sean’s moment of glory, however, was short-lived as Dorian retaliated with another wave of considerable size. Sean sputtered a bit, and then war was declared. The water flew fast and furious, but in the end Dorian won by holding Sean’s head underwater. He would wait until the bubbles had almost stopped before pulling the boy up by his hair, revealing a dripping, giggling, wet blonde mass.

                They got out of the tub and dried off on the towels, then realizing that they had no clothes. Dorian wandered into the sitting room and pulled his cloak off the hook, giving Sean a smug look as he did so. Sean, in his turn, went to the wardrobe in the bedroom and discovered a silk bathrobe with gold trimming. He walked by Dorian, flashing his superior smile, and helped himself to another cookie.  “Touché,” said he.

 

                Raithlyn was sitting in the window seat. She had found a shawl in the wardrobe, and had it draped loosely about her shoulders where the wet hair had turned the cloth of the robe transparent. She was looking out at the marvelous view from behind the castle. Closest to the wall, there was a lush garden that was mostly past bloom, letting white fluffy seeds coat the ground like snow. Beyond the wall stretched the vast grassland, stained gold and silver in the fading light. The Eastern Mountains were ablaze with orange and pink fire cascading across their snow capped peaks from the sunset that Raithlyn was sure would have been beautiful if she had been able to see it. But she was facing east, now, and had turned her back to the West and she didn’t know how long it would be until she returned.

                She was woken from her trance by the sound of knocking on the door. “Come in,” she said softly. Bellinda entered the room, and then stopped abruptly as if troubled by something. “What is it?” asked Raithlyn as she turned.

                The woman smiled and held her hand to her heart. “Oh, nothing, dearie. I just thought for a moment that… our dear Ayonastia had returned to us at last. I almost believed it was a ghost I was seeing there in the window. That was her favorite place to be, that was.” Raithlyn wasn’t quite sure, but thought she saw a tear be wiped away by the sly seamstress. “Well, now,” she said, recovering. “I brought your dress for you, it’s almost time for the party, you know. Come over here child…”

                Bellinda had been carrying something wrapped in a blanket over her arm. She now draped the thing over the back of the chair, and folded back the edges of the blanket to reveal the most beautiful dress Raithlyn had ever seen. It was blue, just like the flower, and it had little beads and ripples of silver embroidered all over the skirt and bodice. Long sheer sleeves hung down from the sides, so that the collar was displaced off the shoulders.

                “The first thing you need to put on is this:” and she held up what looked like a sheer nightgown. “I’m sure you know this one, it’s pretty simple. Head in here, arms in here, and the like. The second step is this one here…” and so on until they had gone through all the pieces of the gown and how to put them on. “Now you go into the bathroom and change into this chemise and I’ll wait out here for you to help with the rest of it. Go on, now! Get moving!”

                Raithlyn did as she was instructed, and they worked together on getting the dress on. There were six different parts; all of them with laces and hooks and complicated fastenings. The elf recounted Sean trying to help her get on the dress back in Meibree, and how hopeless they had been. All the while she was trying to imagine what she looked like, and what Kyler would say when he saw her.

                “There we are, all finished,” said Bellinda as she stood back to admire her handiwork. Her face positively glowed. “You look beautiful, darling, absolutely stunning!”

                “Thank you,” said Raithlyn. “I appreciate your help.”

                “I have a few finishing touches here, dearie…” she said as she reached into her apron pockets. She produced a relatively large gleaming mass of diamonds. “Kyler told me to find these for you to wear tonight. He said to tell you that they, and the dress, are gifts.” Bellinda spread out the jewels on the blanket. There was a pair of earrings, a teardrop necklace, two bracelets, and a hair comb.

                “All of this… is for me?” stammered Raithlyn.

                “Of course, dear. Now here, let me help you with those…” Bellinda clipped the earrings to Raithlyn’s lobes, and set the comb in her hair. Then she slid the bracelets on over her small hands and fastened the necklace around her neck. “Hmm…” she said. “Something’s missing…”

                Raithlyn, on impulse, walked over to her cloak hanging on the wall and pulled the little black package out of the inside pocket. She unwrapped the Diamond Leaf, and Bellinda squealed with delight.

                “Ooh, perfect! Perfect!” she cried, as she fastened this, too, around her neck. “Now, you are ready,” she said and she led Raithlyn into the bedroom where there was a full length mirror.

                Raithlyn stood in shock. “Is that me?” she thought. She looked like a queen, regal and beautiful, and while she still felt the wrench of longing for her barbaric lifestyle, it was far overshadowed now by her awe at what she was.

                “So what do you think?” asked Bellinda, although her voice seemed to come from a millions miles away.

                Raithlyn looked at her reflection for only a moment more, and then turned to look at Bellinda with tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

                Well, we’ve no time to waste, dearie. Have to get you to the feast, we do… come with me. Let’s go.” The two ladies walked out of the room; the perfect vision of queen and lady-in-waiting reborn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 12:

Black History

 

                The table was set, the candles were lit, and the music began to play as people filtered into the Great Hall for the feast. Kyler looked every inch a king, with a long red velvet robe with a fur trim and a crown set on his golden hair. He was sitting at the high end of the table, acknowledging people as they arrived.

                Sean and Dorian arrived somewhat early. They saw Kyler sitting at his chair, talking casually with some of the serving girls. He stood up when he saw them.

                “Welcome to my feast,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “I’m not supposed to be here yet… it’s proper for the king to arrive after his guests are seated. I just wanted to see what was going on, but I’m glad you’re here.”

                “Thank you, Kyler,” said Sean, “although I can’t help but feel really stupid in this outfit…” He was wearing a very bright multi-colored jacket with a large ruffle collar and bright red tights and balloon shorts.

                Dorian made a noise that sounded like repressed laughter, and covered his mouth with his hand, coughing politely. Sean glared at him.

                Kyler also laughed silently. It was true: Sean looked ridiculous. “You look great,” he said. “And so do you, Dorian.”

                The cleric was wearing his customary black, only slightly dressier. His sleeveless tunic was now silk with gold embroidery about the edges, and he wore a black feather-trimmed cloak. He bowed with a flourish of feathers and said, “Thank you, Your Majesty. And to you as well.”

                “Have any of you seen Raithlyn?” asked Kyler.

                Sean and Dorian looked at each other. “No, can’t say that we have,” replied the bard.

                At that moment, Bellinda entered and walked up to Kyler with a stiff bow. “Your Highness, I would like to present my lady Raithlyn:” and then she appeared on the grand stairway.

                Kyler, Dorian, and Sean all dropped their jaws in unison. Kyler was the first to recover. He walked swiftly to the stair, offering his arm to her. Raithlyn in turn offered her hand, which Kyler took.

                “Raithlyn…” he stammered. “You… you look…” He swallowed. “You look beautiful,” he said at last.

                Raithlyn blushed and walked with him down into the Great Hall. “Thank you,” she said, and then she curtsied.

                Sean was watching the scene with interest, and then turned to briefly look at Dorian, only to discover the cleric still standing with his mouth open in utter shock, staring at the elf woman. Sean reached out and closed Dorian’s jaw, but he didn’t seem to notice.

                After a few moments, Raithlyn walked over to look at the boys. “You look… very nice, Sean,” she said. Surprisingly there was not even a hint of a giggle in her voice. Sean was grateful. “And I’ve never seen you looking so colorful, Dorian. Why the sudden change?”

                Somewhere in his mind, Dorian thought to retaliate with some scathing remark at this insult, but he found himself unable to do much else but stare. His saving grace was Sean, who casually elbowed him in the stomach… hard.

                “Oh! Raithlyn, you look lovely, I mean… ow.”

                Kyler laughed and offered his arm to Raithlyn again. “As I was saying, I can’t be here until the feast is ready to start. Would you come with me, Raithlyn? I would have some company if you would care to join me.”

                Raithlyn took his arm, and they walked off together up the stairs to one of the formal sitting rooms that Kyler had scattered about the palace.

                “Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it, Dorian?” said Sean. Dorian was just gazing up the stairs, his attention focused on the retreating backs of the royal couple. “Dorian?” he asked again. “Dorian?” he sang as he waved his arm in front of the statue that seemed to have possessed his friend.

                “Eh? What? Oh, yeah, interesting…” said Dorian, and then he turned away. “I think these are our seats here,” he said, pointing to the three chairs on the King’s right hand side where their names were printed in gold on white slips of paper. Raithlyn was sitting closest to Kyler, followed by Sean and then Dorian.

                “What now?” asked Sean.

                “Now, we take our seats and wait for the show to start.” Dorian pulled out his chair and flung himself down on it, slouching in his usual manner. Sean smiled and rolled his eyes, then took his seat.

                People filtered in slowly at first, and then with increasing numbers until soon the entire hall was swarming with laughing, talking guests. Everyone was dressed to the teeth; dripping with rare jewels and precious metals. Sean was fascinated by the way they were all acting, like a complicated courtship ritual with subtle rules and boundaries that everyone respected yet no one noticed. Dorian, on the other hand, made himself as small as he could possibly be and sat quietly at the table.

                “Dorian?” came a voice from the crowd. “Dorian Zylith!? Brother Dorian!” A bent, withered figure hobbled over to where Dorian sat, his face now completely white. “My boy! It’s been years!”

                Dorian sighed and stood up, just in time to take the embrace that now crushed him. The old man latched on like a leech and wouldn’t let go. Dorian hesitatingly returned the hug, and then the old man broke away to look up at him with adoration.

                “Hello, Father Curtis. It’s good to see you in such good health…”

                The old man laughed, letting the chuckle course through his entire body and shaking him like a leaf in a breeze. He would have been taller than Dorian if he could stand up straight, and he had the look of someone that was once very powerful.

                “Don’t get smart with me, boy. I figured you’d come back sooner or later. How’s Kharish, eh? How’s my little girl?”

                “Just fine, Father,” said Dorian, his hand instinctively reaching for his nonexistent sword. “She’s taking a nap right now.”

                “Good, good. So what are you doing back in Misai?”

                “Excuse me,” said Sean. “Are you one of Dorian’s friends?”

                Dorian’s eyes grew wide and he put a frantic finger to his lips behind the old man’s back. It was too late.

                “Eh, what’s that? One of his friends, you say? Well, yes, I suppose… I am Curtis Cuthorn, one of the Elder Fathers of the Church of Holy Light, and I am a servant of God, sent to help the people of this world through their times of need and despair and to reclaim their souls for the Kingdom of Heaven, that they may forever dwell with the Lord in his palace of clouds where the angels sing praises for all eternity and all evil is cast away into the dark, fiery pits of Hell!”

                Dorian had been mouthing this speech perfectly behind Father Curtis’s back. Sean fought to hide his laughter.

                “But how do you know Dorian?” he asked, as the aforementioned cleric slumped back down to his seat.

                “What? He didn’t tell you about me? Dorian, I’m hurt! Well, he always was an ungrateful wretch. I took him in as a wee boy and this is the thanks I get? Phaa!”

                “You took him in? So you’re kind of like, his father?”

                “Yes! Father Curtis, that’s my name. Curtis Cuthorn, one of the Elder Fathers of the Church of Holy Light, and I am a servant of God, sent to help the people of this world—”

                “Dorian Zylith.” The interrupting voice was deep and rich, with something unexplainably cold hidden within its depths. “Welcome home.”

                Dorian stood again, silently, respectfully, like a child who knows he did something wrong. “Hello, High Father Belanus,” he said as he sunk to his knees.

                The man who had stepped up behind them seemed to radiate authority. His robes were deep maroon and black velvet, his hair was silver and his eyes dark. A very elaborate medallion in the shape of the sign of the Church hung about his neck on a very thick silver chain. He almost looked more like a king than Kyler.

                “G-good evening, F-Father… I was j-just t-t-talking with D-Dorian, a-and I…”

                “That will be all, Father Curtis. You may sit.”

                “Thank you, Father.”

                Father Curtis hobbled away again, with much the same air as a dog that’s been kicked. Belanus turned his attention back to the kneeling form of Dorian, and he placed one very white, ancient hand on his head.

                “God be with you, my son,” he intoned. Dorian got to his feet. “And where have we been? Out wandering, perhaps? Did you find any new friends?”

                Sean stood bravely and smiled cheerfully. “My name is Seamus Liadon, and Dorian is my friend. We met him in Meibree.”

                “Meibree?” asked the man, his eyes narrowing to little slits of lead. “Oh, yes, just south of Karn, isn’t it? Pity.”

                Dorian remained silent. Belanus tilted his chin up so that he could look into his eyes. Dorian flinched, but seemed under a spell.

                “We shall have to have a little chat, you and I. To… catch up on things. It’s been three years since you left Andul. I want to know all about what you’ve been doing. I’ll see you after the feast!” he said, releasing Dorian from his hold, and walking away.

                Dorian snapped out of his spell and sat down again. Sean looked at him worried.

                “What was that all about?” asked the bard. “Who was that guy?”

                “Father Sinclair Belanus… the head of the Church of Holy Light,” said Dorian quietly.

                Sean shivered. “What a creepy guy! I thought the head of the Church would be warm and happy, kind of like that Curtis fellow…”

                “Well, he’s not,” snapped Dorian. Sean looked at his friend, and decided to be quiet.

                A fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the king. All the guests stood and looked to the Grand Stair, where Kyler and Raithlyn walked arm in arm down to the table. There was a slight commotion as people began to whisper, wondering who the elf was.

                Kyler and Raithlyn reached the Hall and took their seats at the High end of the table. As soon as they were seated, the commotion of talking and laughing began all over again. Belanus had also taken his seat; next to Kyler on his left.

                “Father Belanus, Raithlyn Valeria. And this is Seamus Liadon, and I trust you already know Dorian?”

                “We have met,” said Belanus. Dorian lowered his eyes.

                “Splendid!” said Kyler. “Then let the feast begin!”

 

                The fare was wonderful. It seemed that every kind of food and drink was represented in the enormous spread, the centerpiece of which was a whole boar, garnished with fresh flowers and baked apples. Everyone ate their fill, and by the time dinner was over, not a single person could have possibly eaten anything more.

                “Fantastic!” said Sean as he cleaned his plate. “I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again!”

                Raithlyn hadn’t eaten much, but she smiled and nodded her thanks to Kyler all the same. Dorian was the only one that didn’t even attempt a response. Belanus was staring at him from the opposite side of the table, and he hadn’t even been able to enjoy his food.

                “Well, I’m glad you all approve,” said Kyler.

                As the serving girls began to clear away the plates and leftover dishes, people began to mill about again, socializing in their overly formal way. A small group of musicians had begun to play, and some of the people had started to dance. Sean’s eyes twinkled, and he rushed off to join the players. Belanus had disappeared earlier, and now Dorian stood up and pushed in his chair, walking toward the exit, leaving Raithlyn and Kyler alone at the table.

                Kyler stood and held his hand out to Raithlyn. “My lady, it would do me great honor if you would dance with me.”

                Raithlyn looked at the hand for a moment, then looked out at the people who were swaying delicately to the music. Tentatively, she held out her hand, and Kyler pulled her to her feet.

                “Kyler, I don’t know about this,” she whispered in Elvin. “I don’t know how to dance.”

                “Nonsense,” said Kyler. “It’s simple, see?” Raithlyn watched him move in a small circle, and smiled at how silly he looked. “Now you try it with me, like this…”

                Before long they were dancing in the center of the crowd, everyone’s eyes locked on the king and his beautiful friend.

                Dorian, who had been watching them from behind a pillar, turned his back and walked away into the dark night.

                The air was fresh and cool, on the balcony, and Dorian felt considerably better than he had in the crowded room. He looked out over the gently illuminated countryside, and at the garden where all that was left in bloom were a few scattered patches of bright blue cornflowers. Dorian suddenly felt very tired, and very alone, but then a voice from behind set him on edge.

                “I believe we had agreed to talk after the feast, did we not?”

                Dorian shuddered. He hated that voice. “Yes, Father Belanus.”

                The man padded quietly over to where Dorian leaned out over the railing and put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscles tense up beneath his fingers. He loved that feeling. “Why did you leave Misai, Dorian? I thought we were agreed that you would wait here for further instructions.” The hand tightened it’s grip.

                Dorian maintained an uncomfortable silence. Belanus leaned in closer.

                “Were you frightened, Dorian? Was that why you ran away? You know, people who lose their courage to fight for God lose their claim on the Kingdom of Heaven.” The fingers dug deeper. Dorian flinched, but remained silent.

                “Don’t you want to go to Heaven, Dorian? Don’t you want to serve God in all His glory? Or does the Devil hold your tongue?” Belanus tightened his grip yet again, and Dorian bit his lip to keep from crying out.

                “I’m sorry, Father Belanus,” said Dorian at last.

                Belanus glared fiercely. “Repent, Dorian. Redeem yourself in the eyes of the Lord, or you shall answer to God himself, after you get through with me.”

                “What must I do?” asked Dorian. He was cursing himself for coming back to Misai; he had dreaded this encounter for as long as he could remember.

                Belanus smiled. A twisted, wicked grin full of perfect white teeth. “You will watch over the girl and the little half-elf. Watch them, and await my orders here in Misai.” He released his hand, and turned to walk back into the Great Hall. “Oh, and Dorian?” he said as he left. “If you try to run away this time, you will not be the only one to suffer the wrath of the Church. That elf girl could very well turn out to be a witch you know. And you know what we do with witches. Sleep well, Dorian.”

                Dorian let out his breath. He’d been ready to pass out. He sank to his knees on the balcony and rubbed his shoulder where Belanus had held him. He looked out over the beautiful garden surrounded by a wall, which he knew was now his prison. He stopped rubbing his shoulder and looked at his hand; it was covered in blood.

 

                It was long past midnight when Kyler and Raithlyn said goodnight and parted ways, holding hands until the last possible second and then drifting to their rooms as in a daze.

                Raithlyn had never known dancing before, and had suddenly found she was quite good at it. She entered her room and danced her way into the bedroom, removing parts of the dress as she went until she was dancing in her chemise and shawl. She also removed the jewelry, and then paused when she came to the Diamond Leaf. “I think I’ll keep you on,” she said to herself and threw the rest of the diamonds into a cloth bag she found in the wardrobe. She drifted happily back into her sitting room and jumped to see Dorian leaning easily back on the couch.

                “Dorian!” she screamed. “How dare you…” but there was something about the way he was acting that cut her anger short. “What’s wrong?”

                Dorian was staring straight ahead of him, as if her were seeing something she could not. Raithlyn walked over closer, so that she could see his face. He looked up slowly, and his eyes met hers. He was pale, and shaking. His hand was draped carelessly over his lap, where it appeared as if he had been wiping blood off of something.

                Raithlyn sat down next to him. “Dorian, what’s going on? What smells of blood? Oh, Dorian, what happened to your shoulder?”

                The cleric closed his eyes slowly, almost painfully. “You know that I am an assassin for the Church. Whatever you do, don’t let them know that. They would kill you.”

                “Dorian?”

                “Raithlyn, you need to know something about me. I’ve come to confess.”

                Raithlyn took his hand. “Dorian, you don’t need to…”

                Dorian pulled his hand away. “I’m a murderer, Raithlyn. You shouldn’t trust me. Get away from here, Raithlyn. Take Sean back to the forests of the West, you’d be safe there. There is something horribly wrong here, Raithlyn, and you don’t need to be a part of it.”

                Raithlyn recoiled from the man she thought she could count as a friend. “You’re jealous,” she said. “You’re jealous of me and Kyler! So you go and beat yourself up over it, then make up some stupid story about how I’m in danger. I can’t believe this!”

                “Raithlyn, stop!” The force of Dorian’s words halted Raithlyn from her retreat. “Please, sit down. I want to talk with you.”

                Raithlyn uneasily sat down, but further away from him this time.

                “My mother and father were murdered when I was eight years old. After that I was taken in by Father Curtis, who raised me into the Church like I was his son. He was always kind to me, and was always fair in his teachings. Then, there was Belanus…”

                Dorian choked down the word, and Raithlyn unconsciously moved a little closer to him. This gave the cleric more courage, and he continued.

                “I was always taught to love and fear Belanus, and respect him as God’s earthbound messenger. He began to train me in the way of the sword when I was nine, and how to kill quickly and silently. He liked to teach me… lessons. Like why God wishes to baptize the world in fire…” Raithlyn put a hand to her mouth and moved a little closer. “I always believed that what he did was right and good, and that what I was instructed to do was God’s will. I was sent on my first official mission when I was fourteen. I killed an entire family because they were evil people. But when I buried them, I realized that they weren’t monsters at all, they were humans just like me. I continued working for the Church, however, because that was all I knew. And if I ever even so much as thought about rebelling…” Dorian shuddered. “…Belanus would teach me another lesson. I continued to slaughter people for another three years. Three years! Do you have any idea how many people you can kill in three years?” Raithlyn moved closer to him. “I couldn’t face myself after that. I kept seeing faces of people I’d killed, and I felt the weight of their murders on my soul. I hated my existence.

“One night, I was told to wait in Misai for Father Belanus to arrive to give me another assignment. It was then that something took hold of me, and I decided to run. I knew that I could get food and shelter anywhere I went because I was a member of the Church. I forged my way through people’s homes and hearts, claiming to be a wandering priest even though I couldn’t perform even one single ceremony. I was struck by how the people seemed to be glad with my presence, and I thought I could be happy to just settle down in some town or another. I was wrong, again, of course, because I kept thinking about how all those people loved a person I was pretending to be. If they found out what I really was they’d have all driven me out of their town. I could never stay in one place too long, and I did a lot of soul searching, to no avail. I doubt God even exists anymore.”

Raithlyn was sitting very close to him, her bright green eyes shining wet with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Dorian,” she said as she watched a single tear fall down his cheek. Raithlyn cursed the Church for the pain and misery it had brought upon Dorian, and she cursed Belanus for his wickedness. She wiped the tear away with the back of her hand, and Dorian caught it. Their eyes met for a moment, and then he kissed her. Two lost, lonely souls finding refuge in the other, struggling for survival and happiness in a world that seemed perpetually against them. All too soon it was over, and the two awkwardly pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” said Dorian, close to tears.

“No,” replied Raithlyn. Then she stood up, gathered her shawl about her, and walked into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Dorian sat there for a moment, wondering what in the name of heaven he’d done, and then got up and staggered out of the room.

He collapsed on the couch in Sean’s room. The bard was already asleep, although he’d left the door open. He was kicking himself for the stupid thing he’d done. Why had he kissed her? What had taken over him and allowed it to be done? His mind was ablaze with questions. What should he do now?

He wanted more than anything to just run away, to escape into the darkness of night and leave Misai behind him forever. But he knew he couldn’t, because Belanus had told him that if he did, Raithlyn would be killed.

Dorian turned over onto his side and wrapped himself up in a blanket. He felt cold, but somehow not lonely. Something changed in him when he touched Raithlyn, in her eyes too it seemed. The pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the searing memory of touch, and he shuddered involuntarily. She now had total and complete control over him, knowing his past, present, and most likely his future. If Dorian played it safe and stayed in the palace, then she could be happy and safe, with Kyler. However, this meant going back to the way of life he abhorred, that terrible existence he thought he’d abandoned years ago. He thought about Raithlyn’s face, so blissful when she was near Kyler. He thought about Sean, and his naïve joyfulness.

Dorian sat back up on the couch. He knew what he had to do. He quickly gathered all his things together and walked out of the room and down the stairs pausing for a moment to write a short note and leave it in the room where he knew Sean would find it. He kept going down stairs until he was many levels underground. He had to find Belanus, and his memory directed him to a temple below the castle. Finally, he found it; two large oaken doors set into the stone wall, illuminated by torchlight. He pushed his way through.

“Belanus?” he called as he walked down the isle. There were rows of benches all along the sides of the room, and a large alter up front bearing a statue of the symbol of the Church. “I know you’re here. Come out Belanus!”

The silver haired man stepped out from a side room, holding a small decanter of wine and a plate of bread. “Ah, Dorian,” he said. “Such a pleasant surprise. What is it that you want of me, child?”

Dorian stepped closer, careful to bow to the alter as he went. “I have thought about what you said earlier, and I’m willing to make you a deal.”

Belanus shifted his smile into a sly grin. “Yes, what is it? Go on, child, speak.”

Dorian faltered a little, then went down on one knee. “I, Dorian Zylith, pledge my honor and allegiance to the Church of Holy Light, to hereby to its bidding as it wishes of me.” Belanus’s smile broadened. “On one condition:” Dorian looked up and met the old man’s eyes. “Leave Raithlyn out of this. I won’t let you harm her. She deserves to stay here with Kyler, where she’ll be safe. Deal?”

Belanus lay his hand upon Dorian’s head, like he had just before the feast. “Agreed,” he said. “You will return to the service of the Church and follow the orders sent from God, and I swear to you that Raithlyn shall remain unharmed by my hands or design as far as this matter goes. Now, I want you to go back to Andul and wait for me there. I shall return in a few weeks. Make yourself useful, and practice your skills. I want you back in top condition when I get back. Go swiftly, Dorian Zylith, and God speed.”

Dorian nodded and rose quickly to his feet, running out of the chapel and up the stairs to where the horses were kept, selecting one that looked fast, and then racing off into the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13:

Separate Ways

 

Morning found Raithlyn lying wide awake in her bed. She had never been kissed before, and she was unsure on how she felt. More than this, she was unsure about how she felt about the two men who had so suddenly entered her life. Kyler was white and gold, the embodiment of wealth and gentlemanly grace. He treated her like a princess and thought that everything about her was perfect. Dorian, on the other hand, was black and silver, the night to Kyler’s day. He was rude, yet had an immensely sweet soul that shined through on occasion. Raithlyn liked the challenge of trying to figure out the brooding cleric, deciphering his moods was one of her favorite pastimes. Kyler, on the other hand, wore his heart on his sleeve and there was nothing there to be hidden. In this way, he frustrated Raithlyn, who had always prided herself on being able to perceive the subtleties of spirit no matter how hard they were hidden.

She looked to the window, covered in its sheer pink curtain, and saw the sunlight filtering in, highlighting the dust particles that floated on unseen drafts. She wanted to talk to Dorian, try to read him like she always had, and in turn find out what she herself felt. She also felt grateful that he had shared his past with her, like sharing a portion of a great treasure, and it needed to be repaid in kind. She had never told anyone about her past, because most of the time it was too difficult even for her to recall. A lot can happen in a hundred years.

She clambered out of bed and slipped the shawl around her shoulders, stepping lightly on the cold floor. She glanced briefly at the warm sheepskin slippers that stood near the wardrobe, putting them on before she walked across the hall to where Dorian and Sean were staying.

She entered the room to find Sean sitting alone on the couch, holding something in his hand. It was a partially dried, wilted, rather crushed looking daisy.

“He’s gone, Raithlyn,” said Sean without looking up. “He’s gone back to Andul to continue his mission for the Church.”

Raithlyn frowned and felt her heart sink. “Gone?” she asked. “How do you know?”

Sean put the daisy down on the mahogany table in front of him, much the same way that a child would put a flower on the grave of a friend. “Belanus came in a little earlier. He said that Dorian received a message from Andul and decided to go back and continue his work. He said he won’t be coming back. He did leave a message, for you Raithlyn.” Sean handed her a folded piece of parchment, and Raithlyn opened it.

 

Dear Raithlyn, it read. I regret to inform you that I have decided to go back to the Church. Don’t tell Belanus about this letter, and don’t let anyone know you know about me. My only requests are as follows: first, don’t bother following me. It will only lead you into danger and all that I have done will be in vain. Secondly, I want you and Kyler to be happy. From this day forward, I never existed. Goodbye, Raithlyn.

 

                Sincerely š Dorian

 

PS: take care of Sean for me.

 

Raithlyn stared at the letter in shock. “It’s… it’s a goodbye letter. He says not to follow him.”

Sean watched the proud figure of Raithlyn be consumed by emotion. He reached out a hand to her, trying to comfort her.

“I can’t believe that pompous jerk. I can’t believe he left us like this!” Raithlyn yelled. Sean drew his hand back quickly. The elf was furious, yet there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “Bastard!” she yelled. “Well, we’ll show him. Come on, Sean, let’s go. Get your things ready, we’re going to Andul!”

Sean began to stand up, when a knock came at the door. Sean went to answer, opening the door wide enough for Raithlyn to see who was visiting. It was Belanus.

“Come in, Father,” said Sean. Raithlyn glared ferociously at the old priest.

Belanus entered the room silently, and looked at Raithlyn. His eyes were dark grey in color, and intense beyond words. They pierced through Raithlyn like twin daggers, and the elf had to fight to stand firm. “Ah, Miss Raithlyn. I am glad to see that you are awake. I trust you’ve heard about Dorian?”

Raithlyn continued to glare. Her hand tightened on the piece of parchment, and she began to subtly downplay it, using all of her craft to keep it from being noticed.

Unfortunately, Belanus was also a master of subtlety, and he broke his eye contact with Raithlyn and looked straight at the paper. Judging that she was trying to hide it, he correctly assumed that it was from Dorian. Clever girl, he thought.

“I see he left a message for you, did he? A love letter perhaps. He really is quite taken with you. In all the years I’ve known him he’s never warmed up to anyone like this before. But then, so is Kyler…”

Raithlyn bristled with anger. He was hitting all her sensitive spots. He decided to keep going.

“And what of young Sean here? Is he one of your faithful followers, too?”

Raithlyn snapped. She lunged herself at the priest with both her hands ready to claw him with her sharp fingernails. Sean leapt in the way to try to hold her back, but she overpowered him and threw him to the floor. She wanted the old man. Belanus, however, was one step ahead of her, and he caught her arms just at the last moment and twisted them behind her back. Raithlyn sank to the ground in pain.

“Quite the feisty little weasel, aren’t we?” he chuckled, easily holding her down. “I know why you have come. The Redsleeves are burning the West. You have come to inform the Council and rally the kingdom against them.” Belanus shook his head. “Such ignorance. I assure you the Council already knows about the Redsleeves, and they do nothing about them because their lives and their homes here in the East remain untouched. It is a sad world we live in that those in power do nothing to help those in need. Corruption has entered the system, and the downfall of the kingdom is near.”

Belanus let go of Raithlyn’s arms. The elf dropped to her hands, gasping for breath. Sean looked up at the priest, anger and sadness playing across his features.

“So you knew?” he asked. Belanus looked up at him. “You knew all along that the West was being burned? And so did the Council? And nobody did anything?”

Belanus smiled softly, looking at Sean like a child who just asked a very adult question. “My son,” he began, Sean starting to get very angry with the way he was being treated. “There are a great many things you don’t seem to understand about the way the world works. Firstly, the members of the Council are rich and arrogant and care little for the affairs of peasants. The king is no different. Second, do you really expect the Church to go out and fight? It is not the nature of Godly persons to draw blood on the field of battle. It would just be wrong, you see.”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” growled Sean. “What’s really wrong here is that people are suffering and the people that can actually do something about it refuse! That’s wrong.”

Belanus looked at him with pity, and patted him on the head, which made Sean feel like lunging at him, too. Raithlyn was sitting on the floor, still glaring at him. She desperately wanted to scream to his face, ‘I know what you are, monster!’ but Dorian’s words kept coming back to haunt her, and she bit her tongue.

“Well, I shan’t keep you waiting. You undoubtedly have some business to attend to, although I really see no point. You may feel free to leave, although I cannot guarantee your safety outside the castle walls. You may also feel free to stay; as I’m sure you would want to, Raithlyn. I will not stop you, no matter where you choose to go. Oh, and Raithlyn? Thank you for the lovely letter.” He held up the crumpled piece of parchment and left the room.

Raithlyn went very pale. “What is it?” asked Sean. “Raithlyn, what’s wrong?”

The elf looked at her shaking hands. “What have I done?” she said.

Sean smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, he only took Dorian’s letter. Not that it was a particularly a nice thing to do, it was yours after all.”

Raithlyn shook her head. “No,” she said. “That letter is my death sentence. If he understands what Dorian meant to say… then you and I will both be killed.” Sean’s face went as white as Raithlyn’s. “Now, Sean, get dressed. We must see Kyler.”

 

Moments later, they stood at the door to Kyler’s private quarters, fully dressed in their traveling gear. They had both fastened their weapons about them, which had created quite a stir, and they had found it necessary to force their way through several sets of guards in order to make it to this hallway, and now Raithlyn knocked on the door with purpose.

The door opened a fraction and Bellinda poked her chubby head out to look at them. “Oh, my,” she said. “Looking for His Highness, are we dears? Well, he’s in the study attending to business affairs. He’s most likely very busy, so I would wait until later.”

Raithlyn immediately turned and began down the hallway. Sean followed, calling a hasty “Thank you, Bellinda!” to the disembodied head in the doorway before they rounded the corner and began down the stairs.

It seemed to Sean that Raithlyn had given up all thoughts of being a lady because she stopped every person they passed by and held them by the collar, demanding to know where the king was. Most of the servants were almost too frightened to speak, and only a few of them actually had any useful information. Sean walked behind Raithlyn, trying to smooth things over as they went. In this way, they finally reached the office that Kyler conducted his business from, and they burst through the doors without any regard for those people inside.

Kyler was sitting in a large red chair, signing papers and drinking wine. Two or three servants were standing around, dusting relics or holding important books and documents that Kyler had requested. About a dozen nobles were lounging in chairs or talking with Kyler, and Belanus stood beside the king’s right shoulder.

Everyone looked up when Raithlyn and Sean came bursting in, and stopped what they were talking about to stare at the odd elfin pair that now stood before them, blazing with anger and armed to the teeth. After a moment’s recovery, several of the people began talking again. “What is the meaning of this?” “How dare you just rush in here!?” “Do you know who and what you are dealing with?”

Kyler held out his hand to call for silence. “Peace,” he said. “Raithlyn, Sean, what is the meaning of rushing in here like this? Is something wrong?” His voice was not angered at all. He spoke kindly and with a gentility that was all but lost even in that time.

Raithlyn stood forward, and addressed the room in her thickly accented and somewhat broken Common. “I have come here to inform you all of terrible things that are happening in the West. For this reason have I come here to Misai, capital city of Tylania; so that I may address the Council and see these things stopped.”

Many of the people were beginning to shift uneasily, and some had started to chuckle. Kyler, however, held the elf’s gaze with unconditional attention. “Go on,” he said. This gave Raithlyn courage.

“For many years now, villages have been pillaged, raped, then burned to the ground with few to no survivors. This is due to a large group of militant thieves, known as the Redsleeves. Thus far, we know of at least five separate communities that have been destroyed; including Meibree, Lareth, Diaton, Karn, which is Sean’s home, and Vallerian, which was mine. I have seen the devastation with my own eyes, and I have fought the Redsleeves for the safety of a village that was nonetheless reduced to a pile of smoking ashes and dead bodies. I have watched children lose their parents, and parents lose their children. I have seen the dying remains of simple people, who cling to their lives in desperate attempt, but in the end they cannot maintain.

“I have come here, bringing with me the last son of Karn and the last daughter of Vallerian, to beseech the aid of the Council of Tylania and to put a stop to the ravaging of this country.”

The feeling in the room was tense. Some of the nobles looked at each other shiftily, and some just stood with mouths hanging wide or pursed lips drawn into tight lines. One man stood up.

“Foolish elf, what do you know of the affairs of the Council? Who are you to talk to us like—”

“Stand down, Mackail,” said Kyler. All eyes turned to the young king as he slowly stood up. “How long has this been happening?” he asked Raithlyn.

The elf locked eyes with him. “For one hundred one years,” she said. Most of the people in the room began snickering.

“One group attacking villages for a hundred years. Indeed! Your Majesty, this woman is obviously—”

“Silence!” roared Kyler. He was angry now. “One hundred years? And why don’t I know about any of this?”

A very thin olive-colored man with a large collar said, “Well, you see, Your Majesty, we didn’t think it was necessary to draw your attention to it. We didn’t think it was proper for the king to have to worry about unimportant little villages in the rural West…”

Kyler interrupted him. “We? So you all knew? I can’t believe this. My own nobles. No village, no town, no city is unimportant. Every life is precious, and is not something that is meant to be wasted. I will not stand for such reasoning in my country. We will send out the Royal Guard, and they will put a stop to this.”

He looked over at Raithlyn, who returned his glance fondly. “Thank you,” she seemed to say. Sean was busy watching the reaction of the nobles, who seemed divided between annoyance, anger, and fear. He paid close attention to Belanus, and he couldn’t help but notice many of the men looking to the ancient cleric nervously. For his part, Belanus stood calmly surveying the situation.

“Your Majesty,” he said at last. All eyes turned to him. “If I may suggest it, I would wait until the spring, at least. Mobilizing soldiers in the snow is something to be avoided at all costs; as I’m sure many of the war-seasoned veterans would agree.” A few of the men nodded. “And that until then, we think out our strategies on how to combat this new threat to the sanctity of our country.”

Kyler thought for a moment. “Agreed,” he said at last. “We shall plan for the counter attack over the winter and then act as soon as the snow melts.”

Belanus grinned. Raithlyn thought she detected pride and satisfaction in that smile. “Very well, Your Majesty.”

“Now, if all of you don’t mind, I would like to have a few moments alone with Raithlyn and Sean. I shall return presently.” Kyler put his arms around Raithlyn and Sean’s shoulders, and walked them out of the room. “In the name of God, my own Council. I thought they were incapable of agreeing on anything, yet now I find they were conspiring against me! Every part of my kingdom is important, right down to the last cottage. Raithlyn, Sean, you were right to bring this to my attention. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Sean looked up at Raithlyn. “Where is Vallerian?” he asked her.

The question caught the elf off guard, and she looked down to the ground. “It was north, at the base of the Ice Mountains, where the river Narsca crosses the foothills.”

“How do you know that the Redsleeves have been doing this for a hundred years, Raithlyn?” persisted the bard.

Raithlyn walked away from the boys and began down the hall. She looked distant and very alone. “When I was twenty… which is nothing for an elf, barely childhood, like a human five year old. Vallerian, my home, was burned to the ground by men in red tunics with a rose emblem. They destroyed my village, killed my family, and left me to die.”

Sean walked up beside her. “I know,” he said. Raithlyn looked at him, bright green eyes flashing. “You talk in your sleep.” He flashed her a brilliant white smile, then dodged the blow he knew she was aiming.

Kyler laid his hands on Raithlyn’s shoulders, calming her. “It will be taken care of.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he lifted his hands from her and said, “Now, my lady and my good Sir Sean, you are free to go. You have stayed for the feast and have delivered your information. Belanus informs me that Dorian has already left. I release you!”

Sean’s eyes grew wide with joy. He loved the road, and he lived to wander, and he was already packed and ready to go. He looked to Raithlyn, ready to ask her where their new destination was, but he stopped when he saw her face.

Raithlyn’s heart was wrenched in two. All her life she had lived in the wilds of the world, without civilization and without culture. She never knew what it was to live in a house, with someone always there; to eat real cooking every day that didn’t involve something she’d just killed; to wear a dress or to speak in something other than Elvin, Draconic, or Sylvan. Her whole existence revolved around the wilderness, and she loved it. At the same time, however, a new side of life had captured her interest. The feelings she felt when she was with Kyler were indescribable, and she loved her room with the childlike toys and the fairies on the four-poster bed. She loved dancing, and the way she felt when she was wearing that beautiful cornflower dress.

“Raithlyn?” asked Sean. The elf seemed trapped between two pressing futures, unable to move for herself. Sean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Raithlyn. You could stay here.”

At the words ‘stay here’, Kyler’s face lit up. “Yes, Raithlyn, I would be very happy if you would stay here with me.”

Raithlyn heard them speak, and looked slowly from one young face to the other. So similar, she thought. Slowly, with purpose, she walked over to Sean. Kyler’s disappointment was obvious. Sean smiled sweetly; he knew what she was doing.

“It’s ok Raithlyn, you don’t have to apologize,” he said. For her part, the elf looked miserable.

“Sean…” she said quietly, and then they embraced one last time. “Go with God, Sean. Go with God.”

“Thank you,” said the boy, and Raithlyn tousled his hair before stepping over to Kyler. “So long, Your Majesties!” Sean called as he bobbed a clumsy bow, shouldered his pack, and walked away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 14:

Proposed Ideal

 

Kyler smiled delightedly at Raithlyn. “Wait for me in my room,” he said, and then headed back into the study.

Raithlyn began drifting up the stairs to Kyler’s quarters, not entirely aware of where she was. She was surrounded by luxury, something she had never known before. Servants bowed to her as she floated up the stairs, although Raithlyn didn’t register them. Sean was gone… Dorian was gone… the West was gone… she was very lost and very much alone. She found herself in front of her door, and she walked into her rooms. She wandered lazily into her bedroom and found the wardrobe full of beautiful new clothes. She picked one out that was not too formal and looked comfortable, although none of the dresses that hung there could be considered casual. The dress she picked out was the colors of autumn, and didn’t have too many pieces or parts, and it laced up the front meaning Raithlyn could put it on herself.

She removed her traveling clothes; the leathers she had worn for many years that had been repaired beyond repair. She glanced at them lovingly for a moment, then folded them carefully and placed them in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. She slipped on the dress and laced it, following all the instructions she’d learned from Bellinda. She put on the little jeweled slippers and went to sit in the window seat. There, she found a small pile of books with a note tied to the top that read “To my Dearest Raithlyn”. They were written in Elvin, so that she could read them. She glanced out the window, and felt her heart leap as she saw Sean walking down the driveway, watching the sky as lazy snowflakes began to drift down from the heavens.

Raithlyn set the books down and glanced at the couch where Dorian had sat the night before. There was a small brownish blood stain on the place where his shoulder had touched the fabric. She walked over and ran her fingers over the spot, imagining him like he was when he and Sean debated philosophy during their many days together on the road. She stood up and straightened her dress. “That’s all behind me now” she said aloud in Elvin, which made her feel somewhat more resolved. She walked out the door and looked fondly at Sean and Dorian’s room. She had known Kyler for less than a week, she reminded herself, but she didn’t seem to care.

She made her way up to Kyler’s private chambers, where Edward had already left out a tray of hot tea and cookies. She sat down on the couch and began to wait for Kyler.

After about ten minutes of waiting, Bellinda walked into the room. “Ah, there you are dear!” she said. “His Highness wishes to inform you that he shall return presently, due to a slight communicational error taking place in the Council. He says to help yourself to the tea and cookies, sorry if they’re cold, and make yourself completely at home. And might I add that you look lovely today, Lady Raithlyn. That leaf necklace goes perfectly with that dress!”

Raithlyn’s hand flew to the Diamond Leaf that still clung to her neck. She had completely forgotten about it. Bellinda walked back out of the room, humming a little song to herself as she closed the door.

After a few minutes, she stood up and walked over to the window. She opened the heavy curtains and noticed that there was a balcony there, so she pulled open the glass-fronted doors and walked outside. The air was wonderfully clean and fresh, and the entire world below her was covered in the snow that continued to drift lazily to the ground.

She lingered there for a moment, then walked back into the room, closing the doors behind her. She sat down on the couch and poured herself a cup of tea, then sat back and tucked her feet up under her. She was sitting like this, drinking her tea, when Kyler walked in.

His face was gaunt and weary, and he stood somewhat less tall than he had in the Council session, but when he saw Raithlyn he brightened up and smiled. Raithlyn smiled back at him, and set down her tea cup.

“I’m glad you’re here, Raithlyn,” he said happily. “I’m going to change, if that’s alright with you. I’ll be right back.” He started to walk past her, then stopped and admired her for a moment. “You really look beautiful, Raithlyn,” he said. “But I’m sure that’s never going to change, no matter what you choose to wear.”

Raithlyn blushed and smiled to herself. Kyler disappeared into his room, only to reemerge in a rather loose-fitting shirt and pants that were still nice though not at all formal.

“And you look very handsome, as well,” teased Raithlyn as Kyler sat in the chair opposite her, helping himself to a cup of tea.

Kyler smiled. The familiar quality in that smile reminded Raithlyn of Sean, and she felt a twinge of grief pull at her heartstrings. Ah, well, nothing can be done about that now, she thought.

“There’s nothing quite like comfy clothes and a nice, hot cup of tea on a perfect winter’s day. It’s one of my favorite pastimes, although I usually don’t have the privilege of entertaining such wonderful company.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

Kyler smiled more broadly. “Didn’t we talk about that? Please, just call me Kyler. I hear enough ‘Your Majesties’ and ‘Your Highnesses’ and whatnot each day to last me a lifetime. I’m not afraid of my first name, you know. I sometimes wonder if most kings are, and that’s why they prefer all these extra titles. That’s probably because they all have names like ‘Rupert’ or ‘Cornelius’ or ‘Herman’. Imagine: ‘Good day, King Herman!’”

Raithlyn had been laughing as she listened to this speech. Kyler acted out the parts perfectly, making appropriate gestures and faces in each separate place.

“They probably all make up spare titles for themselves. I should probably do that too, find some extra-extra long thing to add to my name to make all the royal documents look important. Something like: ‘King Kyler, the Ass Rider’ or ‘His Royal Highness, Kyler May Lee William Christopher Bartholomew Vladimir Tylan the Third!’”

Both of them were now laughing. Raithlyn’s face had turned red, and she was holding her knees on the couch.

After a moment, Kyler looked at Raithlyn. “Feel better?” he asked. She nodded. “Good,” he said.

They sat in silence for a while, drinking their tea. At last, Kyler set down his cup and looked up at Raithlyn.

“Raithlyn?” he asked. “Why did you decide to stay?”

The elf looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well,” she began. She wanted to tell him everything, but knew she couldn’t and so she was trying to figure out exactly what she should say. “I knew I couldn’t follow Dorian, and Sean would do anything to get back out on the open road. I hoped perhaps that he would want to stay with me, although I knew that was unlikely.” She paused, wondering to herself what would come next. She swallowed hard and gathered her courage. Might as well come out with it, she thought. “In all honesty, I… I wanted to stay here with you, Kyler.”

Kyler looked overjoyed, although he tried to conceal it. He picked up his teacup. “You may stay as long as you like, Raithlyn,” he said.

They stayed there in Kyler’s room and talked until the afternoon, when they began to start feeling a little hungry. Edward had been in to take the tray quite some time ago, and they decided to take a little excursion to the kitchen.

“I used to do it all the time, when I was littler, and I still like to every once and a while. I know all the people in the kitchen! Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Kyler grabbed Raithlyn’s hand and they began rushing down the stairs to the main floor, then through a backwards series of halls until they found themselves in a very large and brightly lit kitchen. The fires were glowing, and there were about a dozen or more people milling about; kneading bread or stirring things in pots, cutting up ingredients, stoking the fire, and generally being helpful.

Kyler led the way to each person sequentially, telling Raithlyn their names and how long they had been working there.

“This lovely lady here is Lucille. She’s been here for longer than I have, and her daughter should be around here somewhere…”

Lucille, a short, thin woman with dirty blonde hair, laughed and wiped some of the flour off her face with a corner of her apron. “Oh, no, Yer Highness. Me little darlin’, she’s a-gone off home for a bit. When ye last saw her, she be carryin’ a wee one, an’ now the wee one’s gone an’ dropped i’self!”

“Oh, I see!” laughed Kyler. Raithlyn looked a little confused. Kyler translated for her. “Lucille’s daughter, Marlene, was pregnant when I left. She’s not here now because she just had the baby.”

“Oh,” said Raithlyn. “Congratulations,” she said to Lucille.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” asked Kyler.

“It’s a bouncin’, droolin’, loverly li’lle baby boy,” replied Lucille.

Kyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. “Here, give this to Marlene for me. A present for the baby.”

Lucille’s eyes grew wide. “Thankee kindly, Yer Majesty. Thankee…” she responded, then tucked the coin away into her apron pocket.

Raithlyn looked at Kyler with admiration. He was surrounded by wealth and power, never lacking whatever he wanted, yet he had such a strong spirit as to not be corrupted by all of that. She was impressed.

Kyler introduced her to all the people in the kitchen, and then they grabbed a tray of food for themselves before heading back upstairs. There was cold turkey and warm bread and butter, fresh apple jelly from the recent harvest, and mulled wine. Several of the people they passed offered to carry the tray for them, but Kyler refused. He held the tray steadily in his strong hands, and Raithlyn carried the pitcher of wine.

They got back to Kyler’s room to find Edward happily dusting things as he sang a little song to himself. He jumped when Kyler and Raithlyn walked in, and hid the duster behind his back, then smiled nervously and started towards the door. Kyler set their food down on the table, and motioned to Edward.

“Would you like to join us for dinner, Edward?” he asked politely.

The red-haired youth smiled awkwardly and offered a hasty bow. “No thank you, Your Majesty. I was just doing a little touch of cleaning, that’s all… I-I was…”

“You wanted to sing,” said Raithlyn, smiling.

Edward looked petrified. “Well, um, yes. But, I shouldn’t have done it in your room, Your Majesty, and I’ll just be going now…”

“Wait,” said Kyler. He looked at Raithlyn, who gave him a nod. “Would you sing for us?”

Edward looked like he’d just been struck by an arrow. “Sing… for… you?” he said, as if he were testing the words. “Sing for you… of course!” he smiled gleefully and then began to dance wildly about the room, singing songs from the East and from the South, where he was from. Kyler and Raithlyn enjoyed his antics and praised his songs with fervent applause.

After a few songs, Edward leaned against the wall. “Now, if it is alright, I shall take my leave to do my evening chores. Farewell Your Majesty, Lady Raithlyn.” He bowed to each in turn, then left.

“That was wonderful!” laughed Raithlyn. “I think that he should team up with Sean. They would make a wonderful pair!” Her face grew sad for a moment, but then she looked at Kyler and smiled. “I’m glad I decided to stay,” she said.

They ate their dinner, talking and laughing long into the night. Raithlyn finally went back to her room and fell upon the bed, feeling happier than she ever had before. She hung up her dress, and picked out another to wear tomorrow. It was deep green with gold trimming and had a gold and emerald necklace with it. She let out a deep sigh of contentment then crawled into bed, and for the first time in years she didn’t have a single nightmare.

 

Time passed quickly for Raithlyn. Her days in the palace became easier and easier as she learned the customs and mannerisms of the people she spent her time with. Days wore on into weeks, and winter’s barren cold covered the landscape. Every morning, Kyler would go and speak with the council and do his business, then every afternoon he would spend with Raithlyn. If there was anything to darken their bright lives, it was Belanus, who seemed to cast his shadow on everything they did. Raithlyn knew that she had to be very careful around him, and so she stayed with Kyler most of the time.

They had snowball fights in the garden, and built snowmen to resemble the members of the Council to use as target practice. Raithlyn taught Kyler about all the different plants you can use in the wilderness, and showed him pictures out of a book. Kyler helped Raithlyn with her Common, and soon she was speaking it quite fluently. They went shopping in Misai, and Kyler bought Raithlyn all kinds of extravagant gifts; jeweled necklaces and beautiful rings and a white fur-trimmed woolen cloak that fastened with a diamond brooch at the neck.

One dark December day, Kyler and Raithlyn were sitting in front of the fire on his couch, reading a book. The snow was coming down harder than ever outside, making it look like the palace was floating on clouds rather than built on the ground. It had been a particularly enjoyable day, playing in the snow that lay so thickly on the grounds. Their wet cloaks and mittens were hanging by the door to dry, and they huddled together under the warmth of a soft quilt.

“That was a lovely story,” said Raithlyn as they finished the book and set it down on the table. “I’m beginning to really like this idea of ‘happy endings’”, she laughed.

Kyler was looking at her. His deep blue eyes caught the light of the fire and twinkled warmly. His lips were curved upward into a gentle smile.

Raithlyn looked at him questioningly. “What is it, Kyler?” she asked. Kyler didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to look at her fondly. Raithlyn held his gaze. She loved to stare into those deep blue eyes, whose depth was unfathomable.

After what seemed an eternity, Kyler spoke. “Raithlyn, from the moment I met you I was captivated by you. You are wild and free, and take no orders from anyone because of their status or position. You told me stories of courage and strength that I thought could never exist in this day and age. You opened my eyes. You treated me like a person, and not like a king. You call me Kyler. You are everything I ever wanted and more.” He was speaking slowly and purposefully. Raithlyn detected a hint of nervousness in his voice, also. He continued. “I love you, and it would be my honor, dearest Raithlyn…” he pulled something out of his pocket. “If you would be…” he swallowed, “my wife, and my queen.”

Raithlyn stared at Kyler. So young, she thought, yet so old. He knew exactly what he was doing. He held out to her a beautiful ring, made to look like little leaves made of diamonds encircling her finger. His face was a mask of calm, but she could tell he was writhing underneath. Then Raithlyn reached out her left hand and said, in Common, “I will.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15:

Unexpected Reunions; Sudden Partings

 

It was December, and the entire castle was busy with preparations for the Midwinter Feast. It was to be a grand party, inviting delegates from all the Seven Nations. It was rumored that Princess Sheera Ryantha of Shezaira would also be attending. And, naturally, everyone was talking about Kyler’s engagement to the beautiful elfin woman who had so suddenly come to the castle.

Holly and mistletoe were strewn about the staircases and doorframes, rich wreathes hung on every wall. In the Great Hall, a giant fir tree had been carried all the way from the Northern Mountains, and was being hung with ribbons and trinkets and several magic users were busy lighting little balls with heatless fire to hang on the rich green boughs. Belanus was making preparations to leave immediately following the feast, and wasn’t to be seen anywhere.

All around the castle, the feelings were light and gay. Servants gathered in their quarters at night to break out bottles of whiskey and ale they’d been saving since last winter, and they drank to the prospect of more in years to come. Pilgrims had started to wander into Misai to catch a glimpse of the much talked about splendor of the Royal Palace, and the amazing beauty of the elf that was going to be their queen. Some of these pilgrims had found their way to the local taverns to spread gossip from the far lands. Others had headed for the homes of relatives or other friends they knew. Yet more decided to take a quick look at the palace, then leave before they got too wrapped up in the festivities.

Bellinda was in Raithlyn’s room, trying on the new dress she had made for the elf. In honor of the season, it was deep green velvet with a red underskirt and sleeves with a gold ribbon that tied the front with a bow.

“Ooh, it’ll be lovely when the time comes. I can’t wait to show you off! It needs something, though… a necklace, perhaps. We shall ask His Highness about it, later.”

Raithlyn stood calmly letting the woman adjust layers of skirts and sleeves. She had gotten very used to wearing dresses, although she had never particularly liked the limited range of motion they offered, nor did she care for all the noise they made. She briefly considered finding an elfin seamstress, because elfish clothing was light and less noticeable to the wearer, but she thought better of it because she would have no other seamstress other than Bellinda, who was now one of Raithlyn’s closest friends. Not closer than Sean had been, Raithlyn reminded herself. In this season of happiness shared with friends and family, the elf had started to think about all the people she’d ever encountered.

The closest thing to family she had was her old friend, Maurice, in Teslyn. She still owed him the three hundred gold for her swords, and she planned on making an excursion to the little town in the spring, after the wedding. She would not only pay him back the money, but bestow the family with the honor of a royal visit!

She thought back to when she’d met Maurice. It was nearly fifty years after she’d run away into the forest, living off the land and adapting quickly to the hunting styles of predatory animals. It had been a hard winter, and there was not much food to be had. She had thought herself in luck when she spied a long dead deer, lying in the middle of a clearing. She knew she shouldn’t have eaten it; the fact that the other animals had left it there even in the midst of starvation was a cue she shouldn’t have ignored. However, hungry minds lose their ability to reason, and she quickly devoured a great deal of the rotting meat. She had been very sick after that, and meandered about the forest in the midst of fever dreams and hallucinations. She got very lost, and had just about given up hope when she stumbled upon a little cottage.

The next thing she remembered was sitting up in bed and looking around at a homely little room. Bundles of herbs hung drying from the ceiling, a warm fire glowed in the hearth, and the walls were lined with shelves of wonderful things like books and clay pots and weapons of all shapes and sizes. A kindly young man was sitting over her, smiling. She remembered her fear at seeing the man; the same kind of human face that had boiled into her memory from when her home was burned. She had reached for her weapon; an old rusty shortsword she’d taken off a corpse. It wasn’t where it was accustomed to being, however, and so she settled for ferociously biting the man’s arm, which didn’t work because she was suddenly overtaken by a bout of queasiness and had to sit back again.

She recalled his words: “Hello, little one. What’s your name?”

The wild elf had glowered at him, yet wondered at this kind voice. She didn’t know what language he was speaking in, it was unfamiliar to her. She could decipher the meaning behind bird calls and wolf howls and knew the language of the elves and wild magic folk, but the tongues of man were completely new.

“What is your name, child?” asked the man, this time in Elvin. Raithlyn recalled most of her native language; she often talked to herself to keep from going mad. She looked suspiciously into the eyes of the man before her, reading him like she would a wild bear to determine whether or not he was going to eat her.

Finding none of the threat signals, she reluctantly growled, “Raithlyn.”

The man had maintained his calm smiling countenance, and said, in the same soft voice, “Raithlyn. That’s a lovely name. Where are you from, Raithyn?”

“Valerian.”

The man looked at her with pity. “I see,” he said. “Where are your parents?”

The elf child glared at him.

“What is your family name?”

More glaring.

“Very well then, I can tell you’ve been through a lot. Do you know how old you are? How long have you been on your own here?”

“When did Valerian burn?”

The man considered this for a moment. “Fifty years ago.”

“Then I am seventy-one.”

“Ah,” said the man, understanding. “A ripe old age for a human, but a wee small child for an elf. You look to me no more than nine or ten years old!”

Raithlyn had drawn back and pouted angrily. “I am not small. I am a warrior, a great hunter.”

“I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you. My name is Maurice, and I live here in Teslyn. You didn’t know you were in Teslyn? Well, you are, and you are welcome to stay with me if you like. You may also leave, any time you are ready. But if you stay, I can help you. I noticed you had a sword when I found you. It’s a bit rusty, don’t you think? I can give you a real sword, and teach you to use it, but only if you stay.”

“Why are you being so generous? What do you intend on getting out of this arrangement?”

Maurice smiled slowly. “Company,” he said.

Thus began a very long friendship. Maurice taught Raithlyn to use a sword and how to speak the Common language. In return, Raithlyn had shared her time with him and loved him like a father, which was exactly what he had wanted. They lived together for ten years, when Maurice finally took on a wife and Raithlyn had left on her own again, always to return and check up on the family as often as she could spare. She was always shocked to see them after one of her wanderings, because they grew so old so quickly, while she remained practically the same. Now, Maurice was nearly seventy. His back was still as strong as ever, and he swung a hammer straighter than most, but his hair had long since turned silver and his face had sprouted evidence of years of smiling and laughing and worrying.

“There, all done.” Bellinda stood back to admire her handiwork. “Now take it off, dearie, and let me finish the hemming and then I’ll give it back to you.”

Raithlyn stepped into the bathroom and did as she was told, removing the good velvet dress and replacing it with the autumn colored one, which had quickly become her favorite.

There were ten days left to the Feast, and she actually felt excited about the upcoming event. Belanus was leaving immediately afterward, and that made her feel even more at ease.

Kyler was nowhere to be found, these days; the Council had taken a turn for the worse and it was all the young king could do to keep them from drawing their swords in the middle of meetings.

Raithlyn walked back out and handed the dress to Bellinda, who took it and left the room. The elf decided to sit in the window and read a book, so she picked out a lovely blue suede covered book with gold lettering that read “Fallyn Fire-Eyes”, and sank into the down pillows to read.

It was a lovely tale of a young boy named Fallyn, who was taken with an irrepressible wanderlust. This immediately made the elf think of Sean, and as she read she imagined the blonde haired bard talking to dragons and exploring deep caves. She thought about her friend frequently, and often wondered what he might be up to. She contented herself believing that he was off on a grand adventure and having the time of his young life. Edward came in a little later to inform her that Kyler would be late again that evening, and that she should just take her meal in her room. Bellinda checked in a few times to make sure she was alright and had everything she wanted, and once with a tray of venison and buttered potatoes. Thus Raithlyn spent her afternoon, until evening set in and a servant came in to light the fire, casting a warm red glow about the room that was her home.

 

The streets of Misai were virtually empty. Noises of clinking glass and laughter emanating from the pubs and fire lit windows casting shadows were the only things that graced the peaceful winter scene, until a shadowy cloaked figure ran through the fresh-fallen snow, leaving deep footprints in the street to mark his passing.

He was short, and shivering, and clutched a pack to his back as if it were the only treasure left in the world. He stood hesitatingly at the gates to the castle, then began to walk through.

There were two soldiers at the entrance, and they now crossed their spears in front of him. “Hold, stranger,” barked one. “State your business.”

The figure threw back his hood to reveal a mop of blonde hair and a pair of pointed ears. “M-my n-n-name is-s-s S-Seamus L-Liad-don…” he said through his rattling teeth. “I h-have c-c-come t-to s-see th-the Lady R-Raithlyn.”

One of the soldiers looked at him closely. “Seamus Liadon? Hey, Baine!” he called to his partner. “Isn’t this that funny little half-elf that came in with the Lady Raithlyn?”

The other soldier nodded his head, recognition dawning on his face. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Better let him in,” he said. They uncrossed their spears and let the boy through, as he stumbled through the snow and made his way up the drive.

All his attention was focused on the door, he had to make it. His cloak did little for him, it was thin and shabby and the only thing he had to protect him from the bitter cold was a thin cotton shirt. He cursed himself for his foolishness, he should never have left her alone. Now he had put her in danger. He pressed on. He was very near the door now, he could see the warm lighted windows blazing with firelight. The door began to swing open, and the light wrapped him up in its comforting glow. “Raithlyn,” he signed as he fell face first into the snow.

At first, the serving girl didn’t know what she had just seen. She was just going out to scatter some of the leftovers for the birds, and as soon as she opened the door some strange elfin boy fell at her feet. It took her mind a moment to register to scream for help, and when she did people immediately began running toward her to stare, like she had, at the tiny figure lying in the snow.

“What is going on here?” came a sweet voice that rose from the crowd that was quickly gathering around the door. Raithlyn stepped through as people parted before her, and looked around for what had started the commotion. Then, she saw Sean.

“Sean!” she cried as she ran to kneel beside him. His body was frozen, but his head raged with fever. “I’m taking him to my room. Somebody get me some towels and a bowl of water. Now!” she ordered. A few people scattered off to do as she had asked as Raithlyn carefully picked up the boy and carried him inside. Bellinda was there in an instant, and she lifted the train on Raithlyn’s dress so that she could better walk up the stairs.