Age of Valor: Blood Purge

by D. E. Morris

  Ashlynn glanced at Killian, who's return glimpse was as confused as her own. Mairead was the stoic one of Ashlynn's ladies, the one who kept every emotion, even the lighter ones, in check. She certainly never cried like this, especially not in the presence of her queen.

  As the couple parted, Niam's fingers ran over the healed side of her face. She flinched away from his touch and look down, pain and regret in her eyes. When she kept her gaze down, he said in a quiet, definitive growl, “They hurt you.”

  A fresh tear fell and her brow wrinkled, but still she couldn't look at him. “I let them.” Finally lifting her face to him, she whispered, “Please, do not say anything more. I am...I am so tired.”

  “Then rest.” As though the rest of the world had suddenly come back into existence around him, Niam glanced at the faces staring back at him. He pursed his lips, more he wanted to say just beneath the surface, but he settled for taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I will be here. Whenever you need me, I will be here.”

  “I will take good care of her, Niam,” Ashlynn said, making him the same promise she'd made her son and breaking the spell of the moment with her voice. She held out an arm to Mairead and the younger woman turned back around without another word to him, returning to her queen and tucking herself back into the protection of her embrace to be led away.

  Despite the guard that was left outside of Mairead's room and the strict order that no one was to enter but permissible servants, Rowan found a way in through fyre and threw herself at an exhausted and somewhat unresponsive Mairead. The younger girl peppered her with question after question, her energy not to be dimmed until she finally realized that her friend was not the same. Something traumatic had to have happened to her in order to leave her in such a state. At once, Rowan took up the mantle of service she seldom chose for herself, given the plenitude of Ashlynn's other ladies. She oversaw the filling of a warm bath and the ordering of food and drink for Mairead, asking nothing more from her but treating her with the respect of a royal. She ran her fingers along the dresses hanging in the wardrobe, feeling for the lightest fabric for the warmth of the day, and pulled out a dark blue gown.

  “How is this?”

  Mairead lifted her head, her eyes heavy. “Rowan, you do not have to do this.”

  “I want to.” She hung the dress over the changing screen, lips curved into a frown. “I knew I shouldn't have let you go down there. None of you should have gone. That woman is evil.” She sat beside Mairead on the bed and tilted her head. “I heard your scars are gone. May I?” Mairead muttered some sort of acquiesce. Lifting her fingers, Rowan ran them along Mairead's cheek and up over her eye and her brow, an odd smile lighting her face. “It feels strange...funny...like the edges of an unclear memory.”

  Looking at the blood on her dress, Mairead was barely listening as she felt her throat tighten. As much as she loved Rowan and appreciated her desire to take care of her, she just wanted to be alone. At the same time, if she truly thought about it, being alone terrified her. She wasn't sure what she wanted – to tear at her own skin, to scream, to cry. She wanted to bring Esther back. She wanted to hate Derog. She wanted to vomit, and she wanted to sleep.

  “Your bath is ready.”

  Her door closed as servants left and Mairead lifted her head to see the steam rising from the wooden tub in the middle of her room. Rowan waited patiently beside it, prepared with a sponge in hand and a brush, a mirror and a towel on a small stool beside her. Knowing her ability allowed her to see through water would have made this situation awkward on any normal day, but today, Mairead didn't care. She shed her dress, wishing she had the gift of fyre to burn it on the spot, and stepped into the tub to sink down into the scalding water, feeling the heat sear her skin up to her neck.

  Rowan stayed silent as she scrubbed the blood from Mairead's arms and fingers, gentle when she ran the sponge over her back and said nothing about the scrapes she must have seen, Her stomach turned at the memory of how she'd received them, and she pulled her knees up, leaning forward so she could rest her forehead upon them. Replacing the sponge with the brush, Rowan moved onto brushing out Mairead's hair, methodically undoing all the tiny little braids and curls without so much as a mutter of complaint about the tediousness of the task. When her golden waves were washed and brushed again and the heat of the water had ebbed, Mairead gathered all of her hair over her shoulder into one braid while Rowan unfolded the towel. She was gracious and averted her pale eyes as Mairead rose and accepted the towel, looking up with a smile when the older girl was wrapped, but gasped in confusion at what she saw in the residual wetness on her face.

  “Is something the matter?” Mairead asked.

  “Your scars...”

  “What?”

  Without explaining, Rowan reached behind her for the mirror. “Look!”

  Taking the small hand mirror, Mairead looked at her reflection and felt her breath catch in her throat. Not all of her scars had come back but there was a large portion on her cheek, the place that was still wet where she had rested against her knees, that looked as it had for the past five years. Unconcerned with her nudity, she pulled the towel from her body and scrubbed at her face, then rechecked her reflection only to find the scars had disappeared once more. With wide eyes full of confusion, she whipped her head toward Rowan and asked, “Do you see them?”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  She touched her own face, gentle at first for fear of what she might feel or not feel, then rougher as she poked and prodded at skin that used to be disfigured and puckered, poorly healed and hard for her to even look at. In the mirror, it was smooth as everything else on her body, like an exact copy of the other side of her face, but the tips of her fingers felt odd. The only thing she could liken it to was the sensation she experienced when she fell asleep on her arm and cut off circulation to her hand. Rowan's words, what she said earlier finally sank in. “It feels strange...funny...like the edges of an unclear memory.”

  “It is an illusion,” she breathed, hand still on her face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mairead put her mirror down and hurried for her dress. “Go. Gather everyone in Ashlynn and Jaryn's solar, Badru included. I think I understand what has happened.”

  As the core group grew, the solar felt as though it was beginning to shrink, especially with the addition of three pony-sized dogs that refused to leave their chosen owners. Everyone was speaking at once, questions being asked of one another with answers being tossed every which way. Upon Mairead and Badru's arrival, Misuzu had returned to Montania through fyre to retrieve Tasarin once again. They flew back to Siness much quicker than anyone else would have been able with her sleek form, manipulating the air currents to give her as much speed as the elf could tolerate on her back. They had only just arrived as everyone was assembling, and many of them were witnessing Tasarin in a state of disarray for the first time since coming to know him.

  “Sorry to call you back so soon after you left,” said Jaryn, offering the elf his own seat with a look of contrition.

  “It is quite all right,” Tasarin assured, only too happy to accept. “I wanted to be here when they were debriefed.” His brow wrinkled at the cacophony of voices around him. “Do not delay calling this madness to order any longer on my behalf.”

  Jaryn took his bottom lip between his teeth and gave a sharp, high whistle that silenced the room immediately. All eyes turned upon him until Dafty barked. “Aye,” Jaryn concurred in all seriousness. “Thank you for that, Dafty. I thought it was getting a wee bit too loud in here myself as well. How about everyone just take a breath and let Mairead have a chance to speak since she's the one who asked us all to be here?” He turned hazel eyes to her and nodded. “The floor is yours.”

  Her lips puckered only slightly as she returned his nod. Unlike the rest of Ashlynn's ladies, both past and present, she was not one who favored the spotlight. There had been times in her life when it had been unavoidable,
especially when she was serving as Ashlynn's double. She had never faltered under scrutiny, but it was never a position she'd willingly put herself in. It had been years since she'd felt the old tingles of importance such as the ones she was feeling now with everyone watching her, waiting to hear what she had to say. She swallowed and twisted the new thin band of metal on her finger, launching into her story.

  No one said a word as she told them of the ring of stones or the concoction Rhiamon made. For now, she left out the part about her vision, still too traumatized to speak about it, but relayed the events as they happened as soon as she'd come to from her blackout. When she spoke of her bath, Rowan was quick to jump in with her view of things, how Mairead's scars were there one minute and gone the next, all with the simple swipe of a towel.

  Though the general reaction of the room vacillated between confusion and surprise, Badru and Tasarin were the only two among the entire company to remain thoughtful. Beside her, Badru nodded as though something fell into place. He looked up at her from his chair, too tired to remain standing as she had, his brows knit together. “The first arrow that shot me came from the crossbow of a dark elf. He was hiding in the water. I did not see him until it was too late, but there was no mistaking that gray, leathery skin.”

  “There were some of them among Rhiamon's hunters.” Mairead searched around the room for Connor. “Did you know there was an entire section of the village where they were all kept, all of her tattooed warriors? Did you know that there was a ridge up a mountain path beyond the village where they grow the flowers they use for their explosives?”

  He shook his head, his eyes round at the rising accusation in her voice. “No. I didn't know any of that.”

  Badru placed a gentle hand on Mairead's arm, making her take a breath and look down. When she felt she could speak again without raising her voice, she said, “The dark elves I saw were wet. It was as though they had been caught in the rain or had just bathed.”

  “This entire village could have been populated by the Chrynir and you would not have even known it unless they got wet?” asked Kenayde, but Mairead shook her head.

  “No. I was there for almost two weeks and it rained more than once. I saw men and women out working during downpours. I washed linens in the river with them. Not all of them are dark elves.” She couldn't help but see Esther's sweet face in her memory. “There were people there I knew to avoid, people I had a certain sense about, but there were others who genuinely wanted a simpler life. Rhiamon offered them peace. She spun a tale of acceptance and freedom without the rules of kings and queens, and religion setting boundaries and restrictions.” Mairead glanced from face to face. “How many of you would not be drawn to that if you lived a life that you felt was full of oppression? Having been there for so long, I can see why people are drawn to her. She truly cares for her people. At least I thought she did.” She clenched her fist. “She cares for them until they become dispensable. Then they become pawns.”

  “So,” hedged Elas, “what does water have to do with any of it? Nothing? If they're using something as basic as an illusion spell to hide what they are or to cover up Mairead's scars, it's kind of hard to believe that something as simple as water would reveal the truth.”

  Connor gave a thoughtful hum. “That's kind of what Gianara can do – illusionary magic.”

  “It is not the same thing,” Tasarin corrected. “Elvish magic, their natural gifts differ greatly from Chryniric magic. The Chrynir draw upon the natural elements as all elves used to, though now these things are worshiped as deities among the fallen as though they are sentient beings and possess free will as living creatures. Water has always been regarded as one of the purest forms of magic. Moon and starlight complete the dark elves' triad. It is not a wonder that water would reveal the truth of their illusion spell.”

  Mairead studied Tasarin, her forehead creased. “How do I remove the spell she put on me?”

  He shook his head, regretful. “In the case of most dark magic, the caster must perish in order to reverse any effects their magic has had for good or for ill.”

  A fine line appeared between Misuzu's brows. “Do you want your scars back?”

  “They are not truly gone, are they?” Mairead returned. “I want nothing to do with her kind of magic, especially if all it does is mask what is still there. For the past five years I have lived with the reminder of what was done to me. If I have to spend the rest of my days with that reminder, so be it. I would rather that than to see a mockery of my own face in the mirror every morning.” The room fell silent, but on the other side of her, Rowan rubbed her back. Recognizing that the discomfort that had fallen upon everyone was because of her, Mairead took a breath and calmed herself for a third time, privately chastising herself for losing her temper so frequently and not understanding her inability to keep her emotions in check.

  “Rhiamon is working with Merrik,” she reported quietly.

  “We're aware,” said Jaryn with a grimace. “Lilia told us before she went to Braemar.”

  “Before I left, she called me out on who I was, listing off people in this room by name and promising retaliation if I chose you over her.” Mairead swept invisible strands of hair behind her ear, her gaze downward. “She offered me the world if I would give myself over to her, all sweet promises and graceful reservation, but as soon as I denied her, all pretenses fell away and the truth of her character was revealed.”

  “It was the right decision,” Cailin insisted, leaning against the windowsill beside Killian. When Mairead lifted her head to look in her direction, she nodded to add emphasis to her words. “Don't doubt it, Mairead. No matter what that woman promised you, from everything we've heard from Connor and Rowan, and just now from you, she would have killed you the second you outlived your usefulness. Whether you stayed to help one or thousands, you would have died no matter what.”

  “She's right,” Ashlynn echoed, reaching across Rowan to uncurl Mairead's fist to she could take her fingers in her own. “I'm glad you came home.” Attention shifting slightly, her eyes slid to Badru. “Brigid spoke to me once of an army that the Shadow King would gather. Given that Merrik called himself that exact name during our last encounter, I can't help but wonder if this woman and her people are that army, or at least part of it.”

  “She disappeared for three days,” Mairead inserted before Badru could reply. “When her own son questioned her whereabouts, she was evasive in her answer. She is most certainly part of his army and is hiding something fearsome.”

  “What about the black things we fought before?” asked Elas. “We thought they were demons with their red eyes and the way they turned into dust and ash, but were they Chrynir the whole time? And what about the little flies that attacked Luella on the beach during the battle six years ago, or the water dragons before that? What were they?”

  “Likely pure dark magic,” Tasarin supplied. “I believe your assumption about the Chrynir is correct, as well.” He leaned forward and linked his hands together atop the table. “I do wish Luella was here with me...it was discovered several months ago that a room existed below the dungeons of Montania, one that had no visible way in or out. This was no great concern of ours; as you all know, castles are full of hidden passageways and rooms so to find something like this in a reconstruction certainly did not come as a surprise. What we did not know, and likely would not have found out had I not inquired as to the progress myself, was that the foreman was finding it impossible to make his men enter the hidden room. Work was being done all around it, but none wished to enter. I went to investigate myself and immediately understood why. The entire place has the aura of dark magic, evil magic.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Rowan.

  “We believe it is where Merrik received his powers as the Elemental of Malevolence.”

  Connor looked around the room, his brows raised. “So that's it, then? Are we all saying it out loud and finally coming to a firm agreement that he really is Malevolence?”
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br />   “It's the only thing that makes sense,” Jaryn said with a shrug of his shoulders. He looked down at Tasarin. “What makes you think that Merrik got his powers at Montania?”

  “Luella was the one that came to that conclusion. I brought her down into the room and she felt it almost immediately, as though her own Element felt the residual power. She said that there had never been any sort of soldier in her father's command like the ones Merrik employed in the battle here that night, neither had Merrik ever had any of those flies, as you call them, Elas, at his beckoning. It was as though he had become ten times more powerful in a matter of days, in the way only an inheritance of Elemental abilities can produce.”

  Misuzu shook her head in confusion. “I still don't understand. Did the Chrynir just magically know that Merrik had become their new master and simply fall under his rule?”

  Tasarin pressed his lips together and blew air out his nose in a small sigh. “That is a bit more difficult to explain, I am afraid. I believe, and I am only guessing at this point, that the warriors he summoned to fight beside him initially, were the Chrynir whose souls were already so blackened by greed and their lust for power that they were as good as dead where they stood, mere shells of what they used to be. For all intents and purposes, they were creatures being kept alive by magic and nothing more. They thrived off of it as they consumed it, and it was magic, fyre to be specific, by which they were killed.”

  “Like burned toast,” Badru mumbled. “If you are starving and you only have two slices of bread left and you burn it, you eat it, then you go find yourself some better bread. That is exactly what he has done with the Chrynir. He used what he had before he found newer and better soldiers with which to fight.”