by T P Sheehan
Finally, Magnus turned to his old friend. “Eamon…” Magnus embraced him, for a handshake simply would not do. His other companions walked away, giving them space to talk. “Eamon, I wanted you to know, Marsala told me the origin of your name.”
A smile crawled across Eamon’s face. “She did, did she?”
“Aye.”
“Then you know I was named for you.”
“I do. And I thank you once again. Eamon…” Magnus struggled for words. “I also want you to know… I consider you to be the best of friends.”
Eamon embraced Magnus again. “And I you, Magnus. And I you.” The old man blinked away tears through a smile. “Such adventure… Such a story! And to think as little as a year ago we didn’t even know each other.”
“And yet, as Marsala would say, we were destined to.”
“A wise woman. She and Catanya are the greatest women I have ever known!” Eamon’s grin widened. “Aren’t we a lucky pair?”
Magnus frowned as he smiled, not for the first time wondering at Eamon and Marsala’s relationship.
“Travel well, Magnus!” Eamon blew him a kiss and waved.
Bonstaph came to Magnus. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s go home, father.”
With all the farewells done, Magnus slung Thioci and Iisilée’s scabbards over his new robe and climbed into Brue’s saddle with Bonstaph seated behind him.
“You’ve earned yourself an impressive collection of friends, Magnus,” Bonstaph said as Brue leapt into the sky.
“I think I have, haven’t I?”
“And if it were up to Jael…” Bonstaph paused.
“What are you saying, father?”
“Well, if she pushes any harder, Catanya will have her guts for garters!”
They both laughed as Brue set course for their homestead in the J’esmagdlands.
Brue touched down in the gravelled courtyard beside the stone well. Magnus and Bonstaph walked about the black ruins of their home in silence—their high spirits diminished. Bonstaph kicked aside the roof beams, perhaps hoping to find something to salvage. Magnus did the same to the broken glass over what was once his bedroom, recalling his close escape with Ganister.
“We all survived, that’s the most important thing,” Bonstaph said. His voice was muffled by the westerly ocean winds.
Magnus nodded and walked back to the courtyard. He looked at the horse trough and then the stone well. Magnus sat on the wall of the well. There was a folded towel beside him and several suede wraps tangled with fine, silver rope, lying over the wall.
“What do you make of this, father?” Magnus held the rope, running it between his fingers. It was spun from a fine fabric he did not recognise.
Bonstaph walked across the courtyard to the well and pondered over the wraps. “Your mother has been here.” He took the towel and smelt it, then stood in thought for a moment. “Come.”
Magnus followed his father back over the house ruins. They stood where the living room used to be and Bonstaph kicked away a mound of burnt thatching. There was a stone missing from the floor.
“Alavia has most certainly reclaimed her old life,” Bonstaph said. “It was hidden beneath this floor.”
“As were the fleu-steel swords at Sarah’s home.”
“Aye. The difference being, your mother tried to forget her past. Sarah celebrated hers.”
“So you knew then, of mother’s history.”
“Aye. I knew her father and her grandfather before that.”
“Hasledom and Hasdereq.” Magnus pictured Marsala reading from the ‘Iceralem’, revealing to him his family history leading back to Hasdereq’s bond with Iisilée.
“Indeed.” Bonstaph looked at Magnus. “I knew the truth, Magnus. I knew of my wife’s pain, her need to forget, and the need for a new life with her son and husband. And I gave her that life.” Bonstaph sighed. “The Quag took it away.”
“Father, we had a wonderful life.”
Bonstaph paced about. “Do you think so?” He flashed a hesitant look at Magnus.
Fond memories came flooding back to Magnus. “We had good friends and a loving family. You built all this for us. I’ll be eternally grateful for that.”
Bonstaph looked to the ground, his back to Magnus. Magnus walked to his father and put an arm around his shoulders. His father began to cry in silence. Time passed and Bonstaph took a few deep breaths, wiped his face with his hands and looking red-eyed at Magnus. He chuckled. “You look damn good in that robe, my son.”
“Thanks,” Magnus smiled. “You know, we can rebuild this place when we return. Make it better than ever.”
Bonstaph looked about and sighed. “That’s exactly what I will do. But you, Magnus, need to find your mother.”
“You’re not coming to the Ice Realm?” Magnus was not planning at all to make the trip alone.
“No. I am home now. For the second time, I will retire from my role as Knight Commander. I will rebuild our home and who knows… in time, perhaps your mother will wish to return. If not, I look forward to your frequent visits. Perhaps even those of my grandchildren.”
Magnus liked the thought, but all the same did not want to leave his father. “Perhaps I could stay and get things started—help you clear things away.”
Bonstaph looked blankly at Magnus. He knew what his father was going to say. “Your mother needs you and time is of the essence. You have Brue. There is no better company for certain. Isn’t that right, Brue?”
The long-tailed dragon was sniffing about the stables. “That is correct. I am with you, Magnus.”
A neighing sound came from the stables and out of the doors came a stomping warhorse, clearly alarmed at the sight of a dragon. Brue reeled back.
“Staeda?” Magnus and Bonstaph shouted together. The brown Wardemeer came to them. Bonstaph rubbed his neck and chest.
“Where have you been?” Bonstaph looked the horse over, checking his hooves. “He’s been well taken care of… well fed.” He loosened and lifted the saddle. “The saddle has been oiled—he’s not been wearing it all these months, that’s for sure.” Bonstaph looked bemused at Magnus.
Magnus knew there was only one explanation—“Mother must have found him when she returned. Perhaps she has seen to his care and returned him for you.”
A horse whinnying from afar drew their attention to the northern rise. Two Rhyders were seated upon Astermeers, looking directly at them. Their blue robes and long, blonde hair flowed in the wind. A moment passed in silence, then the Rhyders turned and rode away. Magnus and Bonstaph looked at one another.
“She knows we are alive.” A glimmer came to Bonstaph’s eyes. It was something Magnus had never seen before in his father. “Perhaps this is a sign, Magnus. Perhaps it’s a sign there is hope for our family. Go to your mother. Tell her I am here and will wait for her.”
Magnus and Brue took to the skies. They flew north over the two Rhyders on charging Astermeers, over the Crescent Woods, over the charred remains of the Bowthwait homestead and on toward the Ice Realm. They shared thoughts of their hopes for the future.
“Perhaps we will find an ice dragon north of the Ice Breach, Magnus,” Brue said.
“An Ertwe dragon? That seems unlikely,” Magnus laughed.
“No more so than my Electus bearing the mark of Iisilée…”
EPILOGUE
Simeon sat up on his elbows. Jael placed a hand on his naked chest, pushing him back to the ground.
“Again.” Jael’s voice was demanding, her demeanour firm. She started moving her hips over him once again. When finally done with Simeon, Jael dressed and left the tent without a word.
“Could we speak in private?” The softly spoken voice came from shadows away from the Nuyan campfires and away from the post-battle celebrations. Jael ignored it and continued to walk back to the priests’ camp.
“Jaelerisé…” The voice said. “We must speak in private.”
Jael turned, squinted and stared at the shadows. A
man stepped from the darkness toward her. He wore an Uydferman’s crimson robe. Jael knew it was a disguise. The man’s fine features, dark eyes and calm demeanour gave him away—he was not a man of the Fire Realm.
“What do you want of me?”
“Someone needs to speak with you.”
“I told you, I’d be in touch when I had results.”
“Someone needs to speak with you now.”
Jael stepped tentatively past the tent she left Simeon in so as not to raise his attention and followed the imposter through a grove of trees to a clearing. Here, five kinsmen were waiting, like pale blue phantoms in the patchy moonlight—each of them dressed in white. Jael froze. A flash of terror crossed her mind that revealed itself in a nervous squint.
The man who stood at the centre of the five men—the elder among them—stepped forward. Like his kinsmen, he had fine features and a neatly cut head of black hair. His silk white robe was sewn with the finest fabric embroidered with cream-coloured patterns depicting the winds of the Clouded Mountains. Of all the people in Allumbreve, he was the one Jael most wanted out of her life. He was the one she most wanted to kill. In the best of her dreams, she almost could. In the worst of her recurring nightmares, she remembered the torture. The most torturous part of all was that Jael thought he was dead—killed by Alavia and her Rhydermere when they overran Guame.
“Jaelerisé… The prodigal stepdaughter of Aefordale…”
“I am no relation to your Electi.”
“Your Electi! You may be the ‘Nilnova’ daughter in a blessed Airisth bloodline, but you still have a duty to your people.” He pointed an accusing finger. “You were perfectly positioned to become the Fire Realm Electus, yet failed.”
Jael said nothing more. He called me ‘Nilnova’… The word seared her heart like a red-hot knife. It always had, even as a child. Nilnova… ‘No Star’. The name hurt and there was nothing she could do about it—nothing that could make her special like her Electus-born siblings. Especially now that Magnus was the last chosen Electus—not her.
The elder came to Jael and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your courtship with the chosen one is your recompense. You know this. It is your last chance to claim your place among your people. Bring the Fire Realm Electus into our fold and give us the progeny of his blood.
“Things have changed,” Jael stammered. “Magnus… their Electus… is that of two realms. His mother is a grandchild of Hasdereq.”
The elder withdrew his hand from Jael’s shoulder and tilted her chin up. He stared into her eyes, examining them for truth. He seemed to find it. “Iisilée’s bloodline survives. All the better.” The elder squinted. “But there is something else?”
Jael hesitated. “He is betrothed to a Nuyan woman.”
“They are not yet wed?”
“Not as yet, but—”
“Where is this Nuyan woman?”
“In Froughton Forest, seeking her lost family members.”
“Her name?”
“Catanya.”
“We shall deal with her.”
“She will not be easy to kill. She is an Irucantî, as is another who tried to assassinate her but died in the attempt.”
“Our means and ways will be more effective. You concentrate on fulfilling your obligations.”
“And what if Magnus refuses me?”
“You have trained for this your whole life. You lost your way and we spent six months reconfirming your allegiance.” The elder traced the scar over Jael’s left eyebrow with his thumb. “Make it happen, Jaelerisé.” His stare lingered a long, nauseating moment, then he turned and disappeared into the darkness with his kinsmen.
In the shadows, Simeon watched in silence. His eyes were fixed on Jael.
Jael is a traitor…
THE END
Table of Contents
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
THE MORNING AFTER
HANNAH - ONE
WEIR
SARAH
BLACKSMITHS
HANNAH - TWO
WARNING
FURY
A GYPSY’S OATH
MARSALA
THE MARK OF IISILÉE
ALAVIA
SPELLS
FIRST WAVE
HANNAH - THREE
RED PASS
CLIMB - ONE
COUSINS
HANNAH - FOUR
CLIMB - TWO
SCOUTS
MESSAGES
TRAX
THE HIGH PRIESTS
REUNION
LINÉ
BRUE
RACE TO THE ROMGHOLD
IRIS
A CONFESSION
PYRE
A CURSE
A PRISONER’S ADVICE
‘ONE’
TRAINING AND FAREWELLS
SOUTHERN PLAINS
A SINGLE CHANCE
TWO TRUTHS
JAEL’S TALE
CALM BEFORE THE STORM
BATTLE AT NUYAN
FIRST WYVERN
ELECTUS REVEALED
(Untitled)
PIECE OF MY MIND
HUNTERS
HOME
EPILOGUE
THE END
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