Dnara looked up from the page at the stone wall and struggled to accept the sentence she’d just read. ‘...my brother, your father...’ Keeper Ishkar is- was her uncle? A giant knot formed in her throat as a sting came to her eyes. She blinked away tears and sucked back a hard sniffle, unable to control nor fathom the emotions which fought their way to the surface, asking to be felt. The tears were bitter, the knot in her throat painful, and her heart ached in a sorrow she could not name. Through the growing despair came one question above all others.
“Why?” she asked, though there was no one there to answer her.
Why had her uncle become her keeper? Why had he treated her as a slave instead of as kin? Why had she known an existence of hardship and isolation instead of one of love and family?
And Ishkar’s regret? Why regret what could have been changed?!
A flash of anger fueled her tears, her fingers clutching the book and nearly tearing the page from its binding. Her fisted hand held the lantern, its metalwork biting into her palm. The pain offered a small ounce of grounding stability in a world that had once again been turned sideways.
The wind blew against each cheek, trying to dry her tears with a cool caress, but too many fell to be counted, dripping from her chin and onto the page open before her. Gaining no response, the wind began fluttering the next page as if begging her to keep reading. She stood there, shaking with anger, content to let Keeper Ishkar’s last words linger in silence for a while longer. After all she had endured, he deserved to have this book cast back into the alcove and left to rot like the tower above.
‘Read,’ whispered the wind. ‘Please.’
A calmness washed over her anger as the wind spoke, not with a single voice but a hushed multitude, rising and ebbing like waves upon the shore. Though clear enough words to understand were few and far between, she had come to find great comfort in those voices and had not yet been led astray by following their requests. She had also come such a long way seeking answers, and ignoring the reality presented by her keeper’s hand would be a step in the wrong direction.
‘I promise to explain everything,’ Ishkar’s writing continued. ‘But first, you must bear one final burden or all may be lost forever. I am sorry for these continued hardships, my dearest child, and I curse Demroth every day for having been made their bestower.’
Dnara read the rest of that page and then the next. It spoke of things, things Ishkar knew but shouldn’t, things she had barely begun to understand for herself, and things that had not yet come to pass. His steady hand spoke of these things as absolutes, as if he had witnessed them with his own eyes. Then, once he had displaced any remaining doubt within her heart, he ask a single question, and she answered it without hesitation.
Shutting the book, she headed for the door and rushed up the stairs to find Athan drugged into a fitful sleep by the medicinal herbs. Taking the scarf from her neck, she dabbed it across his brow. His lips formed unspoken words but his eyes did not open. She pressed a gentle kiss onto his brow and whispered a quiet, sorrowful goodbye. Wrapping her scarf around Ishkar’s book, her book, she tucked it within the saddlebag. After looping the saddlebag’s strap around Athan’s arm to insure it wasn’t left behind, she stood up and followed the path set by the wind through the trees to meet the men approaching on horseback from the south.
31
Dnara peered through a winterbare thorny thicket of blackberries alongside the southern path that traders once took to the tower. That the path appeared still worn down enough to have been used recently despite the destination lying in ruins centuries old was a bit of magic Dnara hadn’t quite figured out. It didn’t make logical sense, but neither did Keeper Ishkar being her uncle, nor his knowledge of things he couldn’t have possibly witnessed himself. All would be explained, he’d promised, in the book, but she couldn’t read the book until this last ‘burden’ had been seen to its end.
How simple it would be to take the book and run, but Ishkar had ended his request with a question she couldn’t run from so easily. ‘Damn him,’ she thought as she crouched in the mud, and she added, ‘damn Demroth, too,’ for good measure as the damp cold seeped into her sandals and a sweat-fly nibbled at her neck.
She heard the ‘burden’ approaching before she caught sight of it. Men in armor riding atop equally armored horses make quite the racket, even when traversing slowly over brush covered ground. She counted six soldiers, all with swords at their hips and capes bearing the Red Keep’s sigil draped from their shoulder plates. One rider at the rear and one in the front carried torches to light the deepening darkness within the thicket. In front of the six rode a man who was not just a soldier, but the King’s Sword himself, Aldric, and he rode atop a massive dark brown horse that made those horses behind it look like mere ponies. While the other horses gingerly stepped over each stone and hesitated at the slightest thorn prick, Aldric’s horse moved confidently onward, steadfastly following Aldric’s skillful instruction from rein and stirrup.
After watching them pass, Dnara took in a deep breath to steel her nerves then quietly backtracked to circle around in front of them. Finding a clearing ahead of their path, she sat down on a moss covered stone, brushed away the twigs and thistles from her skirt and waited with her hands cradling the everbright lantern in her lap. It didn’t take long for the clanging of armor to reach her, and her heartbeat pounded along with the sound of it.
The large armored head of Aldric’s stallion was the first to breach the thicket surrounding the small clearing centered by the boulder on which she sat. The horse gave a small snort of alert to his rider but did not hesitate in closing the gap of space between the cover of the trees and her stone seat. When Aldric’s red-plumed helmet ducked past the last branch, he spotted Dnara and gave a three-noted whistle to the men behind him. At this command, the men entered the clearing in a half-circle formation and dismounted as Aldric’s horse stopped in front of her. The last two men circled all the way around, checking the woods for others then lowing two sharp pikes downwards to her back.
Dnara focused on her breathing, not flinching nor giving into the urge to flee these large men and their sharp weapons. Clutching the lantern with anxious fingers, she lifted her chin and met Aldric’s dark blue eyes. Like before in the alleyway, she was shocked by his age; closer to her age than Athan’s now that she could get a proper look at him. Perhaps just on the cusp of his twentieth season, barely having earned a beard but holding the full attention and support of soldiers more seasoned than he. They waited for his command, unquestioningly, as he sat silently upon his horse looking down at the unidentified woman seated upon an earthen throne and illuminated by the small moon within her hands.
Without a word spoken, he dismounted his horse, his heavy boots hitting the loamy ground with a shifting clink from their rows of metal plating that flexed as he moved. His whole armor moved in this way, like a dragon, with scales and plates shifting through light and shadow, clashing and clanking like the prelude to battle. As he stepped closer, she craned her neck back to take in a man whose size matched that of his giant horse. He stood close to seven feet, and broader than the cedars surrounding them. The large shadow he cast sent a shiver up her spine, but she made no move to stand nor acknowledge the pikes pointed at her back.
He peered down at her from under a visored helmet, its red feathered plume tugged at by the wind. The tip of the plume danced near his cheek and he raised a gauntleted hand to bat it away. The wind’s playful tease of such an imposing man nearly made her laugh and lightened her fears. He caught her amusement and lifted one dark eyebrow at her as she sat on the stone, surrounded by armored soldiers but on the cusp of laughter like a woman who’d gone blightmad.
“I am Aldric, First Commander of the King’s Guard and loyal servant of his majesty King Lelandis Eldramoore,” Aldric stated, to which all the soldiers beat a fist upon their heart with a metallic clatter before speaking in unison, “May Faedra forever bless his crown!”
Dn
ara’s spine straightened with the echoing cacophony, but again she struggled to keep a stoic face at the way they all spoke in unison like a well-rehearsed choir. What could she say to such an introduction? She had no title to boast nor loyalty to a king she’d first heard of only a short time ago. Although, it hadn’t sounded like a boast from Aldric; more of a statement of fact, as if he’d said it a hundred times over and stood unwaveringly behind each word no matter if they were spoken to a crowd or a single girl sitting on a boulder in the middle of the woods. There was honor there, she inferred, and duty.
When it became clear he awaited her to respond in kind, she said, “My name is Dnara, and I am the mageborne you seek.”
The small clearing rang with the sound of swords leaving their scabbards, and sharp steel pointed at her as four of the six soldiers moved in closer. Aldric didn’t draw his sword but held up a tight fist. The men immediately backed off three paces, except for the two still wielding pikes at her back. Swords at the ready, the men were tense and expecting combat, but Aldric remained as unwavering as his statement of loyalty or the heavy stone on which she sat.
“Is that so?” Aldric said. “You don’t look like a mageborne who could break a man and toss him into a river.”
Dnara grimaced at the memory. “That was an accident,” she admitted. “That man, Jorn, he tried to... He...” Her heart stuttered at the thought of what might have happened. Athan would’ve fought to his death against all those men, and Jorn would have... Her hand moved to the shoulder Jorn had clutched so tightly.
“It was in self-defense, then,” Aldric surmised from her struggle. “He had intention to have you unwillingly?”
“Yes,” she replied tersely, wanting to put the memory of it to rest. When she met his eyes again, she could tell Aldric believed her. It gave her hope that Ishkar’s strange request wouldn’t come at the cost of her life. “I had no control over the magic then. I’m honestly not certain I have full control now. It’s a rather recent development.”
“I see...” His head tilted leftward and his dark eyebrow raised further as he assessed her. “Did you accidently put out the fires, too?”
“No,” she replied quickly but then rethought her answer. “At least, I don’t think that was me. I had expelled the blight from Penna, you see, then it was crawling on the floor, so Beothen tossed the horrid thing into the fire, and it screamed and-” She drew in a tight breath, realizing she’d said too much. Oh, how she wished she had Athan’s oratory gift. “...and that’s when the fires started going out in Lee’s Mill,” she finished more quietly, but then her thoughts turned to Lee’s Mill and all the people there. “Please, tell me, is Lee’s Mill okay? You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?”
Aldric blinked at her and held up an armored finger. “Hold on there. You say you expelled the blight from someone?”
“Yes.” At least this she could say with unwavering confidence.
“Matches the story from the mayor, Commander,” said the soldier standing to Aldric’s left.
“I thought the mayor’s daughter is named Elizabeth?” another soldier asked.
“She is,” Dnara replied without taking her eyes off Aldric. “I expelled the blight from Elizabeth days after I first expelled it from Penna.”
“Faedra’s mercy,” the first soldier muttered. “If this be true...?”
More mutters circled around her as the men shared uncertain glances and the grips on their weapons faltered. All except for Aldric, who remained solid as stone and unmoved by the possible revelation. Aldric held up his hand and the circle went quiet, swords and pikes raising back to defensive positions.
“Quite the claim,” he said. “For a young, untrained mageborne who, as you have admitted, only recently came into magic.”
She had no argument against his statement. “It is, and I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it myself.” Another chill crawled up her skin. “If I hadn’t felt it. The blight is... I never could have dreamed of such a cold, hollow darkness. And its hunger... It wants to devour everything.”
As her words lowered to a hushed whisper, the wind blew through the trees and swept around her like a loving embrace. Dead leaves and pine needles danced across the earth and the men grew agitated, but Aldric watched in unmoving silence as she hugged her arms and smiled. The memory of the blight’s touch faded from her and the wind calmed.
“You control the wind with your magic?” Aldric asked, and it sounded like genuine curiosity.
“It’s not like that,” she replied. “It’s more of a friend.”
“A friend?” His brow knit together in suspicion. “Is it some spirit, then?”
A small laugh lifted from her throat. “A few weeks ago, I thought it a curse. I’m not certain what it is; if it is a wind spirit or merely a magic carried by it. It asks me to follow sometimes, and other times it follows me. It protects me when I’m in danger, like with Jorn, and it comforts me when I’m afraid, like now, as I sit here surrounded by men with swords and pikes at my back.”
Aldric’s hand moved to the pommel of his large broadsword. “The wind would follow your command to attack us, to toss us into the trees as it tossed Jorn into the river?”
“No, I don’t command it,” she argued.
“But it would move to protect you if it sensed you were in danger,” he retorted. “You said so yourself.”
“Am I in danger, Commander?” she asked plainly and Aldric’s eyes widened.
After a brief hesitation, his hand moved from the pommel and lifted in a tight fist to his men then opened. The men around him also hesitated with looks between them, but they followed the command without dispute. Swords were placed back in their scabbards and the pikes were lifted away from her back. Each man took a further three steps backward, meeting their waiting horses at the edge of the clearing and standing at a relaxed attention.
“No,” Aldric finally spoke, and it felt as if it were just the two of them left within the clearing, the torchlight ending before the ring of lantern light began.
He stepped closer to her and knelt, bringing his large form down so their eyes could meet on the same level. Then, after another tug on the red plume by the wind, he removed his shining helm. Shock widened her eyes, but his expression did not change. He was, she assumed, a man who had grown accustomed to such looks of surprise.
At first glance, they were subtle, the signs in his appearance and stature. But, when you put all the small pieces together, they formed an unmistakable picture: his skin a shade too close to weathered stone, his ears more sharp at the tips than they should be, his jawline as strongly set as the Axeblade Mountains, his neck thick and his hair a glossy black tied into braids that gathered at the crown. There, secured within those braids, a single brown hawk’s feather fluttered with the wind’s gentle touch.
Aldric, First Commander of the King’s Guard, was half-Orc.
“You have shown us no aggression,” he said, snapping her from her shock. “And I believe the wind or your magic could harm us if you so wanted. I also believe you acted in self-defense against your accuser. I have seen that look in a woman’s eyes before.” He paused then, and she saw the truth of his words written on his face. “But, I must ask, why did you run from us at Lee’s Mill, only to wait for us here?”
“I was afraid,” she replied. “And I believed there to be answers waiting for me in this grove that I needed to find.”
“Answers to what?” he asked in friendly curiosity.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Truthfully, I believe I found only more questions.” When he gave no response, she sought at least one assured answer. “Please, Commander, tell me of Lee’s Mill? I never wanted to bring harm to those people, I swear it.”
“Nor did I,” he answered, his head tilting at her concern. “You think us brutes who would harm the innocent?”
“I think you soldiers of the king, who would follow his orders without question,” she replied. “I have heard of you burning the fields of
innocent farmers, and I heard shouting and the clash of weapons as I fled Lee’s Mill.”
“There was fighting,” he admitted. “But none were caused serious injury. We have orders to secure any uncontracted mageborne, especially one who may be dangerous. I am duty-bound to follow the law of my king. The mayor told us you had been hidden somewhere within the town, so we were left with little choice but to search every home. It was only as dawn broke that the temple elder admitted it being a tactic to delay us. As for the burning of fields, that is to stop the blight from spreading.”
“It isn’t working,” she said, to which he unexpectedly nodded.
“We know. But, what else can we do?” he asked, as if hoping she may hold some answer.
She held nothing within her hands, except the lantern and a single observation which she heard echoed in Athan’s voice. “You aren’t what I expected.”
His brow raised and the smallest hint at a hard-won smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Neither are you.”
He stood then, back to his full mountainous height, and held out one gauntleted hand to her. “I offer you this open hand only once, mageborne. I’d prefer to not place a sword within its grip nor a collar around your neck, but I am duty-bound to my king to do so if you resist. Will you come to Carn, to the Red Keep, to kneel before your king and accept judgment by the Red Covenant of Mages, may they take you within their fold if you be found innocent or cast you to the Cliffs of Silence if your crimes be found true?”
Left with little choice, by this soldier nor by Ishkar’s request, she took Aldric’s hand and stood. “I will go with you into Carn, and I will meet your king. I have questions for him, and I believe he may have answers for me.”
Aldric gave her a slightly amused look, that she should expect to ask questions of the king, but said nothing further. With a grace not expected of one covered in plated armor, He mounted his waiting stallion, then with an ease revealing his strength, he pulled her up to sit behind him. His men mounted up and drew into formation as he turned his stallion back to the southern trail.
When the Wind Speaks (Starstone Prophecies Book 1) Page 27