by Aaron Ehasz
Just moments later, a handful of remaining human guards led by Soren apprehended Runaan on the balcony. Runaan dropped his weapons, closed his eyes, and placed his hands at his sides, palms facing forward. He was ready to receive his destiny.
“Finish this,” he said without remorse.
“My pleasure,” Soren said and raised his sword high above his head.
“No, wait!” Claudia shouted. She placed her hand between Soren’s blade and Runaan’s neck. “We can find more practical uses for this one. Tie him up.”
Callum, Ezran, and Rayla (and Bait) walked silently through the forest. Callum thought this may have been the longest day of his life. It had started out like any other, with sketching and parrying. Now, he roamed the woods with Ezran and an elf, trying to save a dragon egg that the entire world believed had been destroyed. Nothing would ever be the same.
While Callum was lost in silence, Rayla noticed one of her bindings loosen. The pearl-white ribbon turned bloodred and then slipped off her wrist. She stared at the magical binding in awe and then instinctively, looked skyward. A bold, strong shadowhawk flapped its wings in the sky above, red smoke trailing its path. Rayla stifled a gasp.
Ezran and Callum turned around at the noise.
“What’s going on?” Callum asked. “Is something wrong?”
Rayla wondered if Callum could see in her eyes that yes, everything was wrong. Despite the miracle of the egg, an unnecessary and painful tragedy had unfolded.
Rayla collected herself. Her human companions had suffered a life-changing loss, but it wasn’t her job to tell them their father died. “We should stop and rest,” she said instead. She stopped at a large flat rock and sat down. “It’s a long journey to Xadia. This is as good a place as any to rest for the night.”
The princes looked at each other, then back at Rayla, their faces full of surprise.
“What, you don’t think we’re going to make it to Xadia in a single evening, do you?” she asked.
“It’s not that …” Callum said. “It’s just, we’ve never slept in the woods before—we don’t really know how.”
“Oh, right,” Rayla said. Princes. She would have a little fun with this. “It’s real easy. You just take whatever it is you are carrying and use it as a pillow and blankets. You humans do sleep with pillows and blankets, don’t you?”
Callum gave her a look that said he didn’t appreciate her sarcasm, but he and Ezran bunched up their sacks into pillow-shaped lumps and wrapped themselves in their cloaks anyway. They laid down on the hard ground. Rayla watched from her rock.
“Hey, what about you? Aren’t you going to sleep?” Callum asked.
“In a little while—I’m still wide awake,” Rayla said.
Callum knew how she felt. How would he ever fall asleep given all that had happened in the past few hours? Terrifying visions of the battle he’d witnessed flashed in his mind as the forest wind whipped over his face. The pebbles and sticks poking into his back weren’t making matters any easier either. But the emotional toll of the day had exhausted him more than he knew; in an instant, he was asleep.
A few feet away, Ezran lay on the ground looking enviously at his sleeping brother. He gathered Bait up in his cloak and closed his eyes. He imagined he was back in his bedroom, the crackling fire nearby and the cool, feathery pillow against his cheek. He envisioned every detail in his mind. Now his father was opening the door, coming in to sing him to sleep. Ezran breathed in deeply and hummed the lullaby to himself.
“The Sun is down, and the Moon is high.
Baby yawns wide with a sleepy sigh.
The Sky fills up with Stars that blink.
Baby’s eyelids start to sink.
The Ocean kisses the Earth good night.
The waves say hushhh … little babe, sleep tight.”
Somehow, Ezran felt as if his father were there with him. He was almost sure he could feel the king’s warm lips press against his forehead. And as usual, he yawned and was off to sleep.
Nearby, Rayla’s heart skipped a beat. She knew that melody—her mother used to sing it to her when she was a wee elf. She gazed over at the sleeping prince, so innocent, so peaceful. In that moment, she knew she wouldn’t follow through with Ezran’s assassination.
The binding on her wrist suddenly tightened … or at least Rayla thought it did. Was it her imagination? Just a guilt-ridden conscience manifesting itself in physical torment? Whatever the cause, it was time to get this binding off.
She stood up and rubbed the ribbon against some rough bark, but the ribbon held fast. She gnawed on it, pulling so hard she thought her teeth might come out. Nothing. The ribbon just snapped back into place.
Rayla looked up from her wrist and locked eyes with Bait, who was also awake. In fact, he was giving her a cool, hard stare. As if a glow toad was capable of suspicion.
“What are you looking at?” Rayla whispered at Bait. “Don’t you know what I’m risking by doing this?”
What the glow toad—and the princes—didn’t know was how dangerous it was for humans and an elf to travel together. And surely there would be search parties looking for the missing boys.
Rayla lay back down on her rock, but her mind was still too full of worries about the journey to let her sleep.
Even if they made it to Xadia alive and well, what were the chances Callum and Ezran would be accepted? Even Runaan, who had seen the dragon egg firsthand, had continued on his path of vengeance.
Rayla yanked on the assassin’s binding around her wrist once more. Would she be welcome back in Xadia, having teamed up with the very person she had been bound to kill?
She laughed to herself. She didn’t know what was more ridiculous: that she had teamed up with a human prince—no, two human princes—or that Runaan, the person she trusted most in the world, had tried to kill her tonight.
He hadn’t, though, in the end. That thought was comforting, at least.
Rayla looked at her other wrist, the naked one. Her mentor had completed his mission. Had he survived while doing so?
Bells tolled in the distance, interrupting Rayla’s train of thought. The sound could only mean one thing—the announcement of the king’s death to the citizens of Katolis.
Rayla rolled over, away from the princes. She would tell them about their father, but not yet.
Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting that egg back to its mother.
The bells tolled in a ceremonious rhythm for King Harrow’s pre-dawn funeral procession. Viren led the march through the streets of Katolis, walking slowly and deliberately as bleary-eyed citizens emerged from their homes to take in the news of their king’s demise. Word spread quickly and soon the citizens surrounded the procession holding candles, some crying softly while others looked on in silence. Dour pallbearers carried King Harrow’s casket, careful not to disturb the wreath of red roses draped atop.
Opeli, the high cleric of Katolis, followed closely behind Viren. She carried an ornate torch for the ceremony at the funeral pyre. Her long blond hair and youth belied a scowl that covered her entire face.
“A funeral so soon is madness,” she hissed at Viren’s neck. “Our people have always mourned fallen monarchs for seven sunsets. You’ve not even given him one.”
“I understand your concern, Opeli,” Viren replied smoothly without turning around. “But in a time of crisis and war, we must move forward. We cannot have the citizens of this kingdom wallowing in despair when so much is at stake.”
“Time to grieve is not the same as wallowing,” Opeli said, her eyebrows furrowed. “Our traditions give comfort and closure. Rushing the process is wrong, Viren.”
“The only thing that matters now is closure,” Viren replied, ending the conversation.
They led the procession through the entire lower borough, down into a deep canyon. Royalty had been buried at the Valley of Graves for generations, but not every king or queen earned a place. Enormous statues carved from rocks towered over the lin
e of people.
Soren and Claudia walked alongside each other past the crypts and monuments. This wasn’t the first time they’d seen the Valley of Graves, and it was never anything less than awesome. Soren stretched his arms over his head and stifled a yawn—the fighting had only ended a couple of hours before.
Beside him, Claudia looked concerned. “Keep your head up, Soren. This is important,” she whispered.
“I know—it’s been a really long night,” he said.
“Here, take this,” Claudia said. She removed a flask from her cloak and poured some steaming potion into the top. She handed it to her brother, who eyed it skeptically.
“What, exactly, are you trying to get me to drink?” he asked.
“I call it ‘hot brown morning potion,’ ” Claudia said with a smile.
Soren took a dainty swig from the cup and his eyes widened with delight. He swallowed the rest in a single gulp.
“That is delicious, Claudia!” he said. “And it revived me almost instantly.” He shivered a little. “Pour me another.”
Claudia refilled the cup and Soren drank again, this time more thoughtfully.
“Not only does it give me energy, the flavor is just right. Do I detect notes of stone fruit? There’s definitely some floral flavors in there.” Soren looked up from his beverage to see Claudia staring back at him as if he had been speaking an unknown Xadian tongue. “What? I’ve got a refined palate.”
“Hmmm—if you say so,” Claudia said. She took a sip and shrugged. “I just detect notes of hot and brown.”
The procession continued, finally coming to a halt at the funeral platform. Under Viren’s orders, soldiers had worked quickly in the night to erect the funeral pyre in the center of the valley. The sky was beginning to brighten with the first light of morning as the clerics mounted the stone steps and the pallbearers lay the king’s body down. Then the clerics took their places at the four corners of the platform. The flag of Katolis flapped lightly in the morning breeze. Viren walked to the front of the crowd, leaned on his staff, and addressed the mourners.
“Today we woke to a devastating truth: Our king has been taken from us. Slain by the forces of Xadia—vile Moonshadow elves!”
Murmurs and gasps echoed throughout the valley, just as Viren knew they would. He put a hand over his heart and continued.
“To me, Harrow was more than a king, more than our greatest warrior. During his final hours, I was deeply moved when Harrow called me his brother.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It is with a heavy heart that today we lay him to rest. High Cleric—it is time to light the pyre.”
He turned to Opeli and nodded, but the high cleric didn’t move.
“We cannot do this now,” Opeli said. She held her torch steady. “Where are the princes? They should be here for their father’s funeral.”
Viren had known Opeli would bring that up. He regretted the response he was about to give, though it did help his cause. Since the princes were last seen with the single escaping elf, he could assume only one thing. He looked at the expectant crowd, then closed his eyes and hung his head. “There is no nice way to say this, so I will say it simply. The princes are dead.”
The crowd gasped. To kill a king was awful enough, but innocent children? The princes’ deaths could put the kingdom in a state of chaos. Who would rule now? Who would succeed King Harrow?
Viren had suspected this information would roil the people. A strong leader would be a relief to them now. It didn’t matter who that leader was, as long as he brought a sense of certainty and security to the fearful mobs.
“Now do you understand, Opeli?” Viren shouted. “Now do you see why we cannot let our enemy’s cruelty go unanswered, why we must move forward with strength?” His nostrils flared with impatient indignation, and he commanded her this time. “Light the pyre!”
But once again, the high cleric disobeyed. She slammed her torch on the platform to extinguish the flame. The other torchbearers followed her lead until they all stood in darkness.
Viren watched each flame fizzle out. Opeli may have proven that she had a few followers, but he was still in command of this ceremony. He turned to Claudia.
“You know what to do,” he said.
Claudia nodded at her father and uncorked a small glass jar she’d been carrying in her pocket. A rare emberback spider frantically scampered out, the flame-like pattern on its abdomen glaring in the early morning light. She let it scuttle across her fingers for a moment, staring at it dotingly as if it were a pet.
But the second the emberback reached her palm, Claudia squelched it. The dead creature’s orange blood seeped through her fingers.
“Semalf gnippiks gnipael,” Claudia chanted slowly as the goo dripped down her hand.
Her eyes glowed with purple energy, and she slowly unfurled her fingers. Golden red flames shot up from her palm, arcing toward the kindling of the closest brazier on the platform. The fire took hold and magically leaped from brazier to brazier and finally toward the altar. It circled King Harrow’s body like a buzzard homing in on its prey and then plummeted to the pyre. A moment later, the massive blaze enveloped the king.
Opeli, the torchbearers, and the citizens watched in horror as King Harrow’s casket turned to smoke and ashes. In minutes, the only remnants of the king were dark plumes drifting skyward.
Viren looked at his daughter with satisfaction. Then he stood in front of the altar, the fiery blaze dancing behind his head like a crown of flames.
“When a ruler of Katolis dies, we mourn for seven days. But we are at war. Today we must mourn sevenfold, for tomorrow—there will be a coronation.”
Callum woke on the forest floor with his palms sweating and his heart palpitating in his chest. It wasn’t a dream—he had run away from home with a Moonshadow elf. And not just any elf, an assassin who’d broken into the castle to murder his little brother. What had he been thinking?
Callum watched Rayla in the early morning light through half-open eyes. She was sitting on the same rock she’d been sitting on last night, sharpening her blades. Did elves not need sleep? Had she been sharpening those things for hours? They looked sharp enough to split a piece of thread.
Callum couldn’t see Ezran but he could hear his brother’s slow and steady breathing nearby. If the elf would just go for a walk or get distracted somehow, he could wake Ezran and they could make a run for it. Go home. Find safety somewhere else.
Then a bright bluish glow caught Callum’s eye—the dragon egg poking out of Ezran’s backpack.
Callum sighed. They couldn’t return to the castle with that. If there was even the slightest chance that this elf could help them return the egg to the Dragon Queen, Callum should find a way to work with her.
“Do humans always sleep this late? Or are princes just particularly lazy?” the elf said, breaking Callum’s train of thought.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Callum said. There was a gnawing pain in his stomach where food should have been. He pulled his knees up to his chest, afraid his stomach would growl. He couldn’t show weakness, needed to stay strong.
GROWWWWWLLLL.
Callum rolled his eyes. Had Rayla heard?
“Is your stomach trying to impersonate your grumpy glow friend?” she asked.
Bait glared at Rayla and grumbled.
“I haven’t eaten for a long time,” Callum said.
“Yeah—I’m feeling a few hunger pangs myself,” Rayla said. “Why don’t I go try to find us some food?”
“That’s really nice of you,” Callum said. “I’m happy to help.” He started to get up, but Rayla waved him off.
“You’ll be just as much help staying out of the way for now,” she said. “Besides, it’s traditional for mages to steer clear of anything dangerous, such as gathering fruits and berries. I’ll be back!” And she scampered off.
Callum shrugged, still glad just to be called a mage, even if it meant extra teasing. He was glad to get some alone time too. He pulled his sketchbook
out of his backpack and started drawing, letting his pencil lead. He had found that sometimes, when he had a lot on his mind, sketching helped release the thoughts and worries. He let his hand make lines and curves on the page, not even thinking about what he was drawing. Maybe a quarter of an hour later, a voice startled him.
“I’m back,” Rayla said.
Callum looked up. He’d been so focused on his drawing he hadn’t even noticed her looming over him. This foggy-brained behavior was not good. He had to be more aware of his surroundings. He shook his head has he looked back down at his drawing. Oh no! He’d been drawing the elf! He quickly turned the page.
“So, what have you got there?” Callum asked.
Rayla held out a small picnic of fruits and berries.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Callum,” she said. “We have better fruit in Xadia. The selection over here is bit meager.” She knelt and lay out the fruit. “But I was pleasantly surprised that you do have moonberries on this side of the world.” She pointed to a bunch of bloodred berries.
“Moonberries?” Callum looked at the bunch skeptically. “Those look a lot like the berries we call death berries. Known to have the rather unpleasant side effect of certain death.”
“Well, Wise Mage, it turns out you are correct, but I am also right. Moonberries come from the exact same bush as your death berries and look identical in the daylight. But under the light of the moon, the ones that glow are moonberries. Not only are they not poisonous, they are super nutritious, delicious—even medicinal. One berry is enough to keep you full for nearly an entire day.”
“Wow. So, they look identical, but they might kill you or they might save you,” Callum said.
“Exactly. Just like me …” Rayla smiled.
Callum’s eyes widened. Was she joking?
“Humor is a thing you have on this side of the continent, right?” Rayla teased.
“Ha.” Callum forced an awkward laugh.
“Anyway, don’t touch them for now, we’ll sort them tonight and separate certain death from tasty treats,” Rayla said.