by Aaron Ehasz
“What’s he talking about, Viren?”
“Oh, I’ve decided you’re off the mission,” Viren said. “Soren will lead the expedition.”
“What?” Gren said. “General Amaya was very specific that I was to lead this.” Gren was sure of that.
“Nothing to worry about, Commander,” Viren said. “Perhaps there was a misunderstanding. But you and I do need to have a talk.”
“Oh, of course,” Gren said. If there was a misunderstanding, they needed to get to the bottom of it right away. “Communication is the key to high-performance teamwork.”
“Soren, set up a meeting for Commander Gren and me to discuss his concerns—somewhere quiet. Say, around nine tonight,” Viren said.
“Yes, very good,” Gren said. “Nine suits my schedule.”
“Very good,” Viren said. “See you then.”
Viren walked slowly down the spiral stairs to the dungeon. He gripped the railing hard and leaned on his staff. It had been a long day. At the bottom of the stairs he saw Gren, who had been chained to the wall, just as Viren had ordered.
“Five past nine,” Viren said. “I apologize for my tardiness.”
“It was only five minutes,” Gren said.
“So, what are your concerns?” Viren asked.
“Well—” Gren coughed. “You took me off the mission.”
“Noted,” Viren said. “Go on.”
“And you threw me in this dungeon,” Gren said.
“Ah, I see,” Viren said. “Anything else?”
Gren thought for a moment. “Nope,” he said. “I guess those are the main two concerns.”
“Thank you,” Viren said. “Your feedback is a gift.” He bowed deeply and smiled to himself. This freckle-faced goof was going to be the easiest prisoner he’d ever encountered.
As Viren straightened up, Claudia came running down the dungeon hall.
“Father,” she said. “It’s about our other prisoner.” She beckoned for Viren to follow her.
Claudia pushed opened a door to a smaller dungeon cell, where the leader of the elven assassins sat on the ground, his head bowed, his wrists in chains.
“He’s still refusing to eat,” Claudia said to her father.
Viren sighed and turned away. And this elf was probably going to be the hardest. “Then let him be hungry.”
Rayla lay curled on a tree branch above the boys. All night she’d been tossing and turning—the ribbon on her wrist was definitely starting to constrict blood flow to her hand. It was turning purple and her fingers had become unnaturally clawed.
She closed her eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time and tried to relax.
Snap.
It was the tiniest sound, not enough to wake the sleeping boys or even the squirrel resting near her, but the little crunch put Rayla on high alert. That crack was a twig snapping, Rayla was almost sure of it—and it had been snapped by a human foot, one that was trying to tread silently.
Rayla sprang to her feet, grabbed her blades, and sprinted into the forest.
It took her only a few minutes to find the broken twig. She knelt down and picked it up, then heard rustling in a nearby bush. She crouched and whipped out her blades. There was another rustle and Rayla’s shoulders tensed … until a dainty fawn appeared and wagged its ears.
Rayla breathed a sigh of relief and put away her blades. She reached her hand toward the fawn.
“Aw … you scared me, wee cutie,” she said.
The baby deer stared back at Rayla, then cautiously approached and sniffed her fingers. Rayla stroked one of its brown ears and the deer nuzzled her injured hand in return, licking the purplish skin.
“Thanks, little one, but my hand has a problem you can’t lick away,” Rayla said.
Suddenly, the deer backed away from Rayla. It stared above Rayla’s head and flattened its ears.
“What’s the matter?” Rayla asked. But the deer jumped into the bushes. Rayla looked over her shoulder just in time to see a trapping net descend from the tree above. She scrambled on the ground as a tall, dark figure dropped down from the trees, holding a weapon that looked like a bladed fleur-de-lis attached to a long chain. He twirled it above his head, getting ready to throw.
“Never trapped an elf before,” he said. “It’s going to be easier than I thought.”
Rayla had dodged the net just enough that only her legs and torso were entwined. She used her arms to maneuver her body away from the blow of the grappling hook, and it sank into the ground next to her. She quickly looped the net around the hook. When her attacker pulled the chain up, he inadvertently yanked the net off Rayla.
Standing now, Rayla snapped her blades open, ready to confront the human threat. She took a deep breath and ran straight at her attacker.
The human deflected Rayla’s blades with his hook, putting her on the defensive. She backflipped away from him and then hopped onto a high tree branch. Up in the trees, Rayla could take this human out of his comfort zone and attack a sure weak spot—his balance.
Corvus appreciated the elf’s ingenuity, but the trick was on her; a little tree climbing didn’t scare him. He used his grappling hook and chain as assists and began the ascent. Once on the same level as the elf, he whipped his weapon around and snagged her around her foot. She dangled upside down from the branch, held by his chain.
“Give me the boys peacefully and I’ll let you go,” Corvus said, yanking the chain to pull the elf up even higher in the air. “Release your prisoners.”
Rayla didn’t appreciate his tone. “They’re not my prisoners,” she said. “They choose to travel with me.”
“What? Why would they trust you?” the human asked. Then without warning, he released his hold on Rayla’s foot and she tumbled down to the branch below.
“Because we’re in this together. They’re my friends now,” she said, feeling much more defensive about this than she expected.
“Friends. Am I missing something?” the human asked. “You killed their father.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Rayla said. It surprised her that she was so proud of this fact.
“Your leader did. What’s the difference?” the human asked, twirling his weapon. He hurled the blade and broke the branch that Rayla was standing on. She screamed as she dropped down, but managed to catch another branch with her arms.
She was still holding both blades, but her injured hand was stiffening with each second. With a cry of frustration, Rayla dropped one blade and watched it tumble to the forest floor.
Corvus saw his chance. Whether this elf had killed King Harrow or not, it was ridiculous to think the princes would befriend any elf, let alone one from the team that killed their father. He swung over to the elf and pressed his tracker’s boot onto her arm.
“Wait, they don’t even know about their father, do they?” Corvus realized aloud.
Rayla didn’t respond. She summoned her remaining strength to swing herself up onto the branch one-handed and sent the human tumbling down the branches. She leaped over to the top of a cliff.
“When they find out, they’ll hate you,” the human said, following her onto the rocky overlook.
“Shut up,” Rayla cried. This tracker was getting under her skin.
He hurled his weapon again and it wrapped around Rayla’s blade. But instead of trying to free her blade, Rayla used both her hands to pull the human toward her. She looked down over the cliff’s edge and made a split-second decision. She flipped off the mountainside, taking the human with her. The two keeled over the ravine, bouncing off rocks and tree branches on the way down.
The human twisted and turned to lessen the blow of his fall, but he ended up at the bottom of the gorge, covered in wet, sticky mud. Rayla, on the other hand, stopped her fall by sticking her single blade into some rock on higher ground. She looked down at the human with her hands on her hips.
“Savor your victory, elf. Next time you won’t be so lucky,” the tracker warned.
Rayla saw her ch
ance to deliver one last blow. “Says the guy in the ditch!” she jeered. Then she sprinted back toward camp.
As she ran, fear coursed through her veins. But was she afraid of the human attacking her again, or that he would show up and tell the princes the truth? Because Rayla couldn’t help but wonder—would everything change when Callum and Ezran found out their father was dead?
Ezran rubbed the crusted sleep from his eyes and stretched his arms over his head. Then he surveyed the camp. Callum and Bait were sleeping soundly but Rayla was nowhere to be found.
“Callum, wake up,” Ezran said, shaking his brother’s shoulder. “I think we’re alone.”
“Alone at last,” Callum responded, but he wasn’t really awake. He appeared to be lost in a dream, snuggled up to a loaf of bread they’d stolen from the Banther Lodge. They had put Callum in charge of the bread, but Ezran thought he was taking his job a little too seriously—he had his arms around it in an embrace and his lips were pressed up against it. Ezran shook Callum again.
“What?! What is it?” Callum asked. He sat straight up.
“Wake up! Rayla’s missing,” Ezran said.
“Oh no—did she take it?” Callum asked. He looked around feverishly for the dragon egg.
“No, don’t worry. It’s still right here,” Ezran said. He lifted his blanket a little to reveal the egg, safe and sound and softly glowing underneath.
“Okay good,” Callum breathed, relaxing a little bit. “But that still doesn’t mean we can trust her. I mean, it’s weird that she just leaves camp without telling either of us. What do you think she’s doing?”
“I like her, Callum,” Ezran said. “I think maybe we should trust her. She wants the same things we want.”
“I like her too,” Callum said. “But the thing is, she’s—”
“An elf? Who cares?” Ezran said. “It seems like maybe everything we ever heard about elves is wrong.”
“No. Don’t get so defensive,” Callum said. “I was going to say, the thing is, she’s not telling us everything. I can feel it. We have to be careful, okay?”
Ezran looked at Rayla’s empty branch. It was sort of weird she kept leaving camp alone. He turned back to Callum and nodded.
Suddenly, Rayla rushed back into camp. “Go, go, go! We’ve gotta move,” she barked.
“What’s going on? Where were you?” Callum asked.
And now the elf was bossing them around. Ezran hadn’t even had breakfast. “We should really eat something before we leave,” Ezran said. “Look how grumpy Bait is right now.” He picked up Bait to show Rayla and Callum his sour face, which honestly was no grumpier than usual, which is to say it was awfully sour.
“There’s no time to eat,” Rayla said. “We have to get moving now.”
“Rayla, why?” Callum asked. “You have to at least explain—”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” Rayla snapped. She picked up Callum’s empty backpack and shoved it into his chest. “Pack up! Let’s go!”
“Fine,” Callum said, and opened his pack.
Ezran followed his lead. He gently swaddled the egg and slid it in his own backpack. Then he heaved the bag onto his back. Had the egg been this heavy yesterday?
Callum stuffed the primal stone, sketchbook, and pencil into his bag. The pack seemed full, but still he felt like he was forgetting something.
“Come on, you two! Hurry,” Rayla said.
“Okay, relax—we’re coming,” Callum said. Ezran scooped up Bait and they ran to catch up to Rayla.
Soren bounded up the tower’s stone steps, taking them two at a time. He had been a sickly child, but that was years ago. These days, he was never one to waste an opportunity for exercise; he had been in a full sprint ever since a guard informed him his father would like a meeting.
He emerged on the highest level of the castle’s battlements. His father stood there waiting, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the vast mountains and valleys of Katolis.
“Whew! Hey, Dad,” Soren said, catching his breath. “I love having meetings up here. I get a killer leg workout going up all those stairs.” He decided to continue his workout and began doing lunges.
“We have important things to discuss,” his father said. “Try and focus.” He turned around to face Soren.
“No problem, Dad,” Soren said. “You have my undivided attention.” He bent down to touch his toes.
Viren had always wished for a son—someone he could mold in his own likeness, a mind much like his own, to whom he could pass all his wisdom. He sighed. Soren was not such a son. “This evening you and your sister depart on a mission,” he said.
“Yep, I know,” Soren said. “Searching for the princes.” He touched his toes again, head between his legs. “Oh yeah, that’s the good kind of burn.”
Viren spoke to the back of his son’s head. “The outcome of your mission is critical to the future of our kingdom.” He planted his staff on the stones for emphasis. “Do you understand?”
“We got this, Dad. We’ll find them,” Soren promised.
“I’m sure you will find them. And your confidence is inspiring,” Viren continued. “But there’s a bit of … nuance to this situation.”
“No idea what nuance is,” Soren said, tilting into a quad stretch.
Well, then Viren would have to be as direct as he could. “Listen closely,” he said, leaning in toward Soren’s ear. “You are to return with the terrible news that the princes have perished.”
Soren stopped mid-stretch and stood up. He couldn’t have heard that right. “Excuse me? I think my head was upside down and it got sort of mixed up. Can you say that again?”
His father looked directly into his eyes and repeated, “You are to return with the terrible news that both princes have died.”
“So, hold up,” Soren said, still trying to wrap his mind around his father’s insinuations. “If we return with news that they’re dead, won’t it mean we failed our mission?”
Viren shook his head. This was going to be even harder than he thought. He would have to remain delicate in his phrasing; if he could make Soren understand the gravity of their situation and the bigger picture, perhaps it would take the sting out of what he was asking him to do. “The coming war will determine the fate of humanity. History has come to a crucial tipping point …” he began. He paused, scrutinizing Soren’s face to see if he understood.
“So, you’re saying, things could go either way,” Soren said.
“Yes, precisely,” Viren said, momentarily impressed.
“Like a seesaw!” Soren shouted out.
Viren blinked twice, amazed at the folly of his own offspring. “Yes. If that helps you. History is like … a seesaw,” he said. “If we are strong enough to make the right decisions, humans may finally return to Xadia and take back the great magical lands that are rightfully ours. But if we are led by a child king—”
“He’ll make bad choices?” Soren asked.
“He will make weak choices,” Viren corrected. “If we make mistakes and history tips the wrong way—the forces of Xadia will crush not only Katolis, but all the five kingdoms.”
“I get it,” Soren said. “Well, most of it. So, I’m supposed to come back with the news that they’re dead.” He scratched his chin. “What I don’t understand is what am I supposed to do if we find them alive?” Soren was afraid he knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear his father say it.
His father looked him in the eye. “Oh, son, you’ll know the right thing to do.” A dark shadow fell over his face.
So … that was what his father meant.
Soren shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do that.” Ridiculing the princes was a part of his daily life, but he adored Callum and Ezran. He hoped they were still alive.
“Out there, in the wild, accidents happen every day,” his father continued. “Deadly accidents.” He placed one hand on Soren’s cheek and tilted his face upward. “My son. This won’t be easy
, but you are strong.”
Soren’s insides knotted up, but he nodded.
Viren tapped his staff on the ground one more time. “Tell no one, Soren. Not even Claudia. You must carry this weight alone.” Of course, Viren thought, there isn’t anything to tell. Only insinuation. He was a careful man.
Viren looked away from Soren and turned back to gaze at the vista. “There is no joy in this. It will be a burden for me to take the throne. And someday that throne will belong to you.”
Meanwhile, Claudia waited in her father’s study. She had removed the drape from the mysterious runic mirror and was feverishly attempting to unearth its secrets. Her father would be so proud if she could figure it out alone.
She traced the ancient runes along the mirror’s front with her long, painted fingernails. Then she jiggled open one of her father’s desk drawers and extracted a bowl. From a nearby shelf she pulled down a crystal container and a pair of tweezers. Carefully, she removed a single dried lizard’s tongue and placed it in the bowl. Then she sprinkled blue dust on the tongue and began to chant. Claudia loved this spell because it caused inanimate objects to literally speak. In the past, she had wasted a few of these tiny tongues on her own amusement; it was satisfying to use one on something that really mattered.
“Speak your true nature to me,” Claudia commanded. Then she uttered the strange words to initiate the spell: “Cigam ruoy laever.”
The blue dust began to glow, and Claudia’s eyes turned purple. A flash of purple light seized the room momentarily. Then, nothing.
“You are a stubborn magic mirror,” she said.
“You think I haven’t tried that?” her father asked.
Claudia whirled around. How long had her father been standing there?
“I’ve cast eight different ‘reveal’ spells, and they all failed,” her father said. He walked up to the mirror and stood next to Claudia. “At the end, I see nothing but my own frustrated face staring back at me.”
Claudia spoke to her father in the mirror’s reflection. “Maybe … it’s just a mirror,” she said.