The White Arrow

by P. H. Solomon

  "What? That I didn't know about."

  "Yes, well, we decided that we'd travel with the garrison on the river and avoid attacks to get the arrow. We even split up to confuse the Bane. The others are on barges and boats farther back. I had a fake arrow, but the Bane got that pretty quickly one night." Gweld paused, his face suddenly drawn. "There's a lot to tell still."

  "So Limbreth isn't on this barge? How did she survive? I thought she was dead, that I'd failed completely. How did my mother and Hastra get over the mountains?" Athson gripped Gweld's arm tightly as he asked his questions.

  "That all goes back to Howart's Cave. That was a mess, I can tell you. I thought we were dead then." Gweld shook his head. "It was a miracle we all survived." The elf launched into the story and related the whirlwind that save them and how Eloch had brought Hastra and Athson's mother from Rok so that the Withling could stop the whirlwind. Gweld then related how they tried to catch Athson, but they had no horses, and Hastra led them to save Limbreth from the river, telling what he knew from Limbreth of her unlikely survival.

  Athson stopped Gweld. "She said there were lights around her?"

  Gweld nodded. "And the wind blew so hard she fell sideways."

  "Those lights. I think that was Spark. He went over the cliff after Limbreth."

  Gweld shrugged and shook his head. "My apologies, Athson. I didn't believe you about Spark, but I guess you were right all along." The elf continued the tale up to the creation of the White Arrow and Limbreth handling it first so that she succumbed to the holy awe with joyous laughter, becoming its protector.

  Athson's chest swelled with pride that Limbreth carried the White Arrow of Hastra's prophecy. "You've made it this far with the arrow." He patted the Bow of Hart. "And I have this. We have what we need to fight Magdronu, I guess."

  "Uh, that's not all." Gweld let out a heavy sigh. "Remember I told you how we each had disguised arrows?" At Athson's nod, the elf continued, "Well, it tried to get the real arrow from Limbreth, and it was broken."

  "What?" Athson stood and paced the roof of the bridge. How could this happen? Apeth killed, and now this. He slouched and stood looking down the line of the river fleet's many lights. "How did it happen?"

  Gweld stood beside Athson. "I don't know for sure. They passed the news up the line with signals a few mornings back." He paused. "Athson, I don't know what we'll do."

  Athson held the Bow of Hart close. He'd distrusted it, then become a Withling and now trusted the prophecy. The arrow had come and gone without him ever seeing it.

  "I don't either. I guess Limbreth can't be blamed without me around to chase off the Bane with my sword." He sniffed. "I did worse on the Funnel." He'd failed his father and Limbreth, choosing revenge over saving her. The bow could have done the job. At least, he thought so now. He had to tell her. But as for the White Arrow... He inhaled and sighed. "I don't know what will happen either." He gripped his blessed sword—it was becoming a habit to check his thoughts now, and a sudden one occurred to him. "But I do know this."

  Gweld spoke into Athson's pause. "What's that?"

  Athson fixed his gaze on the elf. "What is needed is given. We'll have what is needed."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A knock at the compartment door roused Limbreth from sleep. She reached for the arrow, but the pieces lay in her pack. No need to guard it any longer. The pit in her stomach widened. She'd eaten little and finally slept this night after several without much rest.

  Hastra rolled from the bunk below Limbreth's with a groan. She muttered about her aches and the weeping keeping her awake.

  Limbreth covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the knots in the wall while Hastra opened the door, letting in lantern light from the hall outside. She hadn't realized she'd kept the Withling awake with her sobs over her failure. She'd tried to keep that to herself. Limbreth sighed. She'd failed at hiding her sorrow too.

  Hastra exchanged words with whoever stood at the doorway. "He's there? How? Well, if you don't know more, then I guess we'll find out when we land at the city. Thank you." The Withling shut the door.

  Darkness descended in the room again, and Hastra trudged to her bunk. "Too late," she muttered to herself as she rolled into her bunk.

  Limbreth let the matter lay a moment. Maybe she'd go back to sleep. She furrowed her brow. Who was where? Who was late? Her heart thudded in her throat. She hoped it wasn't Athson. She swallowed. "Whoever came with the message woke me too. What is it?" She wanted to both see and avoid him.

  Hastra hesitated in the darkness. "Guess I can't act like I'm asleep yet. Let it wait until the morning, Limbreth."

  That wasn't a good answer. She rolled over, and her heart beat erratically. She dreaded finding out, but she couldn't wait. "Just tell me."

  The Withling sighed. "It's Athson. He's aboard the first barge. Arrived earlier tonight. Don't know why they didn't send a message sooner than the middle of the night."

  Limbreth got out of the upper bunk and walked the few paces available in the small space. "What am I to do?" All her failures haunted her mind. She'd failed that night with the Banshee. She should have been with him at the gates of Chokkra. Then there was being taken hostage. "I've failed him again. I don't want to see him."

  Hastra sat up in her bunk. "You won't for several more days. But this is not your fault. I wish you'd see it. The Bane isn't something you just push overboard."

  Limbreth whirled, her anger flaring. "It was my responsibility. I failed Athson just like all the other times. It's on me that the White Arrow lies in pieces, that—that—" A sudden sob choked her. "That its light is extinguished. Like that." She snapped her fingers, then huddled in the darkness as she inhaled and exhaled raggedly.

  "What do you mean all the other times?"

  "You set me to watch him closely, back in Auguron City. I failed him when the Banshee attacked that night."

  Silence answered Limbreth.

  She stepped back and leaned against the door. Hastra thought so too? She covered her mouth with one hand as she squatted, then sat on the floor in sudden tears. She had truly failed, then. She found her voice. "I should have been with him at the gates of Chokkra. Is that—is the Banshee why you wouldn't let me go then? Because I failed?"

  "What?" Hastra fumbled in the darkness and lit the lamp. The light displayed her puffy eyes and disheveled hair. The Withling's face—no, her entire body—sagged as if under a weight. "That's not it at all. I was going by the certainty that only those three could escape. The Banshee had nothing to do with it. Why would you think you failed?"

  Limbreth crumpled further into tears. "Because I was supposed to protect him. You said so. And then there was Chokkra. And then the Bane came at the tower, and I fled rather than stay with him. I-I should have gone with him to see Howart. He—he deserved my support then. But I stayed back, let myself be captured. I got his father killed. If I'd been free, he could have saved him at the Funnel."

  Hastra crossed to her and wiped Limbreth's face. "My dear, you carry too much on your shoulders. You haven't failed him."

  Limbreth shrugged Hastra's arms away. "I have. I've been a coward. With the Bane. Then I just took the White Arrow without a thought, except for him. I took it and thought I'd make up for everything. The laughter, the protectiveness I felt lent me the assurance I'd do this one thing right for Athson."

  "Limbreth, you put too much on yourself. You aren't a coward. You stood up to the Bane on the Funnel and when it stole the White Arrow. You showed courage." Hastra touched Limbreth's damp cheeks and embraced her.

  The sobs subsided to ragged gasps, and Limbreth viewed Hastra's face through blurring tears, the Withling's expression etched with concern. "I failed with the arrow. I cannot see him. What will he think of me?" She rested her head against the wooden hatch. "He'll blame me, think I'm a cowardly failure."

  Hastra shook her head. "No, that's not true."

  "Yes, it is. We had the Bow of Hart and the arrow, prophecy fulfilled. We had
what it would take to defeat Magdronu. And now we're doomed. How will Athson kill Magdronu without the White Arrow?" She covered her face with her hands.

  Hastra embraced Limbreth tighter. "Limbreth, it's been a long and trying journey. You've been so brave. The dwarves think so highly of you. But you still think so little of yourself regardless of all you've done? You're being so unfair to yourself over this arrow, the banshee, and the rest. You can't know everything and do everything perfectly."

  "I should have known better every single time, done better."

  "Limbreth, I don't even know everything to do correctly every time. I didn't even realize who Athson's father was until Chokkra!" She dabbed Limbreth's cheeks and kissed her on the side of her head. "You can't blame yourself all the time. We fight and strive in these things, but we cannot know every single twist of events. We're supposed to be faithful. You'll see Athson when we land in the city, and he'll hear the tale of your bravery."

  Limbreth shook her head. "I can't see him." She regarded Hastra for the first time in the conversation. "I won't. I'll jump in the river first. He'll—he'll think I'm the worst person. He'll never want me again. He'll think—what would he think?"

  Hastra leaned away from Limbreth at arm's length. "I'll tell you what he should think."

  "What's that?" Limbreth hated the hopelessness in her voice.

  "That he's lucky to have traveled so far with such a courageous woman as you, someone who would stay with him no matter the odds. Limbreth, you've proven yourself worthy of his esteem so many times."

  "Have I? Really?"

  Hastra embraced Limbreth again. "My dear, you are just who he needs. And I don't say that lightly. If he can't see that, then he's blind. But I don't think he is."

  Limbreth sniffed. "How do you know that?"

  Hastra tightened her arms around Limbreth. "Because he came for you at the Funnel."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Corgren turned from the bridge over the Auguron River. The hex was still intact. He grinned and strode through the busy city streets, his hood pulled over his head. Now to check the rest of the traps he'd left in Auguron City.

  The raucous noise of the river wharfs faded but not the general bustle. Everywhere he turned, Corgren found merchants and foreigners preparing to leave the city. His heart thumped with exuberance. They—he, his master, and the others—had caused all this fear and confusion. These refugees might flee now, but Magdronu's rule would soon extend over Denaria. Nothing the elves did to fortify their city would stop his trolls or Magdronu, when he was revealed.

  But now for the shrine and its progress.

  Corgren left the city proper and strolled out to the cemetery. He jumped the fence lest the attendant, if one remained in all the confusion and preparation for the troll invasion, spotted him. He had no proper business on these grounds. Well, he did. Just not what they thought proper. He grinned to himself. Magdronu's business.

  After several turns on the paths, Corgren crossed several knolls and made his way to the back of the grounds until he found two specific graves. A whispered spell—who knew if anyone lingered close—revealed the magic remained intact. A beacon to focus magic for the new shrine. A place for blood and extending his master's power in the heart of elven territory, and right when it was most needed. He shook his head and smirked. Magdronu's plans were brilliant. The dragon had outmaneuvered Eloch and none of these elves were the wiser. He chuckled. Ath never knew where he was or why. He was blind for just this purpose.

  Voices murmured in the distance and drew Corgren from his reflections. Yes, time to check on his brother and the Beleesh sisters. They had just enough magic from their master to break the laws of Auguron City with sorcery for the shrine. He walked toward the voices, clearing the thin copse of oak and beech. Looking back, he found the trees screened the activity ahead perfectly.

  Corgren strode toward the four figures cloaked like storm clouds and standing on bare ground. Paugren led the sisters in the incantations, a slow task using the distant magic from the Rokan shrine. He paused and watched the four mages, his hands clasped behind his back. Good thing he traveled to Rok and ensured the sacrifices there continued. He approached his brother, who was sweating profusely with the effort of the current spell.

  They stood in a square, while between them a five-pointed star glowed faintly below the winter afternoon sky. In unison, Paugren and the Beleesh sisters intoned the words of the spell in the Dragon's language, their tones and pronunciation precise, lest the spell fail and they be required to begin again—or worse. He'd seen a lesser mage in Rok once fail with the words and remembered his screams as the Dragon's green flames consumed him. But these four mages knew far more. Their hands motioned with equal precision.

  At length, the spell ended, and the four mages stumbled away from their work and slouched at a nearby boulder, carved flat for sacrifices. While they'd move it with magic in the end—after it was consecrated to Magdronu—they now used it for their belongings and supplies. Corgren almost laughed at the thought that these four actually stayed in differing inns around the city. The doomed elves played host to the enemy who worked among them.

  "Brother, your work goes well." Corgren strode to Paugren and halted before his breathless brother as he drank from a water-skin.

  Paugren swallowed and breathed deeply several times. "The work goes faster now that there are four of us. You've seen to the sacrifices elsewhere?"

  Corgren walked around the design blackened into the ground. Not yet enough magic in it to glow on its own. He whirled back to Paugren. "Indeed, I have." He stepped closer and glanced at the three Beleesh sisters. "You're all keeping quiet otherwise?" He arched an eyebrow and fixed a sidelong gaze at each of the sisters. They could be unruly when they wanted.

  Esthria approached as she dabbed sweat from the brow of her beautiful, oval face. "We've behaved, Corgren."

  Cass threw off her cloak and stood naked in the cold by a pile of clothes. "We've worked well into the night often. Exhaustion leads to good behavior."

  Corgren arched a brow. How brazen the Beleesh sisters were now. Not so those long ago years when they’d first abandoned Eloch for Magdronu. His eyes swept along Cass's womanly curves. "Indeed. I'm sure you would do with some hard labor for once."

  Esthria lifted a finger to Corgren's chin and drew his eyes back to her face, beguiling with youthful beauty. "Perhaps you can spare some time to misbehave?" She pursed her succulent lips in a seductive promise of pleasure.

  Corgren snorted. Youthful the Beleesh sisters might appear thanks to the Dragon's Blessing, but their eyes held the knowledge of centuries. He brushed her hand away. "Enough. I've come to inspect your handiwork and the bridge."

  Laughter tinkled from Esthria and her sisters. "You sure, Corgren? Surely you can spare a few hours from those trolls. I imagine they can walk on their own for a while without you holding their hand. Or is that what they need? I can see it now, a long line of trolls holding hands so you can herd them across the length of the forest."

  With a slow clap of his hands, he turned to Paugren. "Your humor is as sharp as ever, Esthria." To Paugren, he said, "Walk with me, brother." He cast his gaze over his shoulder to naked Cass as they walked away and raised his voice. "Put your cloak on before someone spots you and you have more work to do." To Paugren, he added, "This surprise needs to remain unseen. Are they truly staying away from any suspicious activity? No men? No spells for the fun of it?" Though effective, the sisters could be troublesome.

  Paugren chuckled. "I don't know about Esthria and Ahmelia before I arrived with Cass. But they've been...sedate under my watch."

  "How many days until it's finished? The trolls arrive in days, not weeks, you know." Corgren gazed at the boulder as Cass wrapped herself in her cloak.

  "It will be done." Paugren waved toward the sisters. "They understand what's at stake in all this, and they welcome what's to come. With the shrine in the Drelkhaz, we'd move much faster. It will be a close thing, but it will b
e done as the Great One expects."

  "Good. I've inspected the bridge, and my hex is still in place. With it and our other plans"—Corgren swept his arms wide to indicate the shrine under magical construction—"we'll defeat the fortifications."

  Paugren smirked. "They'll be astounded."

  "And they can do nothing to stop it." Corgren stepped away. "I'll see to the trolls." He winked at Paugren. "See to it you don't stop to enjoy any temptations, eh?" He arched an eyebrow.

  Paugren snorted. "Not with any of those hell-cats."

  Corgren spoke the words of the traveling spell, and when the darkness of the dragon's wings unfolded, he stood in his camp of trolls.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The constant current of the river belied the approaching danger, and Athson almost enjoyed the remaining five days to Auguron City. But the sight of the bridge overrode any thought of a pleasant return to his adoptive city, if the gathered throng of rangers from the eastern garrison ever escaped his attentions. The wooden span stretched atop thick brick supports rising from spits of natural rock further fortified by elven engineers. He marveled now at the elegantly designed braces and connections along the bridge since he'd never traveled aboard a barge from upriver.

  The bridge over the river struck Athson, and tension gathered across his shoulders as if he had drawn a bow. He'd never truly considered the bridge in the defenses of the city. That vague notion of the city's defense he'd accepted as the vastness of the forest. It was a notion, he now realized with his grip on his blessed sword, born of a familial curse that left him confused and in turmoil on any number of accounts.

  Athson snorted. No wonder Sarneth had assigned him to the peaceful, empty western reaches of the forest where nothing ever happened. Not until the inheritance fell into his hands, anyway. He relaxed his grip on the sword. Magdronu had been watching and waiting for years, just for a chance to take the Bow of Hart and thwart Hastra's prophecy. He shook his head and took a deep, relaxing breath. He'd been so blind to it all. But no more. If only he could hear Eloch. If only he could have saved Apeth Stellin. He stared at his feet.