by Lana Axe
“I’d like to have another baby once Alyra comes of age,” Lenora said. Looking into her husband’s sapphire blue eyes, she added, “Just one more.”
Softly he kissed her cheek and smiled. A disturbance at the water’s surface interrupted the moment, and both of them turned their attention to the river. A small jet of water sprayed high into the air, a white light surrounding its source at the surface.
“What is that?” Lenora asked, despite already knowing the answer. Someone was trying to communicate with her life mate through magic.
River touched her hand before approaching the riverbank. Removing his blue robe, he laid it on the bench before stepping into the cool water. His long dark hair floated to the surface as he submerged himself, swimming with ease to the disturbance.
Lenora watched as patiently as she could while River conversed with the water. Each day at dawn she waited on the bank while he consulted with the Spirit of the river, but this was different. This was not the Spirit who had called to her husband. Someone else was in need of his help, and she could not guess who it might be. A line of worry crept across her forehead as she watched him swim back toward her.
Stepping out of the water, he said, “There is trouble in Na’zora.”
Lenora rose to her feet. “What has happened?”
“Whoever was using the king’s ring to communicate was not Aelryk,” River replied. “He is the only one who can use it with ease, so the conversation was not clear. I must consult with the Spirit.”
Nodding, Lenora said, “I will wait for you at home.” She turned and headed up the hill that led back into the village, turning once to see her life mate re-enter the water. As he swam upstream near the waterfall to speak with the Spirit, Lenora’s heart pounded in her chest. This could not be a simple matter. In thirty years, no one from Na’zora had attempted to contact the elves. She feared what her husband might be told.
Gliding effortlessly through the water, River made his way to the base of the waterfall and stood near a formation of glistening black rocks. It was on this very spot that his mother had stood centuries earlier, cradling the stillborn body of her infant son in her arms. Here she begged the Spirit to trade her own life for that of her child. Her desire had been granted, and River was imbued with life.
Gazing into the water, River focused his mind to the Spirit. It had guided him throughout his life, and he visited with it each morning at dawn. River could sense its presence as it surrounded him, projecting itself into his mind.
King Aelryk in the kingdom by the sea is in need of my help, River communicated. Are you aware of trouble in the land of Na’zora? Thousands of elementals lived in the ocean near Aelryk’s kingdom. Surely one of them would have knowledge to share. The Spirit could hear all of their voices.
Your friend is ill, the Spirit said. He has fallen to evil.
River closed his eyes and bowed his head. I must help him, he replied. May I go to him? Only by the Spirit’s leave could River travel away from the Vale and the banks of the Blue River. It was a condition of the gift of life that had been bestowed upon him. As a creature of the water, River’s magical abilities would wane if he traveled too far from the source of his power.
You may visit your friend, but you cannot help him. His fate is certain.
You mean he will die? River awaited the Spirit’s reply, but there was none. He could feel it traveling away from him. His heart sank as he realized why the Spirit had nothing else to say. King Aelryk was doomed, regardless of the path River chose.
Slowly he waded out of the water, returning to the elven village. Lenora stood outside the massive silver tree where they made their home. All elves of the Vale lived inside the trees, using forest magic to create larger homes than a tree could naturally accommodate. They lived as one among the trees, never harming them for their own desires. Instead, the trees assisted, lending their magic to that of the elves. In return, the trees were blessed by the Goddess to grow tall and strong.
Crossing the grassy path to his home, River’s feet made no sound against the soft earth below. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his son, Rogin, dressed as always in silver armor. Daylight glinted from its intricate design, a runed longsword hanging at his hip. While River and the Spirit protected the Vale with magic, Rogin and his soldiers protected it with steel. River was proud of his son, who had grown to the image of his father, with dark hair and striking blue eyes. Rogin, however, was always quick to act. He did not inherit the gentle nature of his father, who was ever patient and thoughtful.
“There’s trouble,” Rogin said as he approached his father. “I can see it in your face.”
River said nothing but placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. Together they made their way to Lenora, who was anxiously awaiting the news they would bring.
Lenora crossed her arms as they approached and slanted her head to the side. “Tell me,” she said.
“King Aelryk has taken ill,” River said.
“I’ll get my things,” Lenora replied. In a flash, she turned and disappeared inside her home. Her entire life had been spent in the study of healing arts. Whether through magic or the use of herbs and salves, she could treat hundreds of illnesses. Though the Westerling Elves rarely suffered any type of natural disease, she had kept the skill alive. Not only could the creatures of the forest benefit from her skill, but the trees could as well, though that task was normally left to the dryads. The future was always uncertain, and she insisted on learning as much as she could in case the skill was needed among any race. Any person or creature in need of her care would have it.
River admired his life mate’s resolve. Though he knew there was no way she could cure their ailing friend, he would never dissuade her from providing him with comfort. If all she could do was ease his passing, so be it. Turning to Rogin, he said, “Your mother and I will be leaving the Vale for a time.”
With a nod, Rogin replied, “I will protect our home in your absence.”
Through magic, the Spirit and River kept all those with evil intent away from the Vale. No invader could cross the Blue River, nor could an army march down from the mountains. A dense network of forests protected the only other path into the Vale, and River had set up magical barriers, which he had maintained for centuries. Only those who had been granted leave could enter the Vale. All others were repelled by the strongest elemental magic. No mere elf or human sorcerer could hope to penetrate its defenses.
Rogin and his soldiers frequently patrolled the areas outside the borders. Though he trusted in the magic his father had set in place, it was wise to know what was going on near the borders of their land. Sitting idly and trusting that no one would ever attempt to penetrate the barriers would be a grave error. There were always enemies, though they did not always show their faces.
“The Vale is in good hands,” River said, a warm smile upon his lips.
Rogin gave a single nod in reply. Heading toward the council house, he intended to spread the news to the rest of the village.
With three bags full of various medicines and herbs, Lenora felt herself ready to depart. Stepping outside, she announced, “I think I’ve got everything.” She took one last look back at the house, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Then it’s time we were underway,” River replied.
Led by Rogin, a small crowd of elves hurried toward the couple to bid them farewell. The oldest member of the Elder Council, Brandor, stepped forward. “I wish you good journey, Lord River,” he said, grasping his friend’s forearm.
An elf maiden handed River a satchel full of food. “Good journey,” she said.
Nodding his thanks, River looked upon the elves of the Vale. Here in this close-knit community, no elf ever stood alone. Neither did anyone suffer in silence. When there was trouble, the Westerling Elves came together in camaraderie, offering whatever help they could manage. Seeing another in distress and doing nothing was not in their nature.
Isandra appeared from among
the crowd, making her way to her mother’s side. “I’m going with you,” she stated.
Lenora placed a hand on her daughter’s cheek. “I know,” she replied. Her daughter favored her greatly in appearance, but her golden locks were trimmed short, and her eyes were the same sapphire blue of her father. Isandra never wore gowns—her duties as a soldier would not permit it. Not that Isandra would have worn them anyway. She wore her shining silver armor like a badge of honor, her sword never far from her reach.
River looked upon his eldest daughter and said, “There is no danger ahead. The Wildlands have been made safe through King Aelryk’s efforts, and I am able to offer some measure of protection for your mother.” He grinned slightly. Sometimes his daughter needed reminding that he was, indeed, capable of magic.
“Nevertheless,” she said, “there are some questions that can be answered only with steel.” She stood proudly and added, “I will accompany you.”
With a nod, River gave his permission, not that it was being asked. His daughter was strong willed and sure of herself. She would go and do as she pleased.
Young Alyra approached her parents and hugged them each in turn. Her blue eyes dripped with tears as she asked, “May I come along too?” Though she knew the answer would be no, she could not resist the urge to ask.
Holding his youngest daughter tightly, River said, “You are too young to leave the Vale. We will return soon.”
Lenora squeezed her daughter close to her heart and gently tucked a strand of dark hair behind the girl’s ear. “All will be well,” she reassured her.
Alyra hugged her father once more. Though she loved her mother dearly, she felt a stronger bond with her father. Not only did she share his features, she shared his love of the Vale and all the creatures within it. Together they would sit for hours on the banks of the Blue River, listening to the symphony of birdsong and the rushing of the water.
Stepping away, Alyra pressed her face to her nursemaid’s shoulder. Though she had grown tall for her age, she was still quite young. It would be another one-hundred-and-fifty years before she came of age. Her dreams for the future were numerous, and one day, she hoped to travel alongside her father to explore the regions beyond the Vale.
After saying farewell to their kinsmen, the elves headed for the stables where three silver horses awaited them. Rogin had seen that they were made ready, and he carefully tied Lenora’s supplies behind her saddle.
“Safe journey,” he said to his father. Hugging his mother, he said, “Remember to have a care for yourself while you’re caring for others.” Lenora had a tendency to overwork herself whenever there were others in need of her services.
“I’ll take good care of her,” River stated.
Rogin nodded to his father. To Isandra, he said, “Keep an eye on these two.”
Isandra let down her guard momentarily and laughed. She clapped her brother on his back and kissed his cheek before mounting her horse. The two shared a close bond, and spent many long hours sparring and honing their battle skills together.
Raising an arm, River projected his mind to the Blue River. Slowly, the water began to lower its depth, allowing the riders to cross with ease. Spurring the horses forward, the trio set out into the wild.
Chapter 4
“Do you think they received your message?” Rykon asked.
“It’s hard to be certain, Your Highness,” replied Court Mage Ehlir, holding the gemstone close to his eye. “The method of communication is rather complex.” Admitting that he had no idea whether his attempts to use the stone could possibly succeed would be unthinkable. A mage’s powers were limited, which the prince was aware of, but in this grave matter, every effort must be exhausted. If the prince felt Ehlir incompetent, who knows how he might react in this situation?
“Let’s hope it will be enough,” the prince said with a sigh. Turning to his mother, he said, “This River owes us no favors, but Father always spoke highly of him. Do you think he will come?”
Queen Lisalla bowed her silver head. “He has to.”
“Forgive me, Majesty,” Ehlir said, raising a hand. “I’m aware of this elf’s magical talents, but has he ever demonstrated an ability to cure the sick? Even if he shows up, there’s no guarantee he can cure the king.” The elderly man averted his eyes, not wishing to look upon his ailing sovereign.
“I do not know the elf’s abilities,” Lisalla admitted.
“There must be a reason the stone changed color,” Rykon stated. “I believe it to be a sign. Ehlir, make sure every Master at the College has the opportunity to examine the ring. Make every effort to contact the Westerling Elves and convince River to come here. He might be my father’s only hope.”
With a bow, the gray-haired mage backed away. Though he would carry out the prince’s commands, he was certain no mage in Na’zora was more capable than himself.
Lisalla took a seat on the bed next to her husband. Since falling ill, he had not regained consciousness. Tears flowed from her once-sparkling blue eyes, now dulled from the sadness that was plaguing her. The only man she had ever loved was fading, and it burned at the depths of her soul. Squeezing his hand, she whispered, “Don’t go.”
Rykon stepped away, preferring not to stare at his mother in her distress. Stepping out onto the balcony, he turned his gaze to the sea. The blue stretched on endlessly, the waves rolling as if no change had come to his land. For the ocean, it made no difference whether a king lived or died. The sun would continue to rise, and the tide would still shift with the phases of the moon.
Leaning heavily upon the rail, the prince felt as powerless as a grain of sand. Though mighty among his people, he could be of no help to his own dying father. Only one thought repeated in his mind: River must save him.
* * * * *
Darkness began to fade, giving way to the pale light of morning. The travelers awoke from their slumber upon the forest floor. Stretching her arms, Lenora turned her face toward the rising sun. The journey ahead seemed so far. Reaching the king in time might prove impossible, and every minute spent idle was a minute their friend did not have.
Isandra had risen before her parents and was already saddling the horses for the day’s ride. Noticing her mother was awake, she said, “Good morning. We’re almost ready to get moving.” Looking down at her father, she added, “As soon as he’s up.”
Lenora smiled, gently shaking River’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up drawing in a deep breath.
“I’ve overslept,” he said.
Lenora smiled. “It’s time to get moving.”
The trio mounted their horses and set out into the deep forests of the Wildlands. It would take at least a fortnight to reach the king, even with River’s magic giving speed to the horses. Since Aelryk made peace with the Woodland Elves who dwelt there, the Wildlands had grown far more feral. Massive trees took root, tended by the careful watch of dryads and elven shamans. Humans did not pass this way, neither did they attempt to tame the land for settlements or farms. King Aelryk gave strict orders that the land was not to be disturbed, and none had dared defy the king. The Wildlands had been allowed to flourish, returning to its true state.
The forest was awash in a sea of red leaves that refused to give way in these final days of autumn. Winter approached with vigor, bringing crystals of frost throughout the land. Only the Vale would remain free of its grasp, thanks to the magic of the elves.
Riding next to her life mate, Lenora commented, “The forest is so quiet here.”
Nodding, River replied, “Most of the birds have flown away from the winter’s cold. Other creatures are waiting it out by bedding down for the season.” His eyes gazed above to the trees, where a leafy nest served as home to a family of squirrels.
“I must have forgotten,” Lenora replied with a slight laugh. The years she had spent among the dryads had taken her away from the Vale, but after bonding with her mate, she had rarely left her home. Birds and other creatures were numerous there, having
no reason to travel outside their land of plenty. “I suppose it will only become quieter as we approach Na’zora.”
“Let’s hope so,” Isandra cut in. “We might encounter Woodland Elves, and we can’t be certain how they will react to us.” Ever cautious, Isandra felt the need to protect her kind from any possible threat. “We must remain vigilant.”
River smiled at his daughter. “The Young Ones will pose us no problem,” he replied. The last Woodland Elf to lay eyes on River had sensed his true nature. With their return to the old ways, the elves of the Wildlands had reacquainted themselves with the old gods. To them, River was Mistonwey, God of the Rivers. Attacking him would be out of the question, not that they could possibly harm him. Their weapons had no effect against his magic.
A gentle rain fell from above, and River turned his face skyward. His companions enjoyed the weather slightly less, urging their horses to take shelter beneath the largest trees. Without the dense leaf cover they enjoyed in the Vale, the rain easily found its way between the branches, knocking loose most of the remaining foliage.
“I don’t suppose you can make the rain stop,” Isandra said with a scowl.
River only smiled and continued his easy pace beneath the drops. Reaching into his magical stores, he extended a thin shield of blue light over the heads of his wife and daughter, allowing them to proceed in comfort.
“I don’t mind the rain,” Lenora said, her lips curling into a soft smile. She had learned to appreciate the rain that fell, knowing full well that it rejuvenated the forest and all who lived within it.
Rain gave way to chilly nights, which grew colder as they approached Na’zora. The travelers barely recognized the land they had traversed more than thirty years earlier. Autumn and winter were alien to these elves, who so rarely ventured from their homeland. Knowing that their destination lay due east of the Vale, they managed to keep their course true despite the lack of roads or trails. The horses were highly intelligent, and easily avoided obstacles without veering off-course.