by Lana Axe
“Just water,” he said dismissively.
“I know something is wrong,” she said. “Why won’t you tell me what it is?”
Staring at her with his sapphire blue eyes, he said, “I don’t wish to alarm you is all.”
“I’m a healer,” she replied. “I can help you.” Squeezing his hand, she hoped he would accept her help. Digging in her bag, she searched for some herbs she had brought from home in hopes they would ease her life mate’s pain. She sensed no physical illness in him, and no magical one either. Whatever was wrong was a mystery, but she would do anything to help him feel better.
Isandra was already making a fire and readying some water for tea. Lenora passed the herbs to her daughter and said, “Add these to your father’s cup.” With no further explanation, she remained at her life mate’s side.
“We have been companions far too long to start keeping secrets now,” she whispered. “Perhaps you don’t wish to burden our daughter, but I think I deserve to know what’s going on.”
Reluctantly, River said, “There is trouble in the Vale. I cannot sense the Spirit, and I do not feel its presence in my dreams. Ordinarily, I would sense it anywhere there is water.” He shook his head. “Perhaps I’m unaccustomed to the frozen winter.” He didn’t truly believe the weather had anything to do with it, but he didn’t want Lenora too concerned for him.
Lenora knew he was trying to spare her feelings. Laying a hand against his chest, she spread white magic through his body, attempting to analyze the problem. She sensed nothing. In all their long centuries together, she had never known him to be ill. Trying a second time, she still sensed nothing. It was possible that she simply couldn’t read an elemental, but the absence of any diagnosis disturbed her. With any other patient, she could sense their symptoms and often determine the cause. With River, she felt nothing at all.
Taking her hand, River kissed her wrist. “Only an elemental who is also trained in healing could read me,” he explained.
Lenora started to protest but then had another idea. “Mel,” she called. “Could you come here a moment?”
Mel walked over and stood before the couple. He was not a true elemental, but his deep connection to the earth had given him stronger senses than the average elf. His focus on a single element, and his inborn talents in earth magic meant he might have a better insight into what was ailing River.
“You have training from the dryads, correct?” Lenora asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “As do you.”
“True, but I’m no shaman,” she admitted. “I assume you have skills as a healer?”
“Mostly with growing things,” he replied. “Not so much with people.” His green eyes drifted to River, knowing what Lenora was about to ask.
Her eyes pleading, she said, “I cannot read him. Can you try? I must know what ails him.”
River did not protest, so Mel knelt before him with a quiet sigh. Laying his hands on each side of River’s head, Mel closed his eyes and tried to reach inside. In his mind, he saw an image of a river, its surface littered with dead fish. A strange gray mist floated above the water’s surface, and the image of a man came into view. He recognized the face immediately.
Jumping back, Mel broke his connection with River. The two locked eyes, and River projected a single message to his friend. Mel understood.
“I can’t read him,” Mel said. “I’m sorry.” He turned and walked back to the fire, taking a seat across from Isandra.
Defeated, Lenora leaned her head against her life mate’s shoulder. When the water was ready, Isandra brought them both cups of tea. They did not speak but nodded their appreciation. River appeared distant and tired, and worry was written all over Lenora’s face. Isandra had no words that could comfort either of them. If only there were something she could strike with her sword, she would make everything better. For now, she could do nothing.
Over the next several days, the travelers continued the same pattern. They rode until they could go no farther, and then they rested. Doing so shaved a few days from their long journey, and eventually brought them within sight of the Blue River that bordered the Vale.
The travelers sat in stunned silence as their horses approached what had once been a magnificent river of sparkling blue water. Before them was a thick, gray liquid that spilled over onto the banks, killing the grass that had once grown lush and green.
It was more than River’s heart could take to see such destruction, confirming the nightmare that had lived in his mind for the past two weeks. Pain shot through his body, forcing his muscles to tense. Slowly he slid from the saddle, his horse unable to prevent his fall. Landing upon the soft earth, he stared momentarily at the sky before slipping into unconsciousness.
Chapter 10
Rykon was crowned only hours after his father’s funeral. The ceremony was small, attended only by his advisers. At Rykon’s insistence, it was Lisalla who placed the crown upon his head. No woman in Na’zoran history had been given such an honor. It was just one of many changes the new king intended to implement. Women already sat upon the royal council in the neighboring kingdom of Ra’jhou, and Rykon planned to have women serve on his as well. Equality among the sexes was high on his list of priorities, but the more-pressing issue brought on by his father’s death had to be dealt with first. There was plenty of time to see to politics later.
Striding with confidence, Rykon sat upon the throne that had so recently been occupied by his father. His advisers stood in silence as the king took his seat. Lifting the jeweled crown from its velvet pillow, Lisalla approached her son with a weak smile. Her heart still ached from her loss, but she had no desire to spoil this moment for her son. Never before had she felt so torn. The pain she felt would likely last the rest of her days, but so would her love for her child.
Holding the crown above her son’s head, she declared, “I crown you Rykon, King of Na’zora.” Placing the crown upon his head, she backed away and bowed.
Rykon stood as his advisers bowed before him. They echoed a chorus of “Long live the king,” completing the brief, private ceremony. Rykon had no need of fanfare. He was king regardless of how many were in attendance. His father’s death would be mourned for weeks, and he would not overshadow it for his own vanity. All that mattered now was finding a way to avenge him. Knowing who had caused Aelryk’s death, Rykon had no intention of letting the attack go unanswered.
To his advisers he said, “We will assemble in the council chambers. There is much to discuss.”
Stepping outside the throne room, he paid no heed to the smiling servants who were observing him. His boots clacked heavily against the marble floor as he walked, making his way to the council chambers. Inside was a long wooden table with a cushioned chair at one end. It had been too short a time since his father had sat there, conducting the affairs of the kingdom. Now Rykon would occupy it, despite his disdain for meetings. Action was better than words, in his opinion, but sometimes it was necessary to discuss things before acting.
Before becoming king, Rykon had often avoided the council. Listening to old men argue and accomplish nothing was pointless. In his old age, Aelryk had become more and more tolerant of his advisers’ mixed opinions. He would sit in silence, allowing them to argue a topic to exhaustion. But Rykon could not tolerate their indecisiveness. Soon the new king would replace the majority of these council members with younger faces and new ideas. The kingdom needed a fresh start. Today, however, there was no time for such controversy. These men were knowledgeable, and he would see that they were brief in their words.
The council members filed in behind the king, waiting for him to take his seat before they could take theirs. One of their number was absent, but Rykon was not willing to wait.
“Gentleman,” the king began, “there is an urgent matter to be settled. The elven lord River revealed to me that it is, in fact, an old enemy who is responsible for my father’s death. Master Ulda has returned seeking vengeance. We must answer his challenge.�
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“I agree,” one councilor said, striking his fist against the table. He was a large man, with a thick red beard. “Our king was attacked, and we must answer in kind. I say we find this Ulda and make him pay.”
Several council members echoed their agreement. It would seem none of them were against taking action to avenge the king.
“I’m pleased to have your support,” Rykon said, a smile spreading across his face. “I am not one to seek war, but Ulda has struck the first blow. We will find this sorcerer and those who harbor him, and show them no mercy.”
The door swung open, allowing Court Mage Ehlir to enter. Under his arm, he carried several parchments as well as a few scrolls. Shuffling across the floor, he said, “Forgive my lateness, Your Majesty. I had a few things to gather before making my way here.”
“What have you found?” Rykon asked anxiously. He had tasked the mage with finding information regarding Ulda and his whereabouts.
Spreading the parchments on the table, he pushed them individually toward the councilors and the king. “You’ll see here chronicles from the island of Ral’nassa. Ulda took control some time back, murdering all who opposed him, and enslaving many others.”
“His army was destroyed when last he marched on us,” Rykon said, his expression stern. “How did he manage to take over an island without a standing army to command?”
Pointing to one of the scrolls, Ehlir replied, “He never stopped manufacturing his minions. This chronicle tells all about the takeover.” He slid the scroll toward the king. “Not only can this sorcerer bind the essence of a person he has killed, he can control the minds of the living.”
“How does he accomplish this?” Rykon asked, his eyes scanning the parchment.
The old mage shook his head. “I know not,” he admitted. “His methods are dark, his techniques grotesque. No self-respecting wizard would practice such magic.”
“Have you researched this?” the king asked. “Is there a way to undo his magic?”
“As far as I can tell from my research, he manages to bind the soul without murdering the person. I imagine it requires close contact, and an enormous amount of magical talent. There are no writings on the subject because no other wizard has ever done such a thing. Not in recorded history, anyway.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Rykon muttered. With the immense power some mages possessed, it was unlikely they would all strive to do good deeds. It was probable that many of them had turned to the dark, hoping to garner even more power. Ulda obviously craved both power and control. “Why did I not hear of Ulda’s takeover?”
“Such matters did not concern us,” Ehlir replied.
“It seems they do,” Rykon countered. Pointing down at the parchment, he said, “This is why my father is dead. We allowed this maniac to roam freely, never bothering to find him after he escaped us before. I will not make the same mistake twice. We must be rid of him at any cost.”
The councilors hammered the table with their fists as they sounded their agreement.
“How soon can your battle mages be ready to march on Ral’nassa?” the red-haired councilman asked.
Ehlir shook his head. “None of our mages are trained for battle. They have various specialties, and most of them know some offensive spells.”
Rykon looked up from the scroll. “They can fight, though, correct?”
“Nearly all of the mages at the College have that ability,” Ehlir explained. “Only the healers do not learn such techniques.”
“Good,” Rykon replied. “We will set sail for Ral’nassa and knock on this wizard’s door. Make sure the mages are prepared. We will be leaving soon.”
“Your Majesty,” a voice spoke. It was Duke Berl, the youngest member of the council. He rarely spoke, but in this instance, he could not remain silent. “We should not march alone. Seeking an alliance with the Westerling Elves will ensure our victory. They have greater magical abilities than our own mages.” Looking at Ehlir, he added, “No offense.”
The old man shrugged and remained silent.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Rykon replied. “With the elves at our side, we have a better chance against Ulda’s army.” Looking at the ring on his finger, he said, “I am able to contact them through this stone.”
Before leaving, River had explained how the stone worked. It was simple magic, really. All Rykon had to do was focus his mind to thoughts of River and the Vale. An image would appear in the stone, and Rykon should be able to speak to it. River would hear the words, no matter how far away he was.
Rykon looked into the grayed stone and tried to clear his mind of all thoughts except River. He could picture the elf’s face clearly, and he concentrated hard on the vision. Only a gray swirling mist appeared within the stone. Fearing he was unable to use the gem properly, he slipped the ring off his finger and passed it to Ehlir. “Do you see anything inside the stone?” he asked.
Ehlir peered into the gem and saw nothing. What he felt, however, was far stronger than any vision. Speaking slowly, he said, “Your Majesty, I see nothing, but I feel a powerful evil presence.” He laid the ring down on the table. “I would recommend being rid of this object. It is cursed.”
Rykon was unnerved by the mage’s words. What had happened to River on his journey home? “This ring was in my father’s possession for more than thirty years,” he declared. “It was not cursed then, and I cannot accept it is cursed now unless some evil has befallen the man who gave it to us.” Looking around the room at each of his councilmen, he said, “There is grave trouble in the Vale. We must help our elven neighbors.”
“But, Your Majesty,” the red-bearded councilman began, “we have troubles of our own. Would it not be wiser to deal with this Ulda first?”
“Doing so would likely help the elves of the Vale as well,” another councilor chimed in.
King Rykon breathed heavily. “What say you, Ehlir?”
Scratching the top of his head, Ehlir spoke softly. “Ulda’s evil hand has reached far beyond the islands. First us and now the Vale; he intends to destroy us all. Eliminating him immediately might be our only chance for survival.”
Turning his eyes downward, Rykon stared at the grayed gem as it lay upon the table. River’s sapphire eyes flashed before his vision. In those eyes, Rykon saw something he never expected from such a powerful man—he saw fear. The man who had single-handedly destroyed Ulda’s army thirty years earlier now feared him. How was this possible? Convinced that River knew more than he had expressed, Rykon made up his mind. “We will proceed to the Vale with all haste. The elves are in need of our assistance, I’m certain of it. Our chances of defeating Ulda are far better if we have the elves at our side.”
None of the councilmen dared argue. The king had made his decision, and it would stand, regardless of what they thought. Some of their expressions grew concerned, but most nodded in support of their king.
Only Ehlir found the words to speak. “What if Ulda is in the Vale when you get there?”
Rising from his seat, the king stood proudly. “Then it will save us a trip across the sea,” he replied. “I will see that justice is served upon him. Dismissed.” Exiting the room, he snatched the ring from the table and placed it back on his finger. Cursed or no, it was his only link to River and the Westerling Elves. Determined to leave for the Vale immediately, he strode heavily through the hallways. “Summon General Aldryg,” he commanded a nearby servant.
With a bow, the servant scampered away to find the general. Rykon continued his march, heading outside the palace, his boots crunching against the gravel beneath him. As he reached the armory, he commanded the soldiers inside, “Make ready to ride. We must leave for the Vale immediately. Summon all the troops in your regiment. I want a hundred men mounted and ready in less than one hour.”
The men, who had been relaxing, scrambled to their feet to obey the king’s order. His tone commanded urgency, and his men would follow him without question.
Upon heari
ng the king’s voice, a young man rushed to his side. Having only recently been appointed the king’s squire, he wasn’t entirely sure what his duties were. “How may I serve you, Your Majesty?” he asked, without waiting for the king to address him first. Realizing his mistake, he quickly added, “Forgive me.”
Rykon was not upset by the boy’s boldness. At any other time, he would have respected him for it. Now, however, the king was in too much of a hurry to speak of it. “Fetch my armor and help me into it,” he commanded.
Racing to the next room, the young servant collected each piece of shining plate armor that had been fashioned especially for Rykon. Its combined weight was almost more than the boy could carry, but he summoned all of his strength to avoid appearing incapable of his duties. Breathing heavily under the weight of the armor, he trudged back to the king.
Though the boy had some practice helping soldiers don their armor, he found it difficult to make his fingers do exactly what he needed them to do. No matter how he tried to hide it, his hands trembled as he fussed with the numerous buckles attached to the king’s armor.
In his impatience, the king grabbed at the buckles that he could reach and fastened them himself. No harsh words escaped his lips. All that mattered was that the armor was properly fastened, regardless of who fastened it.
Once dressed, Rykon laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and nodded. As the king turned away, the servant let out the breath he had been holding. It felt like he hadn’t breathed since he first returned with the armor. Holding his head low, he feared he had failed in his duties. “May I ride with you?” the boy asked boldly.
Rykon turned and smiled. “Not this time,” he said. “There is much danger ahead, and I would not risk someone as young as you.” With those words, he exited the armory.
General Aldryg approached the king, his stride long and heavy. He was a tall man with a large chest, a thick brown beard covering the lower half of his face. Standing before the king, he bowed.