“Too many questions. Too much hard work to do. Please, sit. First is the matter of your spear.” She gestured to Azzeal, and he produced a long, leather-wrapped bundle from the corner of the tent. “I have spoken with the spirit of the eagle,” said Gretzen, slowly unwrapping the long bundle. “I have spoken to her, and she has told me that you are worthy of her blessing.”
Tears welled in Vardveizla’s eyes, and she fell to her knees. “I am blessed by Thodin.”
“Give me your hand,” said Gretzen, who had finally unwrapped the long curved spear.
Vardveizla’s eyes shimmered in the golden glow of the immaculate weapon. Its smooth round shaft ended with a small perched eagle from whose beak jutted a wicked, serrated blade. She offered her hand to Gretzen, who carefully guided it to the spear head. Gretzen slowly slid the hand across the blade until blood was dripping. She then caught it in a cup and handed a wide-eyed Vardveizla a cloth to bandage her hand.
“Spirit of the eagle, your daughter kneels before you this day, ready to accept your great gift,” said Gretzen, tossing sparkling dust into the fire, which made it flare and pop and fizzle. She then poured the blood onto the embers, which issued an angry hiss. Gretzen added the bones of an eagle to the fire, along with an unhatched egg, a feather, and more sparkling dust. All the while she chanted low in her throat. Her eyelids quivered, and only the whites could be seen behind them.
The ear-piercing cry of an eagle caused Vardveizla to jump.
“Oh, great spirit of the eagle. Bless your daughter, she who will become the guardian of your people,” Gretzen said.
Azzeal watched with amazement at the spirit magic, though he had already seen this spell performed. Still, his eyes were alight with wonder and enchantment.
The cry of the eagle came once more, and a white glow began above the fire.
“Take the blade,” said Gretzen, handing it to her. “Raise it into the air and pledge yourself to your tribe’s spirit animal.”
Vardveizla raised the spear into the air above her head. “Oh great one, she who glides high above the world. Ari, I offer myself fully to your wisdom and great majesty.”
The cry of the eagle rang out again from inside the tent, and the glowing form, slowly growing in clarity above the fire, suddenly spread its wings and flew into the blade at the end of the spear. The shaft glowed bright gold as Vardveizla held on tight. Her hair stood on end, and crackling energy washed over her, leaving her trembling.
Suddenly it was over. All was silent.
Vardveizla knelt before the fire, panting as she held the spear before her with reverence.
“You have been chosen as a guardian of your people,” said Gretzen. “Use your power wisely.
“How can I ever thank you? You have reunited me with the spirits of my modir and fadir, and now this…”
“I have something more for you, as I said.” Gretzen withdrew the figurine of Aurora and handed it to Vardveizla. “Call to her.”
Vardveizla looked hesitant, but she held the figurine out before her and raised her chin. “Aurora Snowfell, come to me!”
The figurine glowed bright, brighter than Azzeal had ever seen it. Many tense moments passed, and nothing happened. Gretzen scowled at the object, waiting. Finally, a bright light flew out of the figurine and morphed into Aurora.
She glanced around at the gathering and settled on Vardveizla and the figurine in her hand. “What is this?” she asked Gretzen.
“Your new master.”
Aurora’s gaze found Vardveizla as the chieftain rose to her feet, settling the rounded end of the spear on the floor.
“Then I will not be going with you?” said Aurora, turning back to Gretzen. “This is goodbye?”
“It is…for a time,” said the old woman. She rose to her feet with Azzeal’s help and hugged Aurora. “I will soon join you in the spirit world.”
“I would like that,” said Aurora as her eyes shimmered with sparkling tears.
Chapter 12
A Test of Virtue
“Dragon! Dragon!”
The call went up on the wall and was repeated by others.
“Dragon coming from the east!”
Whill put down his straight razor and wiped his face hurriedly with the cloth lying over his shoulder before running out to the balcony. He trained his eyes on the east and quickly spotted Zorriaz. The white dragon was five hundred yards away and soaring just below the clouds.
A smile crept across Whill’s face. He felt as though he might explode with excitement.
“Tarren, they’re here!”
The boy came skidding out of the latrine, still pulling up his academy uniform. Together he and Whill ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out to the gardens. They sped across the swan bridge, pushing each other and running like young brothers.
Just before they entered the courtyard, they slowed to a proud walk. Zorriaz was just coming in for the landing. Many of the guards cheered, while others, the younger and newest of them who were not used to the presence of the great dragon, slunk back into the shadows or disappeared to the other edge of the battlements.
“Avriel! Lunara!” Tarren called out.
“Tarren!” Lunara cried, waving jubilantly.
Whill noticed another person with them. She was an elf, with long black hair fashioned in hundreds of small braids, and a face like Avriel’s. Whill knew that he must be looking upon one of her two mysterious sisters.
Lunara and the wild-looking, leather-clad elf maiden helped Avriel down the stirrups, and together the three presented themselves to Whill and Tarren.
Avriel was beaming.
If her hair had been tousled by the wind, she must have used magic to fix it right again. She wore riding leathers, but for the silk fabric about her swelled belly. A long, fringed jacket did nothing to hide her condition.
Lunara was dressed all in black leather, which made her silver hair stand out all the more. Her eyes remained on Tarren as they approached, never once meeting Whill’s quick glances.
The mysterious elven woman seemed not to see Tarren at all, but stared at Whill, grinning with crooked, puckered lips the shade of blood.
“I’m glad you all made it here safely,” said Whill as he took Avriel’s hand. “Now let me see my bride to be. You grow more beautiful with every passing day.”
He pulled her in and kissed her deeply.
“I’ve missed you so much, my little man. Look at you,” said Lunara as she hugged Tarren.
Avriel hugged the boy as well, and Whill found himself standing beside Lunara.
“It is good to see you,” he said, moving to offer her a hug.
“And you as well,” said Lunara, returning the hug stiffly.
“Well met, as they say,” said the elf maiden with a face like Avriel’s, at the same time brushing past Lunara.
“Hello…”
“Zilena, eldest daughter of Araveal and Verelas, princess of Elladrindellia.”
Whill offered her a bow and kissed her hand. “Greetings, Zilena, daughter of Araveal and Verelas, princess of Elladrindellia.”
“My sister has good taste, I think,” she said, looking him over.
Whill felt his ears getting hot. “She has mentioned you often, but words have done nothing to convey your true beauty.”
“They say that true beauty lies on the inside, which you have never seen,” said Zilena with a wink.
Tarren’s mouth dropped, and Lunara’s eyebrows shot upward.
Whill looked to Avriel with eyes that said, did she just insinuate what I think she did?
“Forgive my sister,” said Avriel, taking Whill’s arm and leading him to the castle. “She is an insufferable flirt. Come, it has been a long flight, and I’m as hungry as a dragon.”
They dined in the gardens, which were now filled with mums of every color, along with pumpkins and all manner of squash and sunflowers heavy with their fruit that seemed to bow before the royalty at the table.
“My sister tells
me that it was love at first sight,” said Zilena before biting into an over-plump strawberry.
“I cannot speak for her,” said Whill, grinning. “But for me it was indeed love at first sight.”
Zilena smiled and glanced at Lunara. “What about you, Lunara?”
Guilty eyes looked to Whill before darting away. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Was it love at first sight?”
“I wasn’t there when they met,” said Lunara, growing increasingly uneasy.
Zilena grinned mischievously. To Whill she seemed to thrive on tension.
“Avriel tells me that you are a bit of an outcast, Zilena,” said Whill, hoping to give her a dose of her own medicine. “I can say that I know exactly how that feels.”
She regarded him with curiosity and sipped from her glass. “I have never agreed with the elder council’s rules on non-intervention. I was very vocal about this, and I broke many of their precious rules.”
“Yes, I have read about such incidences. Take the Windwalker Archive, for instance.”
“Ah, you are familiar with Azzeal’s account of the Skomm boy.”
“I am. Azzeal and I are good friends.”
“We were close…for a time,” said Zilena. She laughed musically. “To the great annoyance of my overprotective brother.”
“Zerafin was wary of me at first as well.”
“Of course he was. My sister has been in love with you practically since childhood.” Zilena winked at Avriel. “She used to tell the stories of the prophecy to anyone who would listen. And once you were given a name…” Zilena rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how many times I heard the name Whill of Agora. You never stood a chance.”
“Must you always tease so?” said Avriel.
Zilena smiled at her sister. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
“You’re insufferable,” Avriel jested, but Whill could feel the very real tension between them.
The conversation moved to Tarren, who was more than happy to tell his stories of the academy and the new friends he had made there. Zilena seemed immensely interested in the lad, but her interest was not in the academy, but his days spent trapped in the body of the watcher. When she asked if he had any magic about him, Tarren shook his head sullenly.
“No. I’ve a staff that Lunara made me that used to be magic. But it doesn’t work anymore.”
“No,” said Zilena, shaking her head sympathetically and turning serious eyes on Avriel. “None of our magic works anymore. Only my fair sister has been deemed fit to wield that which was once the gift of many.”
“The loss of magic is my fault,” said Whill. “Avriel deserves none of your ire.”
“Ire? My apologies, good king, but you have never seen my ire. I never blame others for my plight. It is my fault, really. I should have raced to your bedside before my sister could get her claws in you.”
Talon blushed. Lunara hid her eyes with the rim of a wine glass and did not emerge until it was empty.
“The return of my power came at a great cost, sister,” said Avriel, holding her with a dead stare. “It is no privilege to be sworn to Kellallea.”
“You speak of the goddess as though you loath her, when the bards speak of her holy favor as a blessing upon you.”
“You know nothing,” said Avriel. She had been holding in her own ire all through dinner, and Whill could tell that Zilena had finally begun to crack her sister’s steely façade. “While you were in the eastern seas fornicating with pirates, we have been here, sacrificing ourselves to save our people and the people of Agora.”
A small victory played at the corner of Zilena’s mouth, and she grinned at Avriel. “I have angered you again, my queen. I apologize. In your weakened condition, you do not need me poking fun. Perhaps you should retire. I do not mind doing the courtesy of entertaining the king.”
Whill had grown weary of Zilena’s games as well, and wanting only to be finally alone with his wife to be, rose from the table. “That will have to wait for another day. I grow tired as well. Good night all,” he said, extending a hand to a grateful Avriel.
“I’m sorry,” said Avriel when they were alone in the privacy of Whill’s quarters.
“None to worry,” said Whill. “She has already flown from my mind.” He bent and took her round belly in both hands carefully and kissed it. He resisted the urge to look upon the lifeform inside with mind sight to determine its sex. “I’ve missed you both so much.”
Avriel ran her hands through his golden hair. “It has only been two weeks.”
“It felt like an eternity.”
He felt the change in her as soon as the word left his mouth, and he knew that he had reminded her of the hopeless quest that he had been tasked with. Her hands in his hair became urgent, more sensual.
Without a word he stood and took her up in his arms. Laying her down on the bed, he kissed her deeply, careful to keep his weight off her stomach. The reunion lasted well into the night, with both of them taking it slowly, savoring every touch of flesh, every kiss.
After Avriel had fallen asleep, Whill lay there, staring at the ceiling for hours, unable to get the maddening thoughts out of his mind. Soon he would have to venture east across the sea, never to see Agora or those he loved again.
With a sigh he got out of bed, careful not to wake Avriel. She would want to talk about what was keeping him up, and right now he didn’t want to speak of it. Better not to remind her if he could help it.
He dressed and went for a stroll through the quiet castle, nodding at the stationed guards as he passed. Past the guest quarters and library he went, venturing downstairs and eventually finding himself in the kitchen. The bakers were already up, working on the next day’s bread and the coming morning’s pastries. They offered him greeting and asked if he wanted anything. He assured them that he could get it himself and went about finding the fixings of a simple sandwich. Wanting to be alone, he brought his snack with him, back through the castle and into the garden where he might watch the moon and quiet his mind.
To his dismay, he found Zilena standing on the swan bridge, looking up at the stars. He turned, hoping to avoid her, but too late, for she called out to him. “Whill, is that you?”
“Hello, my lady. Sorry to disturb you, I was just in the mood for—”
“That makes two of us,” she said with an alluring purr to her voice.
He gave a small laugh. “I will leave you.”
“Nonsense,” she said, walking toward him across the bridge. She wore a silk gown that did nothing to hide what was beneath, and Whill found himself averting his eyes to the sky.
“Beautiful night,” he said.
“It is, isn’t it,” said Zilena, coming to stand beside him next to a small willow tree whose drooping branches and draping leaves swayed lazily in the warm breeze.
“Are you cold, my lady?”
“If I was, how would you warm me?” she asked, staring at him.
He finally looked at her and instantly wished he hadn’t, for her eyes were knowing. They beckoned to him, holding him in their mysterious gaze.
“What are you doing?” he asked, wanting to be blunt. “I am to wed your sister. We are nearly family.”
“What am I doing?” she asked playfully before looking at him as though he were being mischievous himself. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asked, glancing down at the proof of the chill in the night beneath her gown.
“You are a helpless flirt as Avriel says, aren’t you?” said Whill, trying to laugh it off. He was disappointed in himself, for his mind was going places that it shouldn’t.
“Takes one to know one,” she said with a delicious smile.
She moved closer.
“My sister indeed has good taste.” She reached up and touched his broad shoulders.
He stepped back, flustered.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, glancing around. “We are quite hidden here among the shrubs. If we were to lay together upon the g
rass, I dare say no one would see us.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but—”
“Don’t you?” she asked, and shocked him further by slipping her robe off her sleek shoulders.
Whill’s heart quickened. He wanted to look away, but the moon touched her skin in such a way that he was mystified by the beauty of her voluptuous form.
“Avriel is not the only one who has dreamed of you for decades. And the poor darling was still a virgin when you took her, wasn’t she?”
She took a step forward.
“I must admit that I am not. That flower was plucked centuries ago. But I know things.” She took his hand and brought it close to her body. “I know what a man needs.”
Whill snapped himself out of it and pulled back his hand. “Dress yourself!” he said, turning from her.
“No one will find out,” she said, touching his arm once again.
He whirled around and produced an energy shield that caused a spark as it repelled her hand. She pulled it away with a pained expression.
“Put. Your. Clothes. On,” he said in an even but strong voice.
She looked furious, but did as she was told. Covering herself, she pulled the edges of the robe tight, and to his surprise, she smiled. “Perhaps you are good enough for my sister. Never has a man been able to resist me.”
“I love Avriel. It is true that I have never been with another woman. And I do not wish to.”
She nodded. “Good.”
Whill watched as she gave him a wide berth and sauntered away. He let out a pent-up breath and laughed to himself.
“See you in the morning, my righteous brother-in-law,” she said over her shoulder.
Chapter 13
A Proposal
Fyrfrost brought Dirk and Krentz over the Ky’Dren Pass and beyond to Eldalon. Dirk had sent word to King Carlsborough that he would be visiting, and it seemed as though the pigeon’s message was not lost to the wilds or the arrow of a spy, for when they arrived they found the newly renovated castle bustling with activity and decorated for their arrival.
The Mantle of Darkness: Whill of Agora Book 7: Legends of Agora Page 5