by Meg Cowley
Soren set Behan’s men, whom he trusted more than most, to guard the gate, having ordered them to deny anyone exit. Behan stayed with him to help supervise his forces, whilst Edmund oversaw sweeps across the castle to search for anyone who remained.
Many soldiers had surrendered to them, but many of their leaders had not. As such, there were numerous bodies to lay out in the courtyard; some of whom had been prominent figures in the councils. Soren felt an unexpected twinge of relief at the large number of corpses; their deaths had at least spared him the decision of what to do with them.
Soren was forced to imprison those who had surrendered. He could not turn them free, but nor could he kill them in cold blood when they had willingly given their lives into his hands.
His most prominent prisoner came as the greatest surprise to him. Draped in the finest silks and glittering with jewellery appeared Demara, his uncle’s wife and the daughter of the southern king Harad. She entered, surrounded by guards who dared not restrain her, and held her head up as she surveyed the great hall with disdain.
She was beautiful in her own way, with bronzed skin and sultry eyes, but pride marred her face. Soren’s eyes widened as he beheld her. In none of his plans had he expected her to be here, but a blind fury overtook his surprise as he saw his mother’s favourite crown upon her head.
Soren struggled to suppress his anger as she glided forward to greet him as he stood upon the raised dais, in his armour, stinking and covered in dirt and blood. The hall fell silent as all; prisoners and his own men alike, turned to watch her entrance.
“Prince Soren,” she murmured, her words accented.
“It is rightfully King. Princess Demara.”
“It is rightfully Queen.”
He jumped down from the dais in a single leap, furious with her beyond words. He raised his hand, wishing to strike her – and snatched his mother’s crown from her head instead.
“How dare you,” he snarled at her. The crown trembled in his shaking hand. To her credit, she did not flinch, but stood regarding him through narrowed eyes. Soren stepped back and tried to suppress his temper, when he realised something was different about her. His eyes narrowed as he took in the curve of her stomach under the draped fabrics.
“You are with child,” he stated. She did not reply; she did not need to. Her bulging stomach gave away that she would be close to giving birth. Now, the timing of Zaki’s actions made perfect sense to him. Zaki was securing his future upon the throne in time for the birth of his child, replacing Soren as king even as he fathered a child that would replace Soren’s own line.
Soren felt sick. Here was a life he could not in good conscience end stood in front of him, though she carried within her the life that could be his downfall. I cannot kill Demara and provoke war with her father, yet I cannot let her live and bear her child to adulthood, for it will challenge me should Zaki fail. Soren was filled with dismay, unsure what to do with her.
A grim-faced Edmund emerged from behind Demara. Edmund must have seen the indecision in Soren’s eyes, for he took charge and arranged the detention of the princess within a small apartment in the castle. There, she would live in seclusion, with guards and women companions handpicked to watch her every move. It left Soren with a sour taste in his mouth; yet keeping her prisoner gave him a useful bargaining chip.
~
Pandora thrummed with life, a hive of activity since Soren’s return to the castle. The city itself was not badly damaged from the fighting and Soren was proud that little looting or vandalism had occurred. Nevertheless, repairs were still needed and so he sent out the city’s finest smiths and masons to repair all damage, funding the costs from the royal coffers. He felt too guilty to make Pandora’s residents pay for the damage, which he blamed himself for causing, and it even inadvertently curried him great favour amongst the people.
The castle was worse for wear. Smashed windows and shards of glass lay forlornly about, tapestries and works of art were torn, and priceless treasures in the vaults had managed to vanish altogether. What Soren felt most bitter about however, was the defacing and vandalism of his mother’s apartment. When he visited it as part of his routine examination of the entire castle, it filled him with such sadness that he had it sealed off, unable to deal with the distress it caused.
The first thing Soren did, when he had a moments reprieve, was visit his mother’s grave. He took Irumae with him. Naisa lay at rest in the castle cemetery under a stone carving of herself asleep, crowned with a stony mantle and everlasting youth on her face. They ran their hands over her hard cheeks and across the flowing forms in the stone, which had been roughly carved in the haste of its need, both wishing she had a grave more fitting for her. Compared to the graves of her forebears, it was shoddy.
Soren could not reconcile – still – that his mother lay under the impassive stone. Every moment he spent in the castle, he expected to hear her voice and smell her perfume, but all had faded. Out in the wilderness under the urgency of his tasks, the grief was something he had managed to lock away and so he thought, come to terms with. However, coming back to the home they had shared brought everything back. Soren had never felt less at home. In every corner lurked more grief. Brother and sister huddled by the grave for the entire afternoon, lost in their sadness as the city repaired itself around them.
The reprieve could not last forever and Soren soon threw himself back into overseeing the fortification of the city with renewed determination. There remained a fraction of the nobles and captains that had served under his mother; Soren used them all to try to ready the city.
In place of those who had perished, their sons and nephews stepped forward. Some oversaw improving the defences outside the city, clearing away debris close to the wall, whilst others concentrated on building siege engines from plans in the armoury.
Two trebuchets were constructed just inside the south gate by utilising the city’s many carpenters, who worked day and night. Many more, smaller catapults on wheels were produced that could be relocated anywhere in the city they were required. Soren gave special permission for them to cut wood from the royal forest itself for the purpose of restoring and fortifying Pandora.
Most were constructed on the top of the walls themselves; Soren noticed a great disadvantage of the city walls was a lack of ramps, only steps, leading to the broad walkways on top of them. Ammunition in the form of stones and rubble stood heaped in piles along key roads in the city and by the walls, with residents of the city invited to add anything they had that would prove useful missiles.
The camp outside the city dismantled as swiftly as it had sprung up, with residents cheerfully relocating themselves back within the city and taking up the defensive work with vigour. Normal trade had stopped within the city, with many shops closed as the people gave their efforts to Pandora, but Soren ensured the markets and dock stayed open, as well as the vital medical services, so the city remained well provisioned and functioning. The farmers returned to their holdings, to reap all the crops and grain they could from the fields and send it to be stored inside the city in case of siege.
In addition to the practical requirements of preparing for a battle, Soren knew he must also set strategies in place. He knew that Zaki would not surrender, especially with his father in law’s forces behind him and his pregnant wife under Soren’s control.
The dragons had settled in the castle grounds, and had taken to basking in the summer sun on the terraces in the private walled garden. It was here that Soren hosted his meetings with Edmund and Behan also and at Edmund’s suggestion, Nolwen and Nelda, who represented the dragon’s counterparts.
Eve
Eve found herself at leisure; not involved in the councils, the running of the city, or the battle to come. At first she was angry about being ignored and discounted, but as Nelda mentored her in the art of magical and non-magical medical treatments, her frustration disappeared, replaced by a fascination with healing.
There were many to heal after
the taking of the city, both enemy and friend alike and Eve healed anyone she could, regardless of their loyalties or status. Nelda taught her how to alter the wording of her incantations slightly but significantly, so she could choose where to draw the energy required to sustain the magic from; herself, the patient or the surroundings.
Experimenting on many patients with a variety of ailments helped her broaden her understanding of anatomy and the rules of magic. Eve found that she quickly learnt, and could soon manage to heal many more people in a short time with better results and less of her own energy than it had taken to heal Luke, by using the magic in a different way; its subtleties fascinated her.
Luke accompanied her everywhere; he insisted on ensuring her safety despite Pandora now being under Soren’s control. He observed her work, now more intrigued than intimidated by magic. After each session, which lasted a few hours between mealtimes, he would question her about a certain task that she had performed and listen with interest as she explained what was required in order to fix or relieve the symptoms of the ailment.
Sometimes he could listen to Nelda’s tutelage, but sometimes not, as she chose to speak to Eve in the old tongue about matters of magic and the secrets of their shared race. Eve found satisfaction and fulfilment in the simple act of helping someone else that she had not experienced before. So it was, that after an afternoon at the healing houses, an idea began to form.
“I think I’d like to be a healer,” she said as she wandered through the castle with Luke. “I always assumed that I’d have to become my father one day, to fight and defend Arrow county and the country, but after what happened in the castle when we rescued Irumae, I don’t think I can be that person.
“Working with Nelda has been so rewarding,” she continued. “I think I’d rather heal people and leave their fate up to God to decide, rather than dealing out death myself. Why should I pass judgement on others who I do not know? How is that fair?”
“I play devil’s advocate, I hope you understand,” Luke replied, “but what would your father say? Who would defend the county in your name?”
“I’m not sure,” said Eve. “On the one hand he would be glad that I was safe. On the other hand I think he’d be disappointed to have no proper heir. I don’t think he’d like me to fight, but I think he’d see not fighting as a weakness, which would be exploited by others.”
“I think many others would share that view,” Luke replied, “and that it would plague you for however long it took to prove them otherwise. Who would defend Arrow, if you don’t take up the sword?”
“Well, my father wishes me to marry,” admitted Eve reluctantly.
“Marry?” exclaimed Luke.
“Yes. I’ll be expected to marry. I dread it.”
“You dread it?”
“Wouldn’t you? Who would enjoy spending their life with someone they didn’t choose?” Eve sighed. “I suppose it would leave someone to defend the county as long as Arrow remained under my guardianship. I won’t give Arrow to an outsider.”
“You’ll marry an outsider?”
Eve met his eyes, which were troubled under his wrinkled brow. “I have no inkling,” she said, uncomfortable. “Father hasn’t pressed the idea, but he soon will; I’m of age, as much as he doesn’t want to admit that. I don’t know where he’d find a suitable match though.”
Luke was silent. Eve did not speak – brooding. The idea of marriage induced many sources of trepidation and fear of the unknown into her and she sought comfort in the fact that her father was not seeking her marriage then.
“You should seek Nelda’s advice,” Luke said. “See what she thinks about you becoming a healer. I think it’s a fine idea. You’re much better at healing than you are at fighting. Although you’re skilled with a sword or bow, it’s not that which gets you through a real fight. I haven’t seen you so calm and at peace as you are when you’re healing.”
She answered his smile with her own. “That reassures me. Thanks for your ear, Luke. You’re a good friend.” She clasped his hand between hers briefly to communicate her appreciation. They walked around the first floor of the castle once more in companionable silence, before Eve bid Luke farewell and slipped into her chambers to bathe.
Nelda supported her idea wholeheartedly. “Taking life and causing injury is a grievous task that should not be lightly done. If you feel that your efforts are lent better to healing then I shall support you in this. I fight when I have to, as you have seen, but I too much prefer to heal and nourish and tend.
“Perhaps you should apprentice yourself to one of the traditional healers in the city to gain some knowledge of non-magical healing techniques. Go to the prince and ask him if this is possible.”
Eve followed her advice and that evening, after dinner in the great hall, approached her cousin for a meeting. He seemed withdrawn to her and she surmised that the demands he was under were taking their toll on him, so she kept it as brief as she could. His stern face softened when she explained her reasoning and once finished, gave his answer.
“I give you my blessing, cousin,” Soren said. “It’s good that you see the value of life. I wish that I could preserve, rather than take it too. I’m glad I now have a reason not to ask you to fight, as is your right; your father would never forgive me for placing you in such danger.
“You may have the freedom to do as you wish whilst you are a guest here. The healers would appreciate any help you can offer them. I need to be better informed about my casualties in any case; you may report to me with anything of importance.”
Eve returned to her apartment with a smile beaming from her face, although she was disappointed that her cousin seemed so distant with her. She knew she would still have to broach the subject with her father. Eve dreaded the moment, not least because there were other things that they would speak of first, but it was time for her to make use of Artora’s gift.
Her apartment door closed with a snap behind her and Eve turned the key in the lock, before retrieving the mirror from the bottom of the wardrobe. She rested the mirror on the dresser and stood before it, took a deep breath and then two more before feeling for the magic and uttering, “Leitha Karn”.
The mirror surface shimmered and rippled, but did not show her father; just the ceiling of his study. The magical link was complex enough to be above Eve’s ken, and it did not show him directly as any other scrying would, instead revealing the true reflection of his own mirror, wherever it sat.
“Father!” she called to the mirror.
There was silence.
“Let our voices pass through the mirror.” Faint sounds emanated from the mirror before her; background noise from her house. The familiarity of the sounds made her smile as she recognised them. She could discern the faint rustling of trees; the windows must be open for the light was bright and she could hear the neighing of horses and the blackbird’s song that woke her every morning.
“Father,” she called again.
Footsteps sounded and her father appeared over the mirror looking down into it, askew. She must have appeared upside down to him too, for he turned the mirror around until he could gaze at her eye to eye.
“Eve, where in God’s name are you?” His mouth tightened as he bent close to the mirror gazing at her and about her, trying to discern where she was. “Why did you not return? Are you well?”
“Father, calm down,” she said, holding a hand up to halt his tirade of questions. “I’m quite well. I chose not to come back.”
“I ordered you to return immediately, Eve! It was not your choice!” said her father. “How dare you disobey me and then vanish like this with some garbled message passed on to me. Have you any inkling of the worry and frustration this has caused?”
“I had many good reasons to justify my decision,” replied Eve. Colour rose in her cheeks. Could she have seen it, the slant in her eyebrows matched that of her father’s.
“That I doubt,” retorted her father, his eyes narrow.
“Firs
tly, Princess Irumae was being held against her will, so I decided I would rescue her, which I have done.”
Her father’s expression turned and his eyebrows rose from anger to disbelief. “Do not lie to me, Eve.”
“I do not lie!” said Eve, feeling hurt. “With the help of my companions, I liberated her from Pandora’s castle dungeons some nights hence. I lose track of the days.”
“Companions?” said her father.
“Yes father. I have travelled from Ednor to Pandora with Luke who has remained my faithful protector and two of the Eldarkind, who Queen Artora handpicked to accompany me.”
Her father covered his face with a hand and rubbed his temples with a frustrated sigh. “This becomes worse and worse,” she heard him mutter. “So now, Eve, I find that you have been traipsing across the wilderness with a man and two strangers not even of this race? How is this a respectable preoccupation for my daughter and heir?”
“You forced me to this, father,” said Eve in a brittle tone.
“How the blazes have I?” Her father exploded into rage once more. “I ordered you quite clearly to give my correspondence to Artora and return – immediately!”
“Why would I,” Eve said, “when you have lied to me for all these years? Why did you not tell me about my mother?” She raised her hands in the air in frustration. “Why did you hide from me what I ought to have known?”
Her father stepped back from the mirror until Eve could no longer see him.
“Father!” she called out, thinking he had abandoned their conversation, as more pent up frustration stirred in her belly.
“I am here,” Karn said in a muffled voice. Part of his forehead reappeared, but there was a long silence before he spoke. “I assume you now know of your mother’s heritage, her status and her… skills?”
“Magic, yes.”
“I did not tell you, because I wished to protect you,” Karn said. “Magic is a thing I do not understand, despite my years with Freya, for she hid it amongst our race. I always wondered if she died because she practised it, or because she lived too long amongst her people to be immune to whatever killed her. I had many ideas, but I never understood why the sickness took her.” His voice coloured with sadness.