done, now where can I find this place?”
The man stood to his left, pointed towards the
east. “Other side of the valley, sir, it’s an awful place
though.” His brows curled down, concerned, “bodies
in the streets of a terrible illness.”
Harris gave a twisted smile. “Awful places are
where I always end up.” He stood from the bar and
proceeded to leave. “About your business,” he called
to the men, who still watched in awe at the sight of the
commander, who they had never had the pleasure of
meeting.
As Harris re-joined the road, the company of
Svend was more than enough for him. His thoughts
were still filled with Branwen. She had broken him,
the once solid mind of the Commander had twisted,
he missed her smell, the feel of her hair, the touch of
her skin, the sound of her sweet voice. Thoughts of
war were far in the back of his head, she had occupied
his mind, entirely.
Harris was not one to waste time, always with a
plan, he rode towards the Grenhilda valley. The
Grenhilda valley was a short ride from Cronnin, two
days from the main city. Stretching from the Sonnin
and Cronnin west boarder it drifted south, before
hitting the boarders of Thrasia. The deep cavern
served as a spectacle of nature. The beauty of the
valleys brought many weary travellers. It was renowned
for its enchanting sunsets. The valley was a deep
cavern set into the land, the Grenhilda river flowed
peacefully through the narrow valley, the incline to
either side was scattered with woodlands and grassy
patches, wildlife of all different kinds would gather
along the riverbanks which offered a free-flowing
refreshing drink.
The long dusty road through the woodlands of
Grenhilda offered him some quiet contemplation. He
would soon be entering the world of politics, he was
far from stupid, and he knew he would need to be
careful with his tactics.
The woodland was alive with calling birds, but
Harris needed to be on the other side of the valley. A
village due east offered him something he needed
before he could take his place at the side of Brenin.
Svend was usually a graceful horse, but the steep
paths into the valley made him clumsy. The roads
were winding gravel and dirt, the blazing sun beat
down on the valley as it began its descent into night. A
haunting orange glow lit the valley below them; the
shadows of the night-time creatures began to gather on
the steep banks on the other side. Harris was used to
darkness; he was used to the calling wolves and falcons
above. The eerie silence spoke to him, he was headed
towards a small village, just above the valley.
An entire night of travel finally saw him to the
small, fortified defences of the village, a small brown
fence surrounded. As he stepped to the gate with
Svend, exhausted by his side, he saw the black flag,
flying high above a small-thatched cottage, the village
houses were tightly packed together, the cottage
houses looked pleasant enough, but the silence of the
village made him aware, he was in the right place.
A man walked by the village gate, a long dirt road
wound through the village, he was draped in a long
brown cloak, his face was covered with a black cloth.
“You may wish to stay back, my lord,” called the
man in his gruff voice. A cough had stricken the man.
Harris was used to being mistaken for a lord; his
lizard skin armour often confused people. He dressed
to the status of a lord, but he was still only a
commander. Harris stepped forward. He pointed to
the black flag and asked, “What has you all here?”
The man stepped a little closer, Harris took a step
back. “They believe it’s the murk, a black death,” he
called to him, trying not to get too close, “they say
were here for the turn,” he called with a high tone of
annoyance, “say we’re to keep the flag up.”
“Who says?” asked Harris, he reached for the
gate.
“The council of Cronnin,” he watched Harris drop
his hand from the handle.
Harris thought, he looked to the floor. “How many
have been taken so far?” he called out to him.
The man looked around the village, a few of the
cottages were now empty having lost entire families.
“About a hundred so far,” he furrowed his brow as
he looked to Harris, “why?”
Harris did not need to think as he replied, “I’m
here on business, this illness has taken many, here and
other villages, we’re trying to find out what it is.” He
looked to the man, awkwardly, “but in order to do
this, we need samples for the alchemists and sharmas.”
The man stood back, he furrowed his brow and
narrowed his eyes. “Samples?”
Harris gave a slight smile, he glared towards him.
“I assume you would like to help?” The man nodded
as he turned towards Harris. “Where is your village
chief?”
The man shook his head. “Don’t have one, taken
a few days back, when this is over, we will find
someone, but for now, we have no one.”
Harris widened his eyes. “Then I will need you to
help,” the man started to come closer to Harris. He
could see that the man looked well, but he knew that
the murk could often strike fast, taking entire villages.
“I need you to take some samples, of those affected,
those with clear signs of the murk. Can you do that?”
he lowered his head and raised his brow.
Enthusiastic to help, he turned towards the village
and quickly turned back. “How?” he asked with a look
of confusion.
“The spit,” replied Harris, he pointed to his
mouth. “In their mouths.”
With his samples collected, Harris made his way
back onto the road. The valley brought a wet return as
he made his way back to the other side and towards
Cronnin.
Having spent most of his nights on the lonely road,
the valley was a welcome break for Harris. The beauty
of the sunsets and sunrises would keep him company
for a few days while he rested there. His plans he
would often use in battle and in the taverns where he
once protected, would need to evolve. He would need
to begin thinking now, about a plan to set his name in
the sands of time, and end the war. A quick resolve to
the battles already brewing was set deeply in his mind,
he craved a peaceful world, even if his main income
revolved around war, he needed change.
Slowly a flickering of Librye’s eyes could be seen
by Mord; silently, she sat by her bedside. She shot
forward from the chair and straight towards Librye.
Stroking her head, she shushed her, she could see the
panic in Librye’s strange purple eyes. Her eyes were
still half
closed, her skin was whiter than usual, even
her hair seemed to have lost its lustre.
“What happened?” moaned Librye. She clung to
Mord’s arm and began to lift herself up the bed. Her
body still felt weak, her eyes still struggled to focus.
“You had an accident,” Mord calmly tried to
explain to her, but did not know what to say,
“something happened on the lane, a few days ago now,
you’ve been sleeping since.”
Librye sounded worried, her tired eyes looked to
Mord, she could sense her fear as Librye asked,
“Sleeping?” Librye looked down, she held the sheets
on the bed to serve some form of comfort to her, “so,
the dragons, they weren’t real?” Her eyes squinted
towards Mord, she was confused and frightened. Her
perception of reality was suddenly mixed, a twisted
view of the world had entered Librye’s mind, and she
did not know how to unravel it.
“Dragons?” asked Mord as she sat at the side on
Librye’s bed, “they could’ve been real, Librye, it is not
for me to say.” She knew that Librye was different, but
she also knew she was only a child. She wanted to be
gentle with Librye, her frail body was the only gentle
part of her, she had a mind capable of unthinkable
things. “Tell me what happened?”
Librye looked off into the room, her thoughts were
spinning. “I was in the Draco stretch. Egan was there
to greet me, he showed me his island, but he said, ‘I
wasn’t there,’ he said, ‘I was still in Cronnin,’ he
wanted to teach me, all he could.” Her look of
honesty confused Mord, she knew Librye, she was
honest, often she had been too honest. “He taught me
of the dragons and their stars, he taught me how to use
the stars to take my thoughts to him.” Librye broke
her stare and looked to Mord. “They told me of the
star child, the prophecy was born three-hundred years
ago or more.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked to the
fearful face of Mord. She did not wish to know, but
Mord knew that Librye needed to tell someone. “He
told me that the prophecy speaks of me, but
something is wrong with it, something dark. He said, ‘I
must learn about dark magic before it’s too late.’ I
don’t want to learn about dark magic, Mord,” said
Librye, a chill seemed to go through the room, the sun
outside seemed to dull as Librye spoke. “He told me
so many things I’ve never known before, but dark
magic, I’ve read about it, and I never want any part of
it.”
Mord needed to change the subject and quickly.
“Well, one day you may wish to learn more about it,
so you can help end its use.” She looked deep into
Librye’s eyes. Her eyes changed, but her soul
remained the same innocent and caring child Mord
had always known.
“I’ll never use it, Mord,” she promised. Her eyes
showed worry. Her knowing nature only worried
Mord further.
“Oh, Librye,” sighed Mord, “my child,” she held
Librye close, “you have nothing to worry about. I will
take my last breath protecting you, no matter what
from.” She held Librye back slightly, looking into her
eyes. “While you were off on your adventure, which I
do believe you were, so much has happened here,
Harelda, she is here to see you,” she said with a
twisted smile of excitement.
“That’s nice,” Librye seemed dejected, her spirit
was withering.
Mord could sense the disappointment from
Librye. “And Brenin will soon return.” She could see
Librye light slightly. “For now, the queen needs to
meet you, Librye, she can help you.”
Mord left the room, she turned to a guard stood in
the corridor. “Could you alert Harelda please, Librye
has woken.” The guard gave a quick bow to Mord and
made his way towards the west wing. Mord went back
into the room. She had thought of giving Librye some
advice on how to act but decided not to. Librye was a
child, she already had her life ripped apart by war, she
had been taken from the only home she had ever
known to live in a strange place filled with an ongoing
political battle, if the queen disapproved of Librye,
then that would be her own problem.
Making her way into the washroom, Mord readied
a drink of water for Librye, she took a small glass to
her.
“What’s she like?” asked Librye, she seemed to
hide her excitement.
Mord took a blanket from the side of Librye’s bed,
as she folded it, she replied, “Surprisingly normal, I’ve
heard stories of her being a terrifying, cruel and cold
woman, but she was actually rather warm, she had
pleasant enough conversation.” Mord could think of
nothing bad to say about the queen, she had been
more than polite to her. “Anyway, it matters not at the
moment, relax, you’re still looking pale.” Mord began
to help Librye lay back. As she did, she noticed a
strange discolouring to her back. “Librye,” she said
with concern, “lean forward.” Mord was stricken with
horror as she saw Librye’s back, a red and black
wilting bruise covered both lumps to her back, adding
to the now yellowing bruise she had, “my goodness,”
she whispered.
Harelda stepped in, she was alone. “Harelda,” said
Mord with relief as she turned, “please, come see.”
Librye was utterly confused as she remained forward.
Harelda stepped towards her, she looked to the
deep black bruising on her back. Harelda looked to
Mord and nodded with her eyes closed. Mord
redressed Librye and helped her lay back.
“Librye,” said Harelda. Slowly she began to sit, she
asked with a deep voice of mystery, “who named you,
my Librye?” Her eyes narrowed.
Librye watched as Harelda sat, her voice was
warming to her, Librye was instantly in awe. “I named
myself, but Mother helped.”
Harelda had not heard the name for quite some
time, she was instantly awakened to Librye’s
knowledge of Mother, she asked wide eyed, “The
pooka?”
Librye was stricken with excitement. “You know
her?” her smile grew.
Harelda gave a slow nod. She placed her hands on
her lap. “Before I came here to Sonnin, I lived in a
place far north, my parents insisted I grew within the
peaceful temples of Assanin. I often travel there;
Mother is usually there to greet me.”
Librye was overwhelmed. “She helped name me,
she was my only friend in the camps.” Her excited
voice captivated Harelda.
“A few turns back, I received a message from
Mother,” said Harelda, her mystique seemed to grow
with every word she said, “a message to tell me that
hope had been found, she believes you hold great
promise, she tells me y
ou like to read.”
Her excitement caught hold. “I really do, I’ve
almost finished the chambers.”
Harelda smiled, her innocence warmed her. Her
children were now all grown, but she had made a
wonderful mother to them all. “And you will read
them all,” she said with wonder, “she also told me of
your abilities,” her voice deepened. Librye seemed to
lower her head, her excitement withered. “She taught
you how not to use them, now, I would like you to
show me, show me what you can do, in this room.”
Harelda sat up straight, she held her hands flat facing
upwards, inviting Librye to use whatever she could.
Librye was confused. Mord stepped back. Looking
around the room, Librye could think of nothing she
could do, until she noticed the fire flowers, hanging
gracefully from the ceiling on their delicate vines.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” whimpered Librye.
Harelda gave a reassuring slow blink. “You will not
harm me, it may be in your nature, but it is not in your
blood.”
“Can you tell me more, about the fey?” asked
Librye.
Harelda seemed disappointed, she had hoped for
some great things from Librye, and she was yet to
show her anything of the powers that had been spoken
of.
“The fey hold many powers in this world, we are
the great keepers of magic.” As Harelda spoke she
failed to notice a vine, as it grew from the ceiling and
headed towards her. “In every corner of this world you
will find magic, from the blossoms on the trees.” The
vine crept closer. “To the grasses that we tread, all the
way to the mountains, magic is a growing force.” The
vine began to get closer, instantly, it wrapped around
her neck. Harelda seemed to freeze as the vine
tightened around her neck. A crackling came from the
coiling vine, Librye lifted her hand, the vine retreated,
releasing its grip on Harelda.
Harelda, free, shot to her feet and held her neck as
she tried to calm her panicked breath, she looked to
Librye, at first with a look of trepidation, and then with
a look of pure admiration.
“Like I say, I don’t want to hurt you, but if I
wanted to, I could,” Librye said with sadness.
Harelda leant down to Librye. “Rest child, I will be
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