The Realms Beyond (The Reinhold Chronicles Book 2)

by Bo Burnette

  Phillip nestled his body into the crook of the massive chair and mused over Arliss’s words. Reinhold’s history was narrowing to a point like the sharpest of swords. Perhaps this would not be the end, but it would be an end.

  An end…

  Chapter Thirty-seven: The Shield

  ARLISS SLIPPED HER ARMS THROUGH THE SILK SLEEVES of the dress as her mother called from the other side of the curtain.

  “Well, is it as good a fit as I supposed?”

  Arliss picked her quiver off the floor beside her bare feet and strapped it around her waist. “Better than you imagined, I’m sure.” She had given up her own chambers to Fiach and Finín, so she now dressed in the privacy of her parent’s wide room.

  She gave the belt of her new mulberry-colored dress one last cinch and sashayed into the bedroom to see her mother. Her last outfit had been all but ruined by the week’s upheavals, but this one retained some of its characteristics: the multi-slitted skirt, the snug jerkin bodice, and the linen trousers tucked into knee-high boots. In addition, though, Elowyn had delicately added panels of chain mail—some hiding invisibly beneath layers of fabric.

  Elowyn smiled, nodding her approval. “Beautiful, but practical. It will serve you well whatever may come.”

  Arliss caught her mother’s reflection in the full-length mirror. “Whatever may come. That doesn’t sound very hopeful.”

  Elowyn stepped forward. “It isn’t. But there is hope—especially if you can start on your quest quickly.”

  Arliss angled her unstrung bow in the crook of her arm. “I’m ready. Have you gathered the others?”

  “They will be in the council chamber in a matter of minutes.”

  Arliss nodded her approval. “I’m going to go check on Philip.”

  She found Philip in Ilayda’s room, his temporary chambers. He sat on the floor, scrubbing away at his sword with his good arm. A linen shirt, a chainmail overlay, and a leather tabard were spread across the bed, but Philip sat shirtless. His entire body—from his varicolored eyes to his taut forearm—focused only on the task at hand. He was making good use of his left hand despite his bound-up arm. With Eamon’s medicinal knowledge, he was already on the mend.

  Arliss hesitated a moment before entering the half-curtained doorway. She studied his face, the daydreams and thoughts that cut lines in his forehead. She wondered what he was thinking about, what could have so captured his usually alert mind.

  She sighed and pushed through the curtain.

  He rose so quickly, the sword clattered to the floorboards. He scrambled to tug on the linen shirt. “Pardon me, Arliss. I didn’t know to be expecting company.”

  She smiled, her hands crossed behind her back. “I’m not company now, am I?”

  Philip’s head emerged through the top of the shirt. “I like to be presentable, you know.”

  Arliss pursed her lips playfully. “I watched you a moment in the doorway before entering, and you didn’t look half-bad, if I may say so.”

  “And why were you watching me, may I ask?”

  “I came to fetch you to the council. It’s almost time for us to leave.” She stepped forward, and the shield she was carrying bumped the back of her legs.

  “Brilliant.” He thrust his right arm through the chainmail shirt, then eased the left through. “I’ll be right there.”

  Arliss drew the shield from behind her back and held it out to Philip.

  His upraised hands hovered over it hesitantly.

  She pressed it into his palms. “It’s for you. Gally gave it to me, and I’ve carried it with my things ever since.”

  His face shone as he tilted the smooth, silver shield towards him. His reflection shone in it like glass. “You should not give good gifts like this away.”

  She tilted her head, letting her hair slip off her shoulder. “Some gifts are given simply to be given away. I want you to have it. You will use it before the end.”

  He stared his thanks at her with penetrating eyes.

  Confusing feelings—old anger and irritation, familiar uncertainty and joy—spread from her chest out through her limbs. She inhaled, feeling a hint of something she had felt long ago: a nameless sensation of floating through the air, of being one with it, of flying and falling at once. The room melted away around Philip’s eyes.

  She turned and left the room before she did something rash.

  “I will not send all three of you,” Kenton repeated. “I can’t afford to lose all of you. If Thane does attack sooner than we think, I will need every good fighter and strategist here at my side.”

  Lord Adam nodded his agreement.

  Philip rested his injured arm on the edge of the table. “Arliss has to go. It’s her quest. Eamon must go. He’s the one who helped make the vault, after all. As for me, I’m not letting Arliss out of my sight.”

  Philip could sense Arliss shift uncomfortably, but she said nothing.

  “So you still don’t trust me, Philip?” Eamon asked.

  Philip bristled. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to say it.”

  Elowyn spread her palms wide. “Peace. Philip is right, Kenton. There is safety in numbers, and they all have a right to go.”

  Kenton ran his hand through his short beard. “Very well. Go. Open the vault. Return as quickly as possible.”

  Philip placed a hand on his king’s shoulder. “Thane cannot attack yet. No doubt we will return far before he does.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Philip started to reply, but Eamon cut him off. “We can’t. Thane may wait for Anmórian reinforcements, he may not. He may wait and strengthen his army on the isle, he may not. He may send a team ahead to attack Cladach or surround this city, he may not.”

  The grim set of Elowyn’s mouth deepened. “Then you must leave as quickly as possible.”

  Arliss stood from the table, her blue eyes sparking. “Let’s go. No more deliberation.”

  Philip tilted the shield she had given him in his lap, letting it play with the room’s morning light. “Calm down. We can’t just run off without a plan.”

  The kindness, the love which had pervaded Arliss’s expression earlier fled without a trace. “We have a plan already. It’s time to put it into action.”

  He rested his stiffly bound arm on the table. “Who are you sending to Cladach?”

  “Arden,” Arliss replied. “He will warn Ríon and Clare.”

  Lord Adam bristled at the mention of his son. “Arden is young. You cannot send him on so dangerous a mission.”

  Arliss faced Adam. “My lord, this is extremely important. You have to let Arden go. And he will not be alone—both Eamon’s sons will go with him.”

  Lord Adam paused, his chest heavy with a pent-up breath. “I cannot lose another.”

  Arliss softened her voice. “Please. Let him do this. For Reinhold. For Ilayda. We need Ríon and Clare’s help.”

  “And what will they do?” Kenton sounded dubious. “Ríon is the prince of Anmór. How do we know he won’t turn against us?”

  Philip shrugged. It was a fair question.

  Arliss pressed her hand against the wall, feeling towards the door. “He is an outcast—despised by his people. But he stands on the side of justice. I know he will be a faithful ally, whatever role he may play.”

  Elowyn stood, her gaze sweeping the room. “There is something none of us have considered. What if Thane refuses to parley? Or what if he accepts, but declines your offer?” She paused, clearly mulling her words to reduce their bite. “What if Ilayda and Brallaghan are already beyond our saving?”

  Arliss clenched the doorframe. “Then we fight him nonetheless. But I hope it does not come to that. If he wants these gifts as much as he has said, then he will consider our offer.”

  Kenton’s voice sounded tired. “What then?”

  “We will use the delay however we can—strengthen our troops, send out bands in secret. Perhaps we can even send messengers across the sea and to t
he north. To Ikarra.”

  “Ikarra?”

  Philip pushed himself up with his good arm. “There’s a whole lot more to our adventure we’ll have to tell you. Ikarra still exists, just as much as Anmór does.”

  “If this came from anyone but you,” Kenton said, “I would never believe it.”

  “It’s true,” Arliss said. “I met a man of Ikarra while we were in Anmór. His name was Harrison, and he gave me something.”

  Philip eyed Arliss. She still hadn’t told him everything that had happened that evening. “What did he give you?”

  “A promise. That they would renew the old friendship between our clans.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Philip muttered.

  Eamon shrugged. “As much as I’d like to believe it, Ikarra is leagues away. We’re on our own.”

  Philip turned to Eamon. The captain’s beard had grown longer and more knotted, but his eyes had begun to burn with the fervor of battle fire. Philip swung his shield over his shoulder with his good arm, then offered Eamon his hand. “Are you ready?”

  Eamon allowed Philip to pull him to his feet. “Is anyone ever ready for the most decisive moment in their lives?”

  Chapter Thirty-eight: The Water's Fall

  ORLANDO STUMBLED THROUGH THE STONE DOORWAY AND BACK into the echoing overlook that was Thane’s island hideout. Sandy grasses scuffed between his boots as he paced across the walled clearing. He took his steps as slowly as he could. His master wouldn’t be pleased when he heard what he had to say.

  Thane stood at the edge of the short cliff, staring at the anchored ship as his sailors passed all around him, packing down the ship with as many weapons and supplies as it could safely carry across the ocean. The air around Orlando smelled like snow. Reinhold would likely be coated in the stuff by the time they made the attack.

  All the better. The Reinholdians had little fighting experience of any sort, but especially not in snow and ice.

  Orlando clicked his boots to a halt and gave a slight bow.

  Thane cleared his throat. “And?”

  “There was no sign of anyone in the wreckage. I found the bodies of their two horses, but none of the crew.”

  Thane gnawed on his lip a moment. Then he slammed the back of his hand across Orlando’s face.

  Orlando recoiled, his arms rising up defensively. Blood spurted from the inside of his cheek, covering his tongue with its acrid taste.

  Thane clenched his fist. “You fool! How many chances have we had to kill them—and how many times have you failed me?”

  Orlando seethed with frustration. “Is it my fault that they survived the shipwreck? Do you think I willed that?”

  “I’m not even talking about that.” Thane faced the ship again. “You have had a plethora of chances before now. You could have killed Arliss back on the trains in Anmór. Instead, you chose to merely cut the cars.”

  “To get rid of all of them,” Orlando pressed. “Killing her would have only brought wrathful reinforcements.”

  Thane whirled, his cape flapping, his eyes burning. “Well, did it get rid of all of them? Did it? No!” He eyed Orlando. “You need to set aside whatever romantic feelings you have for that girl and focus on your job.”

  “I don’t have feelings for her.” Orlando spat on the sandy cliff. “And I am doing my job.”

  Thane handled the pommel of his sword. “I do not toy around with my words. Fail me again, and I will kill you.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, but I would.”

  The wind whipped around Orlando, tossing his cape up into the air. He stared at Thane in disbelief. He had considered this man to be a surrogate father. What had happened? Had Thane changed in this past week, or had he?

  A question gripped his throat. “What really happened to my birth father—really?”

  “You know that already, and it’s not a pretty story.”

  “But I don’t know it! The mother I barely knew refused to speak of him as if he was some dark secret. Even you said his death was a terrible thing.”

  “It was.” Thane’s eyes shifted to the cliffs below. “He died because he had to. To protect himself. To protect you.”

  “How did he die?”

  Thane grunted. “It is time you knew the truth. He didn’t.”

  Orlando’s knees tottered. “He didn’t die?”

  Thane shook his head slowly. “He disappeared, killed the side of himself that was your father. He abandoned you to the fate you have followed.”

  Pain seared Orlando’s heart, coursing up his spine. He clenched his eyes shut to block out the burning in his head. “Why did you never tell me this?”

  “Because it would not have done you any good, nor your father.”

  Orlando’s eyes shot open. “So my father is still alive.”

  “Who can say?” Thane shook his head again as if to dust off old memories. “Come, the ships are ready. We need to look over our plans. Battle awaits us.”

  The pound of Kirras’s hooves jolted up Arliss’s spine as they galloped across the bridge that spanned the forest river. Her first trip across the river—it seemed so long ago now!—had been much more eventful. However, Kenton had ordered a bridge built since then, so horses and foot travelers alike could cross with ease.

  This journey wasn’t any easy hike, though. Arliss, Philip, and Eamon had ridden hard from the castle since midday. Not once had they stopped for rest, food, or drink. Arliss’s throat had dried up long ago. Now it felt as if it were closing up, folding over upon itself. Her lips felt thick and pasty. The worst of it was that, the more she tried to stop thinking about her thirst, the more it consumed her mind. She started to wonder which would happen first: her throat would choke itself, or she would go mad.

  The three horses pelted off the bridge and back into the thick of the forest. Eamon reined into the lead, and Arliss didn’t try to stop him. He seemed to be able to read these woods as well as she could.

  Philip’s voice rasped when he tried to speak over the clatter of hooves. “Last time I rode a horse in Reinhold, I was chasing you. Correct?”

  “Correct,” she managed through her constricted esophagus.

  “Well, this is a nice change.”

  “A change of circumstances, I suppose.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, not just that. You’ve changed, Arliss.”

  She rolled her eyes and stared at the path. Dead leaves and occasional snowflakes fluttered across her face. “I’m not so sure of that. Maybe it’s you.”

  He grinned. “I doubt it.”

  They continued winding between the trees until they reached the point where the river curved back around to meet them. Here, the path was cleared and spaced with large stones. At least, the path had once been cleared of trees and brush. However, tangling strands of Lasairbláth vines spread across the entirety of the forest floor. The speed at which the plants grew always amazed Arliss. Now, they wove a silken carpet of petals all the way to the ruins of Thane’s former fortress.

  She urged Kirras ahead and entered the dell before the other two. Arliss dismounted, her feet landing in a bed of Lasairbláth. Petals lined the open dell on either side of the river. Vines even crept up the sides of the mound beneath which the river flowed through a dark opening.

  Eamon and Philip reined up and dismounted. Philip tightened his sword belt, then stuffed the carynx through it beneath his cloak.

  Eamon sucked in his breath. “How long it’s been!”

  Arliss tied the reins of her horse around the leaning trunk of a sapling. “You have no idea the things that happened in this place. Hardly more than a year ago, a castle wall filled the gap where we are standing.”

  Eamon cinched up his horse’s reins. “I’ve come to believe the impossible quite readily.”

  Their conversation faded away as Arliss strode across the dell and towards the top of the waterfall. Ice sheeted the face of the mountains that circled the clearing, and even the edges of the river had start
ed to freeze.

  She cautiously stuck her finger into the water and quickly jerked it back.

  Eamon tramped over. “Cold?”

  “At least.” She peered into the hole. “I don’t even want to think about going down it.”

  He removed his belt and tightened it around the outside of his cloak to protect his sword and satchel. “Then don’t think about it. Just do it.”

  Arliss’s chest had constricted with cold by the time she slipped off the last of the steps hewn into the side of the waterfall. Only one month past, she had made this same journey—half-falling down the treacherously slick slabs of stone—for the first time.

  The water had turned her hair to ice. Her cloak, too, hung dripping about her body, though everything beneath it had stayed relatively dry. Her bowstring she had tucked deep in her breast. It certainly wouldn’t do to have that get wet.

  Eamon crunched around on the beach, surveying the oasis that spread out on all sides of the lake which the waterfall cascaded into. The mountainsides above and behind them looked like diamonds with their icy coverings. Snow strained the branches of still-green trees all around the lake. Even in December, the place looked alive and beautiful beyond anywhere else in the realm.

  Arliss stepped towards the waterfall’s rush as Philip scrambled off the stair. “Are you ready?”

  Eamon nodded. “It is time.”

  Arliss passed through the waterfall as quickly as she could. The sheer chill of the water blasted the breath from her lungs, and she stumbled towards the back of the dark cave.

  She forced a breath of frozen air into her chest, then reached into her wet satchel. She pulled out the crown—gold, silver, and sapphire, gleaming like the boldest of stars even in the cave’s darkness.

  Eamon and Philip splashed through the waterfall behind her.

  She fingered the indented hole in the stone doorway. “Eamon, if you helped make the vaults, you should know what lies in them.”

  Eamon crunched across gravelly sand. “No. I helped, but only my father knew which gifts lay hidden where. He gave the sword for me to bear, and the crown also to me—to be hidden at a later time, I think.”