by Bo Burnette
Ríon folded his arms gravely. “Not all of Anmór. There are the faithful few. But even those who are not among my ranks do not know what Thane is planning. Even I do not know very much.”
Gally motioned for Eamon and Clare to sit. Clare nestled on the couch beside Ríon, with Gally on her other side. Eamon heaved himself beside Arliss with a snort. Philip also sat grudgingly beside her. Erik remained standing.
Gally addressed Eamon. “Tell us what you know, and we shall tell you what we know, and thus get something like the whole story.”
Eamon growled through his words. “Thane has allied with Merna to kill these Reinholdian runaways. My alliances with her are now broken, no thanks to them. Spies and soldiers may be on our trail even now. Two of our company are missing, but we think they took the rail south. Who can say what stop they may have gotten off at. I want only to wash my hands of them, but she insists on finding the treasures of Reinhold.”
Gally shook his head. “Eamon, Eamon, you were ever headstrong and grumbling when you were my pupil. But inside your heart is good. Do not hide it, my son.”
Arliss tilted her head. “He was your pupil?”
Eamon nodded. “For a time. How else does a ship’s captain learn to be a healer?”
Gally chuckled. “Many years ago, he came to me a sight thinner and more bedraggled than he is now. Ever since then, this lodge has been his home from time to time. His family is my family, especially with his sons being among Ríon’s numbers.”
“So Fiach and Finín are part of your band?” Philip asked Ríon.
“Yes.” Ríon nodded. “And I’m glad of it. Eamon’s sons are of the loyalest sort.”
Gally rose from the divan and ambled towards a door. “Come, let us get some fresh, cold air. I will tell you my part of the story.”
Philip restrained the shiver that wracked his body, steeling his face against the bite of the wind. No doubt Reinhold would be getting its first snows. Now, the company of travelers and hosts stood atop a wooden watchtower and stared out at a wintry sea blanketed with clouds. This sea which lapped at the Anmórian shores also flowed around the Isle of Light; it spread east even unto the Cliffs of Aíll.
Philip slid his hand along one of the open tower’s wooden posts. It was almost as much of a treehouse as it was a tower. The smooth wood felt like hardened silk beneath his palm.
Arliss retracted her hands into her long sleeves. “Please tell me your side of the story.”
“You want to know about the gifts?” Gally asked. “You have come to the right person, for my ancestor was the lapidary who crafted each of the clans’ gifts long ago. He bound a book to go with it—Finscéal Agus Stair na Trí Clans.”
“You have that book as well?”
“Yes. I know of three gifts—the crown, the ring, and the sword. I also know of the three gifts crafted in secret: a healing vial, a metal sphere, and a mysterious pendant whose power no one knows for certain.”
Philip stared at the wood beams at his feet. He hadn’t heard talk of a metal sphere yet. These secret gifts seemed to add layer upon layer to the other gifts’ enigmas.
Erik stepped forward, slicing the conversation to its point. “Where are they now?”
Gally stared up at the darkening sky. “Thane has found the crown and given it to Merna.”
Erik nodded. “I knew that much from my investigation.”
Gally continued, “The ring, I am not certain. But I am almost certain Thane found it.”
Ríon stepped into the middle of the circle, his breath billowing like smoke through the icy wind. “Thane has the ring. In fact, I suspect he himself bears it. He has nearly said as much on more than one occasion. I don’t dare to question him further, though, ‘specially not with the accords.”
“The accords?” Arliss asked.
Clare nodded. “Although Merna despises Ríon’s band, he is the prince. So she permits him to do his work, as long as he does not meddle with her private army. Thane is the head of that force.”
Philip felt almost speechless. “So you have spoken with Thane?”
“Only when I must,” Ríon said. “And I assure you he has the ring. Though, if I were to question him further, he would likely kill me.” His square jaw tightened. “I myself would kill him if I could.”
Gally shook his head. “Now is not the time. Though it will come—and perhaps by your hand.”
“It must be by my hand.” Ríon’s eyes blazed in the sunset. “You said so yourself.”
Gally held up a finger. “I said it would be by the hand of a king’s child.”
Arliss gasped, and everyone turned to look at her. “You have foreseen that? My mother said she foresaw it, also.”
“Then it must be true, if your mother is a true seer—one with the Spirit in her. Indeed, I think Thane can be killed only by the offspring of a king. Perhaps one bearing one of the gifts—who knows? Ríon here bears the ring of Anmór. You are on your way to finding your own gifts.”
Philip fixed his eyes on Gally. There was still one gift completely ignored, unaccounted for. “What about the sword of Reinhold?”
Gally struck a flint and cast the flame into the pit which appeared before their feet.
A blaze sprung up, nipping nearly at the toes of Philip’s boots. He stepped back as Gally spoke.
“The sword of Reinhold is in our midst, is it not?”
Eamon drew a deep breath. Then he reached into the folds of his cloak and drew out his sword—gleaming, jeweled, and majestic. “Yes, it is.”
Arliss had discovered this during the ordeal in the castle garden. Merna had threatened Eamon because he bore the sword of Reinhold. What with getting stabbed and hurtling to Glasberry by train, the fact had completely slipped her memory.
Yet there it shone, reflecting the firepit hardly five feet before her. Eamon’s eyes were even sharper in the firelight, and he held her gaze for a long moment.
“Thief,” Arliss spat.
“I am not a thief,” Eamon spat back. “The sword of Reinhold has been abroad for many years. I am simply the one entrusted to bear it.”
Arliss strode around the fire. “By Merna—that snake!” She stood on her toes to look Eamon in the eyes. Her hands clamped his around the pommel of the sword. “Give me what is mine!”
Philip peeled her hands away, tugging her backwards. “Arliss, calm down!”
She tore herself from his grasp. “I will not calm down! That lying excuse for a ship’s captain has the sword of my people.”
Eamon sheathed the sword and cocked his head. “It is safe in my hands.”
Gally stepped between them. “Peace, all of you! We shall not argue over this. Let the treasures stay in the hands that now hold them, at least for this day. Mayhaps tomorrow will be a day for parley and war. Now, I am going to prepare a meal, and we will all eat and rest peacefully.” He eyed Eamon. “Some deserve the gifts they have, even if they seem poorly given.”
Arliss felt like her feet had been cut from beneath her. She stared in shock as Eamon turned and followed Gally from the wooden tower. Philip stomped after them, and Arliss glared at his back. What right did he have to stop her from pursuing her own treasures?
Erik walked alongside Ríon to the top of the stair, then paused, his hand hovering over the thick ropes that served as railing. He turned to face Arliss. “If you want him to love you, you have to love him back.”
Arliss exhaled, refusing to respond.
Erik darted down the stairs.
Ríon offered his hand to Clare. “Will you come with us?”
Clare shook her head. “Arliss and I must have a moment, please.”
Ríon nodded and left.
Arliss stared out at the crimson sunset which spread over the ocean, dipping like a citrus fruit into the chilly waters. She knew Clare was eyeing her, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. She didn’t want a moment. She didn’t need a moment.
Clare folded her arms, chin pressed to her chest, liquid eyes up to t
he horizon. “You are in love.”
“I was,” Arliss dipped her head. “Not anymore.”
“Why do you say that? Why would you curse your love?”
“Because I don’t understand it!” She clawed at the rope railing and looked desperately to Clare.
“Who can understand love? It isn’t meant to be comprehended.” Clare smiled halfway. “I’m in love with Ríon.”
“I gathered that much.”
“But he is a prince—the sole heir to the throne. I am a commoner. Ríon cannot marry me, yet he has pledged himself to me. I do not know why.”
“Can he not marry whom he will? He is the prince.”
“No. Even if he did, Merna would have me killed before she saw me as her successor. That woman knows no boundaries.”
Arliss released the rope. “He cannot marry you, but you have his heart. That is confusing indeed.”
“Is it the same with you?”
“No.”
“Then what stands between you? Your parents?”
“My parents love Philip with all their hearts. It’s just that I don’t feel in love with him as I once did. And I suppose that’s wrong, and I’ve tried to love him, tried to change, but I cannot make things as they once were.”
Clare put a hand on Arliss’s shoulder. “Perhaps things aren’t supposed to be as they once were. I don’t feel hardly a bit the same way about Ríon as I did when we first fell in love—no, ‘course not. Our love is deeper, fuller. Maybe you just need to deepen.”
“I hope that you are right.” Arliss breathed. “I wish you were.”
Clare’s eyebrows tightened. “Your accent is different from Anmórians. I met two others with an accent like yours—that clear, simple tone.”
“Two others? Where?”
“In the capital city. I helped them to the station. A tall young man with dark hair, and a young woman with hair even darker. She had a tiny notebook with her.” Clare indicated the size of the notebook.
Arliss gasped, as stunned as if she had been stabbed again. “Ilayda.”
Chapter Thirty-one: Trains
THE WIND THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW SLOWLY FROSTED Orlando’s bare fingertips where he gripped the railing of the train, staring out into the night. A half-day’s search, and now a half-day’s train ride, and still no sign of any of the Reinholdian company.
He squeezed the rail tighter, his hand becoming one with the tube of metal ice. He should have forced Clare to tell him more—should have taken her with him. But, of course, that wasn’t allowed. He gritted his teeth. If only Merna hadn’t instated those stupid accords! They had done more harm than good to his mission thus far.
In the dim corner of the otherwise empty train car, Thane bent over a stack of maps and papers. “Close the window, why don’t you?”
Orlando hesitated for a moment, slitting his eyes in Thane’s direction, before slowly sliding the window shut. The wind still railed against the glass outside.
“You are mad,” Thane said. “It’s cold as the devil out there, and still you sit there freezing.”
“The cold does not bother me.”
“I find it extremely bothersome.” Thane poised his splayed fingers over a map. “Are you ready to finish this job, once and for all?”
Orlando nodded. “I will not fail you.”
The tension in Thane’s jaw softened. “We cannot risk them returning to Reinhold, not after what they’ve seen. If they learn any more, it could be utterly disastrous. I want them all dead.”
Once again, Orlando’s heart fought itself within his chest. He shoved the air from his lungs, rattling it through his clenched teeth. “Why kill them?”
“I just told you.” Thane looked back down at his maps. “They will return to Reinhold with warnings, and our plans will be useless.”
“But they are good people.” The words escaped Orlando’s mouth before he could restrain them.
Thane stood, his gold-lined cape falling about his heels. He towered over where Orlando sat. “They are not good people. There are no good people in this world. No good, do you hear me? They stole my throne, destroyed my fortress. They deserve to die.”
Orlando gulped, but the defiance that had been buried in his mind could stay there no longer. “Are you not trying to steal their throne? Are you not trying to destroy their fortress?”
Thane’s eyes raged, and his breath burst out hot into Orlando’s face. “Do not question me! Do this—destroy them—and you will be the heir to my lordship in Reinhold.”
“You would name me as your heir?” Orlando stood up, breathing hard. How could Thane show this kindness to him? “I am not fit to govern a state.”
“You will be, in time.” Thane clasped Orlando’s shoulder. “But this, this present mission, this is your test. Do not fail it.”
The train squeaked and slowed, and Orlando looked out the iced window.
They were coming around Glasberry.
Arliss shuffled through the door and back into the den. Philip and Erik had vanished—presumably to help Gally with supper—and now Eamon sat alone, staring through the window at the final moments of the bloody orange sunset. His eyes flicked for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t acknowledge she had entered the room. His arms remained folded firmly across his thick chest.
She strode over to him and swung another of the window panes open. “Clare told me something interesting.”
Eamon still stared out the window. “Clare always has something interesting to tell, to teach. She’s quite a fascinating person.”
Arliss huffed in exasperation at his nonchalance. “She saw them—Ilayda and Brallaghan—back in the capital. She sent them on the train south.”
Now she had his attention. He unfolded his arms and gaped at her. “Truly? But that would have taken them here. They should have been here to meet us!”
“Unless they stopped somewhere along the way.”
“Why would they stop?”
Her heart burned with pain—regret—at not knowing where Thane had taken either her ship or her faithful captain-lord. “Brallaghan will be looking for his father. And if I know him, he will take any step—no matter how rash.”
“But Ilayda?”
“She will follow him anywhere.”
“I thought as much,” Eamon said.
Gally entered the room with a tray of olives and crackers, just as something rattled outside. The noise crescendoed into a chugging roar. Gally practically dropped the tray and hurried to the window. “Close the shutters—now, now! Remember: no prying eyes!”
Arliss got a glimpse of the shadowy train approaching as he slammed the shutters over the windows.
Something pulsed through her body as the train neared. A sharp tug prodded her heart. She stood still a moment, hardly able to breathe. Then she realized God was speaking to her—how, she knew not. What mattered was that He was. She pushed away from the window.
“Ilayda is on that train.”
Eamon whirled from the window, his steely eyes flashing. “What?”
“I said, Ilayda is on that train.” She grabbed up her bow from where it lay beside the divan.
He stepped in front of her. “You don’t know that. Don’t go out there. Not in the dark.”
She pushed against him. “I am going out there, and if you want to stop me, you have a very fine stolen sword to use against me. I am a bloody good shot with a bow, though, so you’ve been warned.”
Gally slipped between them as Philip and Erik exited the kitchen. “Please, enough.” He turned to face Arliss. “Are you certain of this?”
She cinched her quiver around her waist. “As certain as if my life depended on it. Don’t laugh at me, but…I sensed God’s Spirit speaking to me.”
Gally nodded, a smile pulling the wrinkles around his mouth. “I would never laugh at one with such truth in her eyes.”
Arliss stepped around them, meeting Philip’s bewildered (and Erik’s less-bewildered) face. “Ilayda’s on that train. Someth
ing’s wrong—get your weapons.”
Without waiting for a response or a rebuttal, she elbowed through the door, already fingering an arrow around her bowstring.
No matter how many times she ventured outside, the sharp bite of the cold air stunned her. A cloak would have been nice—but no, no, she had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep warm. Keep warm, keep moving. Just like that train. She darted forward into the night and towards the track.
The train screamed around the bend, rattling the iron tracks all the way to where she stood. She glanced back at the lodge. It had become almost invisible in the fading light with the shutters closed.
The train was almost upon her. It cast up sheets of sandy mud on either side as it hurtled across the barren seaside landscape.
A few uneven shapes dotted the top of both the first and the last passenger cars. She squinted, barely making out what had to be two human forms atop the train. Then someone in the conductor’s car relit the dead lantern which swung from the side, and Arliss saw a flash of color atop the first passenger car.
She’d have known the murrey of Ilayda’s gown and the brown of her hair anywhere. Now, a surge of joy shot through her chest and out her lips. “Ilayda! Over here!”
Ilayda’s eyes widened despite the prick of the cold air. Arliss? It couldn’t be…
But surely enough, there stood her friend, bow in one hand, other hand waving wildly. Ilayda gasped with joy. “Arliss!”
Brallaghan started, nearly losing his grip on the sheer metallic top of the rattling train. He shouted in Ilayda’s ear to be heard through the wind. “What? Did you call for Arliss?”
Ilayda belted back, “Yes! She’s right over there!”
Brallaghan’s eyes also widened. Then, he seemed to see something else, and his eyes grew even larger. “Look!”
The train had slowed to round the bend in the track. Still clenching the indentions in the metal roof, Ilayda contorted her neck to see what—or who—had demanded Brallaghan’s attention.