Elucia was pacing back and forth when Brea entered the room.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
Gialyn, Arfael, and the others were all there. Including Elka, the woman Elspeth had befriended. Vila’s one-time maid had probably come to say goodbye. At least she hoped that was the case; surely the woman wasn’t coming, too.
“Nothing, nothing,” Elucia said, waving her hands in a calming gesture. “It’s just Olivia… uh, no, it’s nothing… everything will be fine. You’re early.” The witch put her hands on her hips and gazed about the room. “You’re all early. We have half an hour yet.”
“Never mind that,” Brea said, dropping her bag on the floor. “Why are you pacing? What has happened to Olivia?”
Elucia stared at her for a long moment, but her stubborn gaze softened before Brea had to ask again. “The siege has begun. Olivia might be interrupted during the Travelling.”
Exclamations of “What!” “Now you tell us,” and, “I told you she was too young!” echoed around the room—mostly from the other witches.
“And what will happen to us if she is interrupted?” Brea asked.
“Nothing, you’ll just have to come back, try again later.”
Elspeth threw her arms up in the air. “That’s it,” she growled. “You can’t guarantee us getting there any sooner than if we were to take the dragons. I’m not risking Gialyn for nothing.”
Again, the room went quiet, until…
“It isn’t up to you, Elspeth,” Gialyn told her. “We must trust Olivia to find a way. We have to get there today.”
Gialyn sounded different, surer of himself. If Brea didn’t know him, she would say he was older.
Elspeth dropped into a chair and stared indignantly at Gialyn. “You’re not well enough. Look at you, you can hardly sit up straight; how are you going to walk across this… Arenthenia for two hours?”
“I can carry him,” Arfael said, patting Gialyn on the shoulder, “if needs be.”
Elspeth laughed. Shaking her head, she said, “You may be big, Arfael, but not even you could carry Gialyn for that long.”
Arfael shrugged. “No problem. I’ll change into the Cinnè’arth if I get tired. I will easily—”
“NO!” Elucia shrieked. The woman stomped up to Arfael and planted herself in front of him. “Under no circumstances will you change into the Cinnè’arth while we are in Arenthenia, young man. Do you hear me? No… circumstances… what…so… ever…!”
“Why?” Arfael asked, backing away a pace.
“Because you… won’t…” Elucia trailed off at the sight of Geraldine shaking her head. “Just trust me. It wouldn’t be good, for any of us.”
Arfael blinked and looked over his shoulder at Geraldine. Apparently, he wanted answers—so did Brea—but he let it be.
“We might as well check our supplies,” Elucia said. “We won’t be able to eat the fruit or drink the water in there.”
Brea didn’t need to check her bag, but she watched as the other did. Perching on the edge of a chair, she wondered whether Aleria would be waiting in Arenthenia. She hoped not, she would have to introduce her ancestor to the others. For some reason, she felt it best to keep the witches in the dark about her great, great, great grandmother. Still, she wasn’t supposed to meet Aleria for a few days. Hopefully she wouldn’t be there.
She pushed the thought from her mind, sat back in the chair, and waited.
* * *
Olivia had decided, reluctantly, the only thing to do was tell Chrissa—at breakfast, where the woman was less likely to rant and shout. There was no way to keep her bodyguard busy for two or three hours while she used the Lier’sinn, short of tying the woman up or drugging her with one of Master Rohan’s sleep potions—she had thought of that; a little ousblud in her tea wouldn’t hurt her. But Chrissa would know what she had done, and likely never trust her again. That price was too much to pay, even for carrying out Elucia’s orders.
For ten minutes, she played with her bowl of now-cold porridge, occasionally looking up at Chrissa. The woman would glance at her, unspeaking, before continuing with her own breakfast. Olivia felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. One step, and she would fall, and there would be nothing to do but wait and see what happened when she hit the bottom: would Chrissa stop her from contacting Elucia? Would she tell the King?
Thankfully, the small dining room was empty, and the maids were busy in the kitchen next door. Olivia took a deep breath and began to tell her bodyguard about her mother, the witches, how she was communicating with them… She wasn’t going to tell her everything, but once she started, she found she could not stop.
“Well?” Olivia asked, shuffling in her seat. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Chrissa smiled. “So they’re finally going to let you visit. It’s about time.”
Olivia closed her mouth—she must have looked like a fish. “How… what… how long have you known?”
Chrissa leaned forward. “Your mother… I’ve always known,” she whispered. “But I’d just as soon you didn’t tell anybody.”
Olivia didn’t know what to think. Relief was her first emotion, followed by… annoyance. All this time, skulking around, trying to hide what she was doing from Chrissa. She would have to have words with her bodyguard. That could wait, though.
“My mother, why did she tell you? Are you from Eiras, too? You don’t look northern.”
“Oh, I came across her little secret by accident, found her talking into that… bowl, much like you were doing this morning. I don’t know why you think anyone would be bothered; the Circle of Twelve is no enemy of Bailryn.”
No enemy? That may be so, but few people in the palace would call them friends. “I was told to always be guarded. There is a lot of Power there. I was warned about people trying to use me to get to the Circle.”
“Aye, and I suppose you mother told you that?”
Olivia started; she had never heard Chrissa use that tone when talking about her mother. “Yes, she did, as a matter of fact. Why, is there something wrong with her advice?”
Chrissa shook her head. “No, not really. Just remember, your mother left Eiras because she fell in love with the King. Some weren’t happy about their… relationship. You… well, you’re different, and you’ve always lived here.”
Chrissa pushed her plate away and scraped her chair back. “Anyway, isn’t it about time we went back? I overheard Elucia say ‘one hour.’ It’s nearly that now.”
Olivia jumped to her feet. Spinning on her heels, she stared at the clock above the kitchen door. “Gods, yes. Come on. We’ll be late.”
Chrissa was already holding the door open for her.
Olivia felt… well, she didn’t know how she felt. Someone in the palace knowing her secret; she wasn’t sure if she like the idea or not. Either way, it was done now. She would have to trust Chrissa. The woman had never given her a reason to doubt her—at least, not yet.”
* * *
“How is it that she can use the Lier’sinn?” Brea asked Elucia. “She’s only seventeen; that’s too young.”
Geraldine chuckled, and Elucia rolled her eyes. “And just exactly how would a bowl know your age?”
Brea blinked. Why had she never thought of that? She’d just accepted it because that was what the dragons had told her. What else had they lied about? No, lied wasn’t the right word. They probably said, “eighteen” to stop her playing with it. Still, that didn’t stop her feeling the fool.
“I don’t care how old she is,” Elspeth said. “She’s late.”
“Oh calm yourself,” Elucia told her. “Olivia won’t let us down.”
Brea noticed Elucia glance at Geraldine. Maybe they weren’t so sure about the young girl.
Young girl? She is only a year younger than me.
Elspeth opened her mouth to say something but closed it when the Lier’sinn began to bubble up. Brea heard a girl’s voice coming from it.
“Why didn’t mine do that?” Brea asked.
“Did you have your fingers in it?” Elucia replied.
Brea shook her head.
Was it that simple? Place your fingers in the liquid to talk to someone hundreds of leagues away? There must be something else. Something they weren’t telling her.
“Can more than two be connected at once? Could all three of us talk to each other?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. We talk to the Euraku Witches and the Mages of Lebara all the time.”
“The who of the what?” Brea squeaked.
More witches, and… mages, too—she was beginning to feel like the last child at the picnic, the one that everyone had forgotten about.
Elucia laughed. “Another time, Brea. Have patience, there’s a lot yet for you to learn.”
An image of a ceiling formed in the Lier’sinn. And then Olivia came into view. Another woman was peering over her shoulder.
“Who is that,” Elucia asked Olivia. “What have you done, child?”
“I told you to wait over there,” Olivia said to the other woman.
“I wanted to see,” the woman said. “Is that really Eiras? Amazing! Just think what the royal guards could do with such a thing.”
“It is not a tool of war, miss,” Elucia hissed. “Now, who are you?”
“Oh, sorry,” the woman said. “I’m Chrissa, Olivia’s bodyguard. I was a friend of her mother. Have no fear; I have known of Olivia’s… associations since she was born.”
Brea could hear Elucia mumbling under her breath. The First Witch was clearly not happy with the stranger—or Olivia. There was little could be done about it, though, and after a moment, Elucia said, “We will talk about this later. Are you ready?”
Olivia nodded. “Yes. Now Chrissa is here, I should remain undisturbed for however long this may take.”
“Excellent,” Elucia said. “All you have to do is keep the Lier’sinn active. A few drops of blood when it begins to settle will be enough. Leave the rest to us.”
“That’s all?” Olivia said. “I just have to stand here and wait?”
“And keep the Lier’sinn active, yes. Oh, and you might want to move any furniture out of the way. The portal will be quite large, as big as a good-sized door. Maybe you should move yourselves into a bigger room.”
Olivia nodded.
Elucia turned to Gialyn. “All right, my boy, it’s up to you.”
* * *
It had not taken Gialyn long to open a portal—though it did appear to drain him—and before long, all six were standing on the hill, surrounded by the Fog of Arenthenia. Well, not everyone saw the mist; to Brea, and others like her, it appeared to be a glorious summer day.
“Can you see fog, Ealian?” Brea asked, wondering if his connection to Alacin’tien would mean he, too, could see clearly.
“Fog, and funny looking clouds,” Ealian said. “Not a very welcoming place, this Spirit Realm.”
“What about Alacin’tien?”
“Oh no,” Ealian said. “He’s been in charge quite enough, thank you. You’re stuck with me for a while.”
“So which way do we go?” Elspeth asked.
Elspeth had her arm around Gialyn’s waist, helping him to walk. Arfael was standing behind, looking like he was ready to pick the boy up at a moment’s notice. Brea had to admit, Gialyn did look pale, and he was holding the wound on his stomach.
Brea pointed to the road. “You should see a crease in the fog, a straight line running southwest.”
Elspeth nodded. “Is that the road you were talking about? It’s a long way from here. How far do we have to travel along it?”
“Not far,” Brea told her. “Once we’re on the Road, moving to Bailryn will take a matter of minutes. We just have to get there.”
“That’s going to take hours,” Ealian said.
“Then best we get a move on,” Elucia told him, slapping Ealian on the back. “Come on, follow me.”
The older woman pushed forward and strode down the path toward the wider trail. Ealian was right, it would take a few hours to reach the Road, but at least it was downhill. Brea waited for everyone to go by and followed at the rear. It was probably wise for someone who could “see” to be at the back. She didn’t think they would run into any bother, not like the first time she was here, but she was by no means sure. The quicker they were out, the better.
Then all I have to do is deal with the dragons.
* * *
Elspeth could see the Road. She knew she shouldn’t be able to, but there it was, buildings and all. And not just the Road; a patchwork of fields covered the land that stretched out before her. Buildings that could be farms were dotted here and there, and on the horizon, a tower, tall and sleek, stood on top of a hill.
What did it mean? Why could she see everything, too? Was that witch right? Did she have the Power?
She would have told Brea if the girl were not such a know-it-all. Maybe Elucia would help. No, the witch would be no better; she would likely drag her back to Eiras as soon as the opportunity arose. Who then? She had to talk to someone.
A chill caught in her throat as she pondered what her clear vision might mean, how her life might change now that she had a connection to the Voice. A part of her could see endless possibilities for adventure, and yet the thought of it made her dizzy. If she weren't already holding on to Gialyn, she would probably be stumbling down the steep path they now walked down.
Gialyn… of course. She would talk to him once he recovered. He had spoken to that Bausamon, maybe he could tell her what to expect. He probably wouldn’t know much more than she did, but at least she could trust him, share her worries with him. It would be better than telling Brea or Elucia, at any rate.
“Are you all right, does it hurt?” she asked Gialyn.
“A little, but not as much as I thought it might. I’ll manage.”
She smiled at him. He was very brave. She could tell his wound was painful. How could it not be? Still, he carried on walking without complaint.
What had happened to him? What had the dragon told him? Was he still her Gialyn, the same city boy she had seen watching her practise her archery?
He had changed since returning from Arenthenia. But that wasn’t surprising, she supposed. How could dying not change him? She wanted to ask questions; what was it like? Did he see spirits? Did he know he was dead? She shook off the thought. Questions would have to wait, they had to get to Bailryn so he could rest easy. The pale look on Gialyn’s face made that her priority—for now.
CHAPTER 6
The Wolf in the Room
Daric looked… wary, Aleban thought. Which was hardly surprising; the man was standing eye-to-eye with Farnok, and the wolf was taller by a good half-a-hand.
“And you say there are hundreds like you?” Daric asked Farnok. The man rubbed the back of his neck and wore a cheeky grin as he looked over his shoulder at the other officers. Twenty of them had squeezed into the common room of the Hungry Fisherman. “Where were you this morning?” Daric laughed as he turned back to face the wolf.
Farnok gazed around the room. He did not appear happy at the question. “Yes, we are hundreds, maybe a thousand. Why does that matter?” he asked Daric. “What happened this morning?”
“Oh, nothing really,” Daric said. “We had a little game with our Kel’madden friends. You would have been the icing on the cake.”
Farnok stared at the major, apparently confused. Aleban did not blame the big wolf; Daric wasn’t making any sense.
“Can we move along?” Aleban asked. “You still haven’t given any news of the Rukin. What happened during the attack at Redgate? Are Mott and the others safe?”
“Yes, yes, you’re right, Mr. Aleban,” General Mikelmoor, Daric’s friend, said. The old man rose from his seat and began to usher the other officers back out through the door. “We have matters to discuss,” he told them as they started to move, “and the rest of you have duties, I assume. If you don’t,
speak up, and I’ll find you something to do.”
The lesser officers groaned as they about-faced and made their way out. A few moments later, only half a dozen remained, including Daric and Grady—whom Aleban had been very pleased to see alive and well.
The general cleared his throat and, after picking up his goblet and taking a sip, he spoke. “A lot has happened this morning, Mr. Aleban, but nothing for you to worry about. We need your report if we’re going to decide how to deploy our new friends… I assume you are willing to take orders?” Mikelmoor asked Farnok.
“If they make sense,” the wolf replied. “We’re here to defeat the Kel’madden, not provide fodder for the Surabhan.”
The general’s eyebrows rose. “And I would never suggest such a thing, my good wolf. No, I need to know your numbers so I can tighten our defences. The Surabhan, and only the Surabhan, will be doing the attacking.”
It was Daric’s turn to raise a brow. “And who came up with that idea?” he asked Mikelmoor.
Aleban had a suspicion Daric already knew the answer.
Mikelmoor tapped the table with the base of his goblet. He looked uncomfortable. “His Majesty believes th—“
“His… Majesty.” Daric rolled his eyes. “He wants the glory for the Surabhan. Doesn’t he?”—he didn’t wait for an answer—“No, Mikelmoor, we are not playing politics with the lives of our troops, or those of our allies. I’ll not be a party to it. We will deploy the most efficient plan, regardless of who it involves.”
Renik, Farnok, and Grady all nodded their approval.
The big Cren, Renik, had thus far remained silent, which was a surprise; Aleban had expected the man to take over. Maybe the Cren was waiting for the right moment.
“You watch your station, Major,” the general told Daric. “His Majesty has a kingdom to protect. Due respect to our allies, we can’t have a rash of claims and petitions brought to the palace once the fighting is over with.”
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