The Borderlands (Book Two): War

by Aderyn Wood

  “Yes, that’s exactly how it was.”

  “You can access raw power now, but there are limits.”

  “You mean the balance?”

  Her father nodded. “Just so.”

  “On the mountaintop, where I found Azazel, I cast a fireball. My magic is working.”

  Her father smiled. “Of course it is. Before, you were trying to use it as one of the Second uses magic, drawing from the energy in the environment and elements around them. You are a daughter of the First, and your magic operates from within, not from without.”

  “But after, dead birds fell from the sky. And I noticed parts of the forest had died too. Az told me it was the balance demanding a price for my magic.”

  “It shouldn’t surprise you. It is the fundamental law of our universe, daughter. All must be in harmony. Yes, when you use your magic, the world will demand payment. Here, in the lands of the First, there is no great imbalance that needs restoring. Unlike the worlds of the Third on Earth, and now the Second in the Borderlands.” Her father looked at her with fervent green eyes. “Your magic is the counterbalance to the Unseelie threat, and to the evil on Earth. Now that you know how, you must use it to set the balance right. But over use it, and the universe shall demand some other payment. Perhaps a plague, perhaps a fire, perhaps the death of thousands. In time, you will grow to understand the balance and see it more clearly, but you are still very young, and you must use your magic with caution, daughter.”

  The weight of responsibility pressed down on her shoulders like a concrete cloak, and she frowned. She almost wished she still doubted the prophecy. Knowing she was the saviour proved a difficult pill to swallow. “So you cannot help me? With the Unseelie?”

  Her father’s brow creased. “I hope to, through you. You are the one who can walk in all worlds without undoing the balance. You are a First, but your body is of the Second and your mind was shaped by the Third. You are my gift to all worlds. I will help them through you. You have the strength to do what needs to be done. I must remain here; I have my own battles to fight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her father’s eyes seemed suddenly drawn and tired. “There are few of us left. Us of the First. Only two in fact. The others were killed, and that is what gave birth to this chaos in the first place.”

  “Killed?” Dale didn’t know of any other First, apart from those in the lessons given by Sa’r Atapole in which he told of the great giants who had created all and ruled from beyond the mysterious Verge. But all of that was in the darkest hour of history. The lessons had reminded Dale of history taught at school when she’d studied the Ancient Greek mythos. She’d never truly believed them. But here she was, talking to one of those so-called giants, and he was her father. Ordo, Az had called him – the stag. Dale’s heart fluttered. She really was amongst the gods.

  “Yes, killed.” The sadness in his eyes made them seem vividly green, just as Dale’s did whenever she cried.

  “How were they killed?”

  Her father looked at her again. “Through greed and treachery, yes, that was the why, but it was my brother’s hand that did the slaying.”

  Dale gawked. “Your brother?”

  “Your uncle, daughter.”

  Dale searched her memory of those early lessons. “Your brother. Acheron?” According to the histories, they were twins who’d been warring for centuries.

  Her father raised a finger in warning. “Do not let him capture you. And if he does, you must call to me. And you must not let him sway you to his side.”

  “Father,” Dale reached out, she suddenly wanted to embrace him. But a gnome appeared between them, his yellow coat torn and an expression of sheer terror on his face.

  Her father picked him up, shushed quietly to him, and told him he was safe now. He let the gnome down then turned to Dale. “There is much more to discuss, but that will have to wait for a time you call the future. Come, let me help you.” He formed his mouth into an O shape and blew. Warm air caressed Dale’s skin, her clothes dried in seconds, the patch that was torn mended, and the wounds on her shoulder and forehead healed.

  “It is time to summon your hysbryd,” her father said. “Use your power wisely, and know this: everything rests on the peak of a mountaintop. Use too much power and the universe will react. With just enough you shall know victory – but every action has a reaction. The fundamental law of life.”

  Dale gave him a solemn nod. I’m not all-powerful after all.

  Her father put a hand on her shoulder. “The moon is rising, the Unseelie are gaining. Return to Arcadia and do what you must.”

  29

  The moon was full in the night sky and it lit the world in a bluish-silvery light making all beautiful yet eerie. The dragon took Dale east, through the shimmering shields of the Forbidden Forest and then south, toward Arcadia. As they flew the terrain changed. The snow-capped mountains were left far behind and the forest became younger, less autumnal. An icy chill swept through the air, but her dragon’s scales were warm.

  Now they flew over the deep valley where Dale had first seen the Unseelie horde with Balak. Tendrils of betrayal pierced her heart whenever she thought about the horse master. Questions about that would have to wait with everything else. Remnants of the battle scarred the terrain. Corpses littered the ground like dead autumn leaves, and blackened trees and rocks from sorcery blemished the valley.

  On they flew, leagues and leagues whizzing by, the signs of battle everywhere.

  “Three worlds,” Dale uttered. “How far have they come?”

  They have been here; I can smell their stench. Her dragon replied with no hint of hostility.

  “But how have the moved so fast?”

  We’ve been in the land of the First, time moves slower there.

  Of course. Sa’r Atapole had taught them that too.

  The night wore on but Dale didn’t tire. A nervous storm brewed in her core. She’d found her hysbryd, she’d found the secret to her magic, but she’d had no time for practice. No time for plans and strategies. No time to understand more of the balance. What if she made a mistake?

  She looked up. The moon a large silver orb offered the perfect mix of elements for scrying.

  Mother, she focused the thought as she slipped her vision into the true realm.

  A vision of her mother came to mind. It was difficult to see where she sat but people milled around her. Vaguely familiar. The war council?

  Mother, Dale sent the thought again and this time her mother lifted her chin and moved quickly to a fireplace, looking into the flames, her face now clearly visible.

  I am coming, Mother.

  That is well. Tears glistened in her mother’s eyes, and their connection wavered. Dale frowned; she should be able to maintain the link now. Something as simple as scrying, while it takes energy, even for the most masterful sorcerer, for Dale it should be as easy as talking to someone on the phone on Earth. So why did the connection waver? Unless…

  Her mother’s face grew clearer, and her tears now fell freely. Don’t go to the palace. Her face wavered again, until her image was replaced by the moon, their connection severed for good.

  Dale turned her face toward their destination. Things were bad. It was her mother who broke their connection. Her emotions were in a spin. Something had happened.

  “Faster,” Dale yelled.

  Az lifted her body and beat her wings double time, soaring above the clouds, gliding on the highest winds. Particles of ice shot through the wind and stung Dale’s cheeks. She clung close to Az’s warmth, but her shivering grew more violent.

  The moon was at its peak when Az finally began her descent. The winds calmed a notch and Dale could see the terrain more clearly once again.

  In the distance, a glow bloomed in the night. It snuggled in a valley and reflected off a large lake.

  “Arcadia,” Dale whispered.

  Az flew closer still. The Emerald Tower stood white along with the palace – the prophecy
stone seemed to sing to her the closer they flew. The little villas of the city dotted the landscape. Signs of battle sprung up here too.

  “I think they’ve made it to the palace,” Dale said, her throat tight with emotion. Was she too late?

  We shall see, her dragon thought, and her wings beat their rhythm as they sped on, and down. Their shadow, dark and distinct, flew over the valley floor: a girl riding a dragon, the stuff of dreams.

  On beat the wings of her dragon and the wind whipped up her hair as they flew. The River Umbrael came into view, then Lake Verne, both sparkling silver in the moonlight. Beyond dotted little golden lights, Dale squinted into the wind, they were campfires.

  The palace came into sharper view and Dale took a quick breath. It was entirely overrun with Unseelie. Like an infestation of vermin, they had sacked the city and the palace. Beautiful homes were burning. Unseelie were everywhere, celebrating. Many appeared drunk. Had they found the palace’s store of wine and ale?

  Dale looked past the river at the campfires once more. Her mother had retreated to the other side; the citizens of Arcadia would be with her. All was nearly lost. Dale hoped she wasn’t too late.

  “Let’s do a loop of the palace. Not too close, we mustn’t be seen.”

  Az swerved toward the white towers that had been Dale’s home for more than a year. Monsters danced on its balconies. A loud low drum beat a monotonous and ugly rhythm while kegs and barrels of wine, emptied of their contents were thrown out and smashed on the path and the rocks below. They sacked Dale’s home. Her family’s beautiful artwork, it was being destroyed by evil savages.

  A group of Unseelie guards lined the palace’s entrance at the terrace, a strange stroke of order amongst the chaos. No doubt, Ricardo himself now occupied the palace. Would he be planning a final attack on her mother? How had he taken it? His power must have surpassed her mother’s for him to have achieved such a feat.

  To the east, the path that led to Dale’s little boat and the Eastern gate came into sight, a thin pale ribbon in the moonlight. It wound up the mountainside, the very path she had taken with Balak, weeks before.

  “Over there, that clearing, that is where we shall land. And softly this time.”

  Az grunted, but in a matter of moments, she settled them in the clearing and Dale dismounted, her feet once again on solid ground. They were at the cross-paths. The trail east led to Joy.

  The old desire to flee, to escape her fears and her failures rose in Dale’s chest but she fought it down. She had no choice but to return to Arcadia, to her mother, and help them fight the Unseelie, regain the palace and their city. The time for childish dreams of running away was over.

  Dale faced Az. “Stay here, or hunt. But be sure no one sees you. Seelie or Unseelie.” Dale needed to get the measure of the war, and a dragon would be sure to cause a distraction to her people. She wanted to keep her from the Unseelie too. The element of surprise was a powerful one in battle; she could remember that much from her combat lessons.

  You can be sure of that; I’ve no desire to associate with the likes of either.

  “I will call you when I need you.”

  Are you going to walk all that way?

  Dale raised an eyebrow. “You almost sound as though you care.”

  The dragon scoffed, turning a nostril. I’m merely curious. It’s a long way for a creature with two little legs such as you.

  Dale turned back to the view of Arcadia. Cruel fires dotted the once beautiful city; towers of smoke filled the air. “It won’t take me long, and I need to think.”

  She started off at a jog, then moved to a sprint. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been able to maintain such a pace, but she opened the window within her consciousness, accessing the pool of power, her connection to the void, an infinite mass of raw energy. She allowed a thin trickle to feed her blood, her bones, her muscles, and she moved faster still.

  Soon enough she paused at the foot of the mountain, near the southern bridge that crossed the river and led to the city and the palace. She crouched behind a shrub and peered around it. A group of Seelie soldiers stood on guard at the southern side of the bridge. They wore full plate mail and moved with nervous tension. Dale snapped her vision to the true realm; the soldiers’ auras were a mess. Orange, purple, and red swirled and eddied around them, fracturing with shades of black. Dale swore aloud. They were afraid, as they should be, but worse, some were thinking of fleeing, to join the Unseelie.

  Beyond them, a mirage, similar to the shields that guarded the Forbidden Forest, hovered over the bridge. A protection seal, one her mother would have cast to prevent the Unseelie from coming over this side of the river. Dale turned her attention to the river; the water was filled with an equal measure of water and aether. A spell, aeons old, still worked its magic on the river that surrounded Arcadia. Any Unseelie entering the water would die an agonizing death.

  Dale snapped her vision back and looked to the other side of the bridge. The Unseelie had no one guarding their side yet. They were still intent on sacking the city. No doubt, by morning that would change. They would fortify their position and ready for another attack. Ricardo had her mother in his grasp; he would want to destroy her that was a certainty.

  Dale crept through the low shrubs and onto the path that followed the southern bank. The fires of the city reflected on the inky waters of the river. Soon she passed the city and a vast camp came into view. Her people – refugees in their own land. Only the river, a stretch of land and a stand of trees separated them from the dark power of Ricardo and the Unseelie monsters. Vulnerable didn’t begin to describe their situation. The Unseelie might be busy drinking the entire winter store of the palace’s ale, wine and mead, but if not tomorrow, then soon enough they would ready for more war.

  She walked through the camp. Crude tents had been lashed together with leather, canvas and rope. Families cooked meagre meals over campfires. Mothers hushed children, many of whom cried, wanting to know when they could return home. Defeat and sadness filled the atmosphere, her people’s auras revealed their pain, confusion and fear. Some looked up at her, one or two showed widened eyes when they recognised their prodigal princess returning to the fold. But they soon turned back to their tasks.

  In the centre of the encampment stood the large white tent where the war council met. She headed toward it. Her heart pounding as she suddenly thought of the reception she might receive when her mother and everyone else saw her again.

  Dale stood at the tent’s entrance. Her hand held the leather strap ready to open the flap to enter. She could hear the voices within. Her mother spoke, “Such a seal would be impossible, Aethyll. I can barely maintain the seal on the bridges.”

  “Then we must think about fleeing, tonight, while those evil creatures are busy sacking our city.” Dale recognised the elderly voice of Sa’r Atapole. A shot of vengeful anger grasped her heart as she thought of striding in and showing off her new found talent. The look of shock on Sa’r Atapole’s normally smug face would deliver such satisfaction. But that was not the way she should feel. Evil was a temptation that manifested in the most ordinary of whims. She must not succumb to it. Her magic was a gift for one purpose only, not for selfish reward.

  “And where would we go, Master?” Sa’r Coneril’s voice. He sounded flat, defeated, and exhausted. “East or west, it matters not. They will chase us to the very end and we shall soon expend all options. No, we’ve but one choice. Stand and fight.”

  Dale took a breath and opened the flap.

  A brazier burned in the very centre of the tent under a smoke hole. To one side, chests of weapons and armour lined the tent walls. Dale recognised the dragon hilt of her own sword and resisted the temptation to grab it. It was the war table that drew her attention now. They were all seated around it. The Masters, Coneril, Atapole, Aethyll, and Sivylla. The leaders Hemlyn, Xinthia, Goriel and Qurth. Jaral, Rhys and the queen. Her mother saw her first and her eyes widened, then everyone else turned to stare.
/>   Dale stepped forward.

  The queen stood and rushed to her. “Daughter! You’ve returned.” She half sobbed as she drew Dale into a warm embrace. Her mother’s deep relief washed over Dale like a wave.

  She closed her eyes and returned her mother’s embrace, holding her tight. A flood of guilt rose through her for making her mother endure such an emotional trial, thinking she’d lost her daughter, with everything else she had to deal with. It was too much.

  The queen stepped back, tears lining her cheeks. She looked exhausted. Red-rimmed eyes, worry lines and pale skin made her appear as though she’d finally aged. She was thinner too.

  “I’m so sorry, Mother. Please forgive me.” Dale said, tears now blurring her vision.

  The queen shook her head. “When I stopped sensing you… I sent runners to find you but they came back ignorant. Then Stella returned without you and Balak is still missing. What happened?”

  “Yes, Princess. I think you ought to come and sit. An explanation is in order.” Sa’r Atapole said, gesturing to a stool.

  Dale turned to the others. They were all angry with her, and disappointed. She didn’t have to open her second sight to know; Dale could see it all over their faces. Even Rhys, especially Rhys. He could barely look at her his anger was so tangible.

  Dale nodded. She’d better make a good case of it. “I wanted to find Ness, and I convinced Balak to take me to a portal he knew of back to Earth.”

  “A portal?” Jaral asked.

  “You found her? Ness?” Rhys talked over him, glancing to the queen. His eyes showed no kindness as they usually did. Only exhaustion and sadness.

  “Please.” The queen held up her hand. “Let Dalendra tell her tale in full, then we will have questions.”

  Jaral nodded, while Rhys maintained his stony stare. Dale went ahead and told them the whole messy story. They frowned and grimaced, and Sa'r Coneril thumped the table with a heavy fist when she told them of Balak’s treachery.

  The sorcery master raised his white bushy eyebrows and stroked his long beard. “So it was Balak, our traitor.”