The Golden Vial

by Thomas Locke

  Trestle tables were laid out and a good fare was offered. Of course, almost all of it came from produce supplied by the villagers. But with Norvin walking among them and the lady’s gold clinking at his belt, the gathering took on an air of muted good cheer.

  Dally remained because she felt it was expected of her. She heard villagers speak of Hyam as a sturdy lad with good sense and a strong back. Others recalled his seasoned eye as a forest hunter. Many spoke of some mysterious field deep within the forest, passed down through generations, which few had ever seen. Then Alembord overheard their talk and regaled them with Hyam’s life as a mage and emissary to the Ashanta. Disbelief turned to wonder as Alembord was joined by Meda, and the two of them described the battle of Emporis and the hunt across the yellow realm for the enemy who fought Hyam’s company in the legendary city of Alyss.

  Dally listened most intently of all, for she felt that hidden within these events were explanations for some of what befell her now. Her concentration was so intense, Norvin and Krim managed to approach her unseen.

  Norvin greeted her with, “Many changes afoot. And it appears you’re at the heart of them.”

  “I’m glad you saw fit to come,” Dally replied.

  “It was the only way,” Norvin said, looking at his wife as he spoke. “Go on, my dear.”

  Krim’s bulky form was taut and her throat constricted as she said, “I apologize for any slight or slur I might have offered you.” She quailed as a grim-faced Meda stepped up beside Dally, one hand resting upon her sword hilt. Krim finished in a rush. “I hope there are no hard feelings between us.”

  Dally answered as she thought Shona would have wanted. “Thank you for your words.” Her voice sounded flat to her own ears. “I accept your apology.”

  Dally turned away, wanting nothing more to do with that woman. Ever. She asked Meda, “Did you want me?”

  “Lady Shona says to stand ready.” The colonel turned to Norvin and said, “Prepare your folk, Mayor. It’s time.”

  16

  The troops directed the villagers in a roughish manner. Dally watched as resentment among the folk was erased by the realization that many of the soldiers struggled not to weep. The sight of so many battle-hardened warriors fighting against their own emotions was a harrowing sight. Not in the manner of causing fear, however. Instead, Dally wondered at what brought forth such affection from an entire army—soldiers who had been forced by events beyond their control to set all normal life aside, who had witnessed the loss of far too many of their company. And yet here they were, struggling to honor the arrival of a woman’s ashes by not breaking down.

  The soldiers directed the villagers to kneel facing the closest thorn boundary. As they sank down to the earth, Shona’s procession arrived, led by Meda and Edlyn, all cloaked in black. They stepped forward and halted between the villagers and the thorn barrier.

  The wind moaned slightly, as though groaning beneath its burden of grief. And then a portal opened.

  Where before was an impenetrable fortress of branch and blade, now appeared a tunnel of emerald green. And from the portal stepped a second honor guard.

  Of Elves.

  The villagers gasped and murmured, then Meda turned and hissed. One sharp note. Enough to stifle all further sound.

  The honor guard formed itself into two rows that flanked the portal. They moved in a slow, stately cadence, their every motion as precisely timed as heartbeats.

  For Dally, everything changed. In the span of time between the green tunnel’s appearance and the last Elven guard stepping into place, her entire perspective upon the day and herself went through a silent and devastating transformation.

  While the villagers gaped in astonishment and the soldiers now finally saw fit to release their tears, Dally was released from time’s hold.

  In days to come, when she recalled the events, it seemed as though the spells binding the Elven kingdom reached forward to envelop her as well. There followed a series of impressions so powerful she jerked every time she recalled them. One potent bolt after another. They were not thoughts and they were not images. But they were both, and far more besides.

  By the time the Elven king and queen appeared, the last image had already faded. And Dally knew what she had to do.

  Behind the Elven rulers stepped a man robed in black, his face hidden by a cowl. He carried a black cushion, upon which rested a small urn carved from a single block of onyx.

  Dally left her position by the villagers and stepped forward. As she did so, Shona bowed to the cowled man and then to the rulers and asked softly, “Hyam?”

  The Elven rulers wore crowns identical to Shona’s. They bowed in response, and the queen said, “He salutes my lady.”

  “I do not want his salute,” Shona said, her voice breaking. “I want him here.”

  The king said, “My lady, even if Hyam had wanted to accompany us, our healers would have forbidden it.”

  “He is ill?”

  “He is weak,” the queen replied. “That is all they can say with any certainty. But something . . .”

  “Something is wrong,” the king said.

  “He wishes you well,” the queen said. “He has written you a letter which Connell carries, along with another from your parents, and one also from the Earl of Falmouth.”

  As Shona struggled for control, Dally knew she had no choice but to interrupt. From behind Meda and Mistress Edlyn, she curtsied and then touched the colonel on the arm. When Meda turned, Dally whispered, “I must speak to the rulers.”

  Meda’s scowl would have blistered one of her troopers at thirty paces. She hissed, “It must wait.”

  “It cannot,” Dally insisted. “This is vital.”

  Shona turned a tear-streaked face to the pair, but Dally doubted she saw much of anything. “What is it?”

  “My lady.” Meda saluted the Elven rulers. “This one claims to have a message.”

  Shona cleared her face with trembling fingers. “Majesties, this is Dally. She . . .”

  Edlyn supplied, “She has the gift of far-seeing.”

  It was the Elven queen who said, “Approach us.”

  Thankfully, the Mistress of Three Valleys Long Hall stepped forward as well. At a sign from Edlyn, Dally curtsied a second time. “Forgive me, Majesties. But this cannot wait. The enemy will attack Elmtree at sunset tonight.”

  Dally’s voice carried farther than she had intended, for Norvin called out, “The villagers will be destroyed! They have nothing save local guards to protect them, and Elmtree is three days’ hard ride!”

  The king studied Dally. “What sign can you offer that this warning is genuine?”

  Dally was ready for that as well, though the act of addressing an Elven king caused her body as well as her voice to quaver. “Sire, you were intending to travel in procession to the Ashanta settlement at Eagle’s Claw. You intended to join in their Assembly. But all this must wait.”

  “Must it.”

  “Aye, sir. The fiends are too many. They know their element of disguise has been lost. All their forces are gathering. They intend to sweep down the entire valley and destroy all the settlements.”

  It was Meda who demanded, “Do you know why Three Valleys was made their first target?”

  “No, ma’am. Only that it is important to them. Vital.”

  Edlyn asked, “Is there a wizard counted among the foes?”

  “All I see is a dark cloud, Mistress. A huge dark mass at the center of the fiends.”

  The queen said, “Dally, your name is a curiosity.”

  Edlyn said, “I suspect it is a shortened version of—”

  “Dahlrin,” the queen said. “Of course. It suits you.”

  Her husband said, “In this case, I suggest we all travel the green road to Eagle’s Claw together, lay the Lady Joelle to rest, then return here to gather your forces—”

  “Forgive me, sire. But there is more.” Dally turned and signaled to her wolfhounds, who were now clustered by the camp�
�s entrance.

  “What magnificent beasts!” the queen exclaimed.

  Dally pointed to the lead female. “Majesties, this one here is named Dama. I wish to make this a gift to Hyam.”

  The king brightened and said, “This could be a very good thing indeed.”

  Edlyn added, “This second one here apparently wishes to be known as Nabu.”

  The Elven ruler frowned, but before he could speak, his wife said, “As it should be.”

  The king was clearly taken aback. “Are you certain?”

  “The past is now, my husband,” she replied. “The naming is but a sign.”

  Dally bowed and motioned the other dogs forward. She said to Edlyn, “This female is yours, Mistress. Colonel Meda, please accept the male. And his brother is for Alembord. Majesties, yours is the one on the right. And the one there is meant for Bayard, the ruler of Falmouth Port.”

  In the silence that followed, a bird sang a note that to Dally sounded as piercing as crystal chimes. She found herself weeping, though she needed a moment to understand the reason why.

  The queen said, “Most animals refuse to walk the green way, my child.”

  “Yours will. And the others, at least once, when I ask.”

  “This was shown to you as well?”

  “Yes, Majesty. It was.”

  “In that case,” the queen said, “I and my husband accept your gift with true and lasting gratitude. We consider it a new bond between you and this region and our own hidden realm.”

  Dally curtsied again and stepped back. She made no move to wipe away the tears. She knew they all thought it was over the loss of her friends. But parting ways with the wolfhounds had nothing whatsoever to do with this. They would remain bound to her regardless of where they went or whom they served.

  Dally wept because the final image she had received when the Elven portal opened had held a message.

  She was to leave the only home she had ever known. And she would never be coming back.

  17

  Dally walked the green lane and wished she could find it within herself to appreciate all she witnessed.

  She tried her best to look, to see, to remember. But nothing impacted her beyond the most superficial level. Her eyes took in the way the limbs wove together on both sides and high overhead, and how a living sort of light suffused every leaf and branch. She was aware that the passage of an entire army made no sound. She knew they walked for a time, and yet time did not touch them, for when they emerged from the tunnel and passed through the portal, the sun had not moved. Perhaps at some future point she would be able to recall all this and feel the wonder that escaped her now. But just then Dally was consumed by the tumult that overwhelmed her.

  She stood at the back of the procession, blinking in the sunlight. Ahead of her, a line of white triangular stones marked the Ashanta boundary. A group of elders in white robes awaited them inside the perimeter. When Shona and the Elves passed inside the stones, Dally curtsied with the others. She joined in the long line that followed the silent Ashanta with their remarkable eyes of blue upon blue. They crossed over a pair of carved bridges and halted by a broad square stone. They interred Joelle’s ashes where the stone met the emerald meadow, in sight of a city that gleamed white in the afternoon sun.

  Shona spoke around her tears, then the Elven queen, and finally a young Ashanta woman. Dally recognized the voice from her dream contact as belonging to Bryna. Dally knew she would soon need to step forward and introduce herself. But all the while her mind was filled with questions for which she had no answers. They rose and fell in crashing, silent waves that rocked her at the level of heart and sinew.

  Dally’s questions held the same force as the images that had assaulted her when the tunnel opened beside Shona’s camp. They were as insistent as battle spells, thrusting themselves deeply into her being. Only this time she had no reason to turn to others, beg for their help, tell her how to make them go away.

  Who was she really? What did she seek to do with her life? Her past had been stripped away, the prison of her former existence gone. She was free, and yet Dally did not know what the word even meant. What course did she wish to chart for herself? She found herself struggling not to weep, though many of those gathered here bore tear-streaked faces. She was wracked by a sorrow that made no sense. She had a purpose. She had gifts. Her life held meaning. Should she not be thrilled? Where was the joy?

  In the silent, sunlit warmth, Dally realized she had no idea what she wanted. The confusion was as powerful as guilt, though she had done nothing wrong. She felt herself being reshaped by the questions, as though images that had not yet appeared required her to ask what she had spent years fleeing.

  Worst of all was the simple fact that she did not even know her own name.

  With a start Dally realized the service was over and Bryna had sidled up to her unnoticed. The woman spoke slowly, and with an accent Dally had not detected in their previous meeting. “You have seen beyond yourself once more.”

  Bryna’s manner of speech pushed aside Dally’s confusion. “How do you know?”

  “I can see it in your eyes. You struggle on your return, yes?” Bryna must have found what answer she sought in Dally’s silence. “The way your being is wrenched does not ever completely depart. I use the correct word, yes? Wrenched. You feel . . .”

  “Like I don’t know who I am. Yes.”

  “Joelle taught me the human tongue. I have not used it since she was poisoned. Forgive me if I do not speak correctly.”

  “You speak it fine.”

  “I am this settlement’s new Seer. For just a few weeks. The old woman perished before I was ready. But I have no choice now. These are dark times, and my role is vital to our survival.”

  The woman’s eyes were her most remarkable feature. There was no white to them at all. The blue was so deep it appeared almost black. Dally decided it suited her features, which were as placid as living wax. “How did you know to come to me?”

  “Ah. Yes. That is the question, is it not? I am not sure of the answer. I doubt my old teacher would have known the answer. She was one of those . . .” Bryna went silent at the Elven queen’s approach.

  The ruler of the green kingdom said, “Please continue.”

  Bryna showed surprise. “You speak the common tongue?”

  “The old barriers are falling. We must adapt.”

  “I wish my leaders agreed with you.” Bryna watched as the Ashanta leaders bowed to Shona, then again to the small grave, and started back. “My late teacher tainted every report with her distaste for the world beyond our boundary stones.”

  “She told your elders what they wanted to hear,” the queen replied.

  “What some want, perhaps most. The argument flows back and forth. And because no decision is reached nor action taken, those who seek isolation count each day as a victory.”

  “They are wrong.” The queen radiated angry disapproval, but her voice held to its mild tone. “They failed my race once before with their dithering. May it never happen again.”

  Bryna nodded. “So say I and many others.”

  “We must depart. Dally has informed us that the enemy plans another attack this very day.”

  “I am expressly forbidden to join you.” Bryna’s voice showed a sorrowful yearning, soft as a sigh of forest wind. “Some are furious that I have made a far-reaching contact with a human.”

  The queen repeated more softly, “They are wrong.”

  “I and my allies agree with you.” Bryna reached under her robe and withdrew a wand. “We offer this as a sign that we shall join you as soon as we are permitted.”

  The queen’s gaze tightened as she inspected the letters carved along the staff. “That writing . . .”

  “Milantian. I found it in our deepest cellar. There is no record of its presence. No one knew it even existed until it called to me.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Immediately after I was drawn to meet with Dally.
”

  “Then it is hers.” To Dally the queen said, “Take it.”

  “But . . . the Milantians . . .”

  “Are the enemy,” she confirmed. “And yet the stones of power know no allegiance. Good or evil, that is the mage’s decision.”

  She accepted the wand with numb fingers. “Thank you, Bryna.”

  “I add my gratitude to hers, Bryna. May you and your allies succeed. We need your help.” The queen touched Dally’s shoulder. “We must be away. The enemy is coming.”

  18

  As Dally approached the Elven portal, she was struck by another onslaught of images. She felt a sudden flash of revulsion over her loss of control. So much of her life had been spent enduring the helplessness of being young and alone. The very idea that she would enter into this new life and yet be forced to endure more of the same made her very angry indeed.

  She tried to push the images aside. Refuse to accept them. But it only seemed to make the experience more powerful. As though they would use whatever force necessary to imbed themselves into her heart and mind.

  Then it was over, and Dally found herself bent over with her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. Dreading the whirlwind of confusion and emotions that she feared would now beset her.

  Edlyn stepped close and demanded, “What is it?”

  Dally forced herself to straighten, then swayed with dizziness and would have fallen. But the Long Hall Mistress took hold of one arm, and the Elven queen the other. She saw the concern in their gazes, one smoky grey and the other crystal green. She saw the need and the urgency. She saw . . .

  Dally said to the Elven queen, “Your name is Ainya. The name of the ruler’s consort is supposed to be secret, held in trust by the citizens of your realm. You offered it to Hyam and to Joelle as a gift of trust and alliance.”

  The queen’s hand dropped away.

  “I don’t know why I was told, but I was.”

  Edlyn offered, “It is a sign that the rest of what you have to say is true.”