by V. Holmes
“Yes. I learned some time after we first met. Would you mind giving us your name?” Alea made herself meet his gaze.
“An'thoriend Domariigo.”
Arman's brows rose. “Your parents must have a cruel sense of humor, naming you after a story.”
“I assure you my father had little humor of any sort. I'm afraid it was my own deeds that made that name famous.” He pointedly looked back to Alea. “Now tell me how you found out about your power.”
“I was attacked in Vielrona. Something in my mind snapped and when I raised my hands to defend myself, power flew from them. It was much like what happened downstairs, but far less controlled. Men died.”
Arman frowned. “Milady, you ought to wear a sign about your neck that says “Do Not Touch.” If not for your own safety, for others.”
Alea smiled slightly, but An'thor ignored him. “You've never had power before this?”
“Not that I remember. Not even during the attack on Cehn.” Alea cocked her head. “Why are you here? Did you find the Laen? You certainly don't seem surprised by my power.”
An'thor looked away. “I found them, but it did little good. I thought the world was ending – it would be, if she had been what we thought. I went to the house of a very old friend. She was one of Azirik's servants year ago. She was able to hide that she was Laen for a long time. When she became pregnant with you, however, she knew she had to flee. She tried to return after you were born, but it was too dangerous. In her absence your brother was put into the Miriken army and Azirik had declared war.”
“I'm sorry, sir, but you said 'brother.' I thought that Laen only reproduced among themselves, and never had boys.”
“One did. Your mother had a son.”
“Half brother, then.”
“No. Your mother may be Laen, but Azirik is as human as our innkeeper.”
“You're saying her father is the one hunting her? And her brother is in his army?” When An'thor nodded Arman sighed. “Begging your pardon, milady, but this is more dramatic than a Berrin play.”
Alea stared at her hands, unable to speak. She could not decide whether to be excited, relieved or angry. The chill in her veins suggested that anger might win. “I've an entire family, alive and aware of me and I've never met them? Never heard a word?” She knew it was stupid to be upset, but it was easier than facing the other new facts bombarding her mind.
“If you had stayed with her you would probably be dead by now.” An'thor’s words were not tinged with bitterness, as usual, but sorrow. “She wasn't certain what you were, but she knew what you could be, and that was enough. We've done our best to keep you safe, despite not being sure that you even existed sometimes.” He sat back. “That brings me to an important choice you must make. Ask Athrolan for alliance. Declare yourself. This war will happen either way and you need all the strength you can find.” His gaze flicked to Arman. “I'll let you talk this over without me.” He rose and poured both of them a cup of tea before ducking from the room.
“Arman, I don't know what to think.”
“Milady, if you think I'm any better then you're more naive than I thought. He has a point, though. I know you think this is your fight alone—”
“It is.”
The mulish tone in her voice made him sigh with exasperation. “What did I say about impractical decisions.” He turned to face her better. “Those soldiers down stairs are already fighting your war. The Berrin attack their borders looking for you. Athrolan's queen refused an alliance with Mirik. She as much declared to support you. With respect, milady, we would be fools to not ask for an alliance.”
She could feel her heart pounding in her throat, and clearly her silence gave her away.
“What frightens you?”
“I don't want people to die for me. Again. If I declare myself I cannot go back.”
His gaze softened. “You already can't, milady.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “We could march into Fort Hero and declare ourselves then. Would they turn us away?”
Arman shrugged. “I can't say. You might send a letter – there are couriers here.”
“That is as risky as leaving a letter for An'thoriend.” She put a hand over her eyes. “This is too much, too soon. I thought we would have months to decide what I should do.” She glanced at the door. She was tired of being alone. She was tired of running. Mostly, she was tired of feeling powerless. For someone with the power of Creation and Destruction I feel weak an awful lot. “I think there is an officer downstairs with whom I need to speak.”
She took the main stairs down to the tavern. The table had been righted and her attacker was hunched in a chair with another soldier who must have been a medic. The two officers were seated at the booth she and Arman had used. She paused at the last step, fixing them with her eyes. She hoped it had the desired effect. “Might I have a moment of your time, sirs?”
The captain scrambled to his feet, one hand resting on his sword. The older officer rose slower. “I thought you would be leagues away by now.”
“I was concerned there would be repercussions. One of my guards suggests otherwise, however. Your man is alive. Others have not been so lucky. I hope you understand that I was not acting against Athrolan, merely one of her men.”
The officers eyed her with a mixture of fear and confusion. The captain finally nodded. “You defended yourself, I know.”
The other man's expression was grim. “Deal with your corporal, Captain Uralon. Make it known that a soldier represents the nation. As such, attacking a stranger – especially off duty – on the road will not be tolerated. I will speak to the lady alone.”
The captain pointed to Alea's attacker and to the door to a back room. The soldier eyed Alea with a dangerous mixture of fear and venom, but followed his officer. When they had retreated the remaining officer turned back to Alea. “Care to sit?”
She lowered herself onto the bench across from him. A moment later Arman appeared from upstairs and slid in beside her. The Athrolani took them in for a moment before offering his hand. “Sir Elian of Ceir Felden, Gallant of Athrolan's army.”
Alea took his hand. “I am Lyne'alea and this is my companion and guard Aud'narman Wardyn.”
She sat back, forcing her hands into stillness. "I hope I did not disturb your men too much earlier."
"That was quite the trick." Elian met her gaze. "There are tales out of the south about a woman the Miriken hunt." Elian paused, as if expecting Alea to affirm his suspicions. "They say she is Laen, but different—"
"Stronger." She let black power marble the hand that lay on the tabletop. The undertone to her words and the display erased contemplation from the gallant's face.
"I heard you leveled eight men in Vielrona. Why did you not do the same to Uralon's corporal?"
Alea glanced sidelong at Arman. How did news of those deaths already reach this far and get so exaggerated? "It was not necessary." It was not the whole truth, but admitting she had poor control would be little benefit now.
"You ride north to Le'yan?"
"First to your capital. I hope to ask your queen formally for alliance." She ignored Arman's glance at the admission. "I hear you already fight my war. Le'yan will come, but this battle is here and so I will stay." As she spoke she realized it was true.
"Do you wish an escort to the city? We will ride hard, but you would have protection. We head the same way."
"Thank you for the offer, sir, but milady and I do not seem a target." Arman leaned forward. "A patrol of soldiers alone does, and if they escort two riders, even more so."
The gallant nodded in agreement. "I could carry a message. We will make Ceir Athrolan in two weeks—sooner than you will, and can have Her Majesty's response waiting for you at the last wayhouse before Fort Hero."
Alea smiled. "That would be appreciated. When do you leave?"
He glanced outside. "As soon as your letter is written. It is almost dawn. May I take my leave?" When Alea nodded graciously he sto
od, barking to one of his men to rouse those of his patrol that still slept. He bowed to them both. "I'll return when we're set to ride."
Alea watched him go, her calm facade slipping as she turned back to Arman. "I thought he was going to kill me for harming that man."
"He proved the rumors about Athrolan's fairness are true." He handed Alea the leather envelope of his writing tools. "What made you change your mind?"
"I'm tired of being alone in this. Not to mention—impractical decisions." She turned to the paper. "Arman I have no idea what to say. I know formal speech, but how do I speak to a queen? How do I ask for alliance?"
Arman snorted. "I felt the same talking to you at first." When she laughed he glared in mock-hurt. "Honesty and open words rarely fail."
She stared at the paper for several minutes. Arman returned from a foray upstairs and informed her that An’thor’s belongings were gone from his room. She did not glance up, only frowned, and then began to write. The letter was short and as soon as the ink had dried she sealed it with a plain stamp and tucked it into the oilcloth envelope Elian had left for her.
When the gallant returned a few moments later he was armored and ready for the road. He tucked the envelope deep into his jerkin. "Ride fast and sleep lightly. Love and luck be with you.
She took his hand gently. "And you. I bid you a safe journey home. Thank you for your help and the hope." She watched the shapes of his men through the window as they rode out. May fate protect your hearts and sweep your tracks clear. May you ride into Ceir Athrolan as hale as the day you first lifted a sword. She took Arman's hand across the table. "And so it all begins."
Φ
The 38th Day of Glasmord, 1251
The City of Ceir Athrolan
Damp clung to the white stone of the tiered walls, washing the streets clean as it ran down to the harbor. Queen Tzatia watched the rivulets running down the glass of her window. Clear days afforded her a view of the gardens on the east of the city and the ocean beyond the cliffs to the north. The patrol that had ridden in a few minutes before had erased the day's peace. The broad writing desk before her was stacked with missives rather than poetry. A lavender kokoshnik pulled back lengths of grey hair. She glanced over at her head retainer. "One of my gallants will arrive in a few minutes, Master Valadai. I would like to receive him with tea." Her quiet voice cut the silence and her two ladies in waiting paused in their stitches. She turned to them "These are matters of state you need not be bored with."
They curtsied and left the queen to her vigil at the window. The serving girl had barely left to fetch the tea when Valadai stuck his head back in, "Your Majesty, Sir Elian is here already. He says he has news. Shall I show him in?"
Tzatia waved a thin hand. "Go ahead."
The gallant stepped in, his cloak folded neatly over one arm. He had cleaned his face and slicked back his hair at the courtyard fountain. His news was too important to wait for him to bathe. He took a knee, placing a fist over his chest. "I pray Your Majesty is well."
She inclined her head. "I hope the same for you. What news do you have from the south?"
"I bring two messages. I wrote you about the Berrin man we caught. We saw the army he spoke of within the next few days. They move towards Bodian and plan to take our larger forts."
"Master Valadai, send for General Aneral and Commander Dorcal. It is urgent." The manservant let in the maid as he left. The queen waited until the tea was laid out and Sir Elian sat with a cup before nodding for him to continue. "The other news?"
He drew a travel-stained leather envelope from his jerkin. "We met her in a wayhouse in Marl Kass."
"Met whom, Sir Elian? Goodness could you be more cryptic?" The letter was not written in a hand she recognized or the fine script of a scribe. The paper was plain. She touched the blank seal lightly before snapping it apart. She tilted the paper towards the gray light from the window.
Your Majesty, Lady Queen Tzatia of Ceir Athrolan,
I met your gallant on the road north and he was kind enough to offer to deliver this letter to you. I hope it finds you well.
My name is Dhoah' Lyne'alea of Le'yan and it has come to my attention that we share a common enemy—the Berrin and Azirik. It would benefit us both if an alliance was formed between your great nation and myself. I carry a powerful artifact north with me and an ever greater legacy in my blood."
Tzatia looked up at Elian, her hazel eyes wide. "Goodness."
Elian laughed softly at the soft-spoken queen's word. "I had a bit of a stronger reaction when I found out who she was."
"You are certain she is what she claims?"
"I've never seen anything like it before. One of Captain Uralon's men, drunk, tried to assault her at the way house. When he was not dissuaded by words or blows, she flung him across the room with black fog. Black, Your Majesty, not silver. She did it without apparent effort. She had a guard as well. He called himself Wardyn and was not right, either."
The queen frowned. "What do you mean?"
The gallant shrugged. "He made the hair stand on end, like when you get caught unaware by a wild animal. It wasn't an evil feeling though."
Tzatia turned back to the letter.
Myself and my guard, the Rakos Aud'narman Wardyn, hope to make your city in five weeks, at which time we could discuss this further, if you indeed accept our alliance. I understand the risk of formally linking your kingdom with my cause, and I would hold no resentment if you chose to decline. I also know, however, that together this war would not be impossible.
Fates be with you
Lyne'alea
The queen looked out the window thoughtfully. She did not speak until the arrival of her general and commander. When the gallant rose to go, she held up a hand. "Stay, Sir Elian. I have a feeling that our commander will need more evidence than this letter." She waved the letter wryly as her two highest officers entered.
General Nei'pheras Aneral rose from her bow first. "Your Majesty, you have news?" Eras' light orange braid was wrapped around her head and her uniform was that used in a sparring ring. Raven Dorcal, Commander of Athrolan's navy, was tall and broad. His skin was tanned and his hair black. His reserved expression deepened to a frown as he took in the tired appearance of Sir Elian.
"Have a seat and take some tea."
The two sat, the commander pouring their mugs with careful hands.
"Sir Elian has brought word from the road and a letter." She handed the paper to the general, watching as she read.
Eras had been general for the better part of twenty years. She stood several hands shorter than most of the men she commanded. For many, it had taken months to determine that she was female behind her androgynous features. Blade-sharp cheekbones and nose led her face like a ship's prow, angling back into a sweeping widow's peak. She was a study in opposites; it was that way with many half-blooded. Her heart may have been her human father's, but her mind was her Asai mother's.
It was controversial when Tzatia first raised the sharp-tongued colonel to general. Eras' gender was not the subject of the arguments, but the fact that she was only partially human. The Asai were cousins to the horned Ageless. Their grey skin and analytical ways lent them the name "Stonefaced" by the humans. Though the queen had defended the choice to her fellow nobles, there was no argument from the men that the half-blood led. Eras did not react to the letter as she handed it to Raven.
He took a long slow sip of tea once he had finished. "Permission to speak my mind, Majesty?"
"Granted," she responded dryly. The man was infamous for his frank speech and careful ways.
"I am well aware of what she would gain if she joined us—we have one of the largest armies on the continent. What, exactly, do we gain?"
The queen looked at the delicate cup in her hands, swirling the dark tea left in the bottom. "She is incredibly powerful. Her name could rally both human allies and otherwise. Her guard alone is a testament to that."
"This Wardyn fellow?"
The
queen turned to the gallant. "Sir Elian, care to explain?"
"She was like seeing a storm approach. Her guard was almost feral."
"A Rakos, Commander," Eras interrupted. "The Earth Shakers. He alone has great abilities, or could. Your Majesty, what do you think? What military news is there?" When Elian finished detailing his knowledge, Eras leaned forward. "We are already mobilizing several companies to the cities. The skirmishes on our borders were little threat, but 4000? Any word on Mirik's numbers beyond this force?" The Military aspects of her brain were clearly whirring and she had all but forgotten the others.
Elian shook his head. "Nothing. There are between 50 and 200 Miriken accompanying each group of Berrin, but I have yet to see anything that indicates Azirik himself."
"Lord King Azirik, Sir Elian," the queen reminded gently. "As mad as he may be, he is still a king."
"Forgive me, Your Majesty." He looked to the Commander."There has also been no word on the location of the Berrin navy or their numbers."
Eras sighed. "It makes me uneasy. Our intelligence from the island itself has been all but silent. Under King Brenteric their army neared 50,000. Whether it has grown or shrunk, I can't say. Your Majesty, I wish to increase patrols surrounding the border forts and vulnerable holdings." She leaned forward, "I was planning to visit Fort Stone to see about joining with some of the Bordermen warriors. Should I stay?"
"Increase where you see fit, general. The Lady Lyne'alea will be at Fort Hero within two weeks. Commander Dorcal, I would like you to escort her north. General, join the Commander when they pass on their way north."
"So we protect her?" The lines on the Commander's face deepened.