Sword of Shadows

by Karin Rita Gastreich

  The air, already warm, became stifling. Corey moved to a nearby window, craving a fresh breeze and the soft sounds of the night, but both were muted by wards that protected their conversation. He struck his fist against the sill.

  For the love of the Gods, Eolyn.

  How could a woman of such remarkable talent be so foolish when it came to matters of the heart?

  Corey turned back to his companions. “If that child is born a bastard, it will tear this kingdom apart.”

  Tzetobar and Rezlyn met his conclusion with haunted expressions. The old mages had lived through the collapse of their Orders and the brutal purges that followed. For them, war against another kingdom—even a weak and insignificant one such as Roenfyn—was a danger best avoided. But war amongst themselves? That was unspeakable, a horror that must never be suffered again.

  “All of you act as if this is a regrettable circumstance,” Thelyn interjected. “I say it is an opportunity. It would be strategic on our part to position the maga as close to the King as possible. He respects Maga Eolyn, even heeds her advice. We can take advantage of this by ensuring that her counsel systematically reflects our own.”

  Rezlyn arched his brow. “How, exactly, do you expect to accomplish that?”

  “Maga Eolyn has shown unfailing respect and willingness to cooperate with us all. You, Rezlyn, can attest to this. Many of our mages have established a positive rapport with her, one that is not burdened by rancor or past resentments. And there is a brother among us—” Thelyn cast glance at Mage Corey. “—who holds her ear like no other.”

  Corey chuckled and reclaimed his seat. “You amuse me, Thelyn. I appreciate your faith in my silver tongue, but Eolyn is as stubborn as Aithne herself. She has never had any patience for my wisdom.”

  “She will learn patience,” Thelyn said, “if we make her Queen.”

  Corey held Thelyn’s gaze. Beneath all of this, there was a deep discomfort that plagued him, a nameless misgiving that struggled to rise above their talk of influence, intrigue, and the uncertain future of magic.

  She will finish her life like my cousin, Briana. Confined to the East Tower. Murdered by one of her own.

  He put away the thought, swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue.

  “I hope you are right, old friend,” Corey said. “I hope you are right.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Reunited

  Late afternoon sun cut through the windows of the East Tower, illuminating Eolyn’s chambers in ribbons of burgundy and gold. Eolyn caught the strands in her fingers and showed Ghemena how to weave them into butterflies of light. The girl learned the game effortlessly, and together they danced in a cloud of fluttering sparks until a guard interrupted their laughter to announce the arrival of Mariel and Borten.

  Mariel rushed into her tutor’s arms, shedding tears of joy while Eolyn kissed her face and gave thanks to the Gods. Ghemena squealed as Borten lifted her high, swung the girl around, and caught her in a bear’s embrace.

  When he set Ghemena down and turned to Eolyn, a familiar kindness glowed in his blue eyes. Eolyn shifted awkwardly on her feet, embarrassed because she did not know what to say, where to begin even, given all that had come to pass. Borten took her hand and touched it to his forehead.

  “Maga Eolyn,” he said.

  “Sir Borten.” The formality felt appropriate and yet misplaced. Eolyn remembered the desire behind his touch, the heat of his kiss, and the heartbreak of their last parting. It all seemed a strange dream now, an ephemeral moment that had slipped away with the shadows of the night. “How very good it is to see you again.”

  “We’ve heard everything about the battle!” Mariel exclaimed. The summer sun had colored her face so that her green eyes looked more enchanting than ever. She wrapped her arm around Eolyn’s waist. “Everyone was talking about it, all along the road from Moehn to here. Is it true what they say, Maga Eolyn? That you slew Prince Mechnes and won the battle all by yourself?”

  Eolyn laughed. “No, Mariel. The stories exaggerate. All of us defeated the Syrnte together: The Mage King and his army, the men who protected me. Even old Tzeremond helped from the grave. Without his staff, I might have never have—”

  “You must not understate your achievements, Eolyn,” Borten said quietly. “Without your magic, this kingdom would have been lost.”

  Eolyn blinked and glanced away. Images of the world they once knew flooded her heart: the Aekelahr and its fragrant garden, her small library and humble stables. Spring in the South Woods, Summer Solstice in the town of Moehn. All that joy and companionship destroyed in the space of a few weeks.

  “My magic was not enough.” Her voice broke over the words.

  “Sir Borten is teaching me how to use the sword,” Mariel announced.

  “Is that so?” Eolyn arched her brow.

  “I’ve learned so much already. I want to show you, Maga Eolyn, and then we can practice together.”

  “She is a good student,” Borten said. “I hope you do not object.”

  “Object?” Eolyn replied. “No, of course not. It is the King who might object. He granted me permission to use Kel’Barú, but the edict that prohibits magas from learning weaponry still stands. I will speak to him, however. I want Mariel to have these skills, and Ghemena as well. All of my students who are so inclined must be allowed the privilege of learning weaponry.”

  Ghemena clapped her hands in glee. “We’ll start over now, won’t we? The four of us will go home together, and we’ll find more sisters, and everyone will have staves and swords!”

  Her declaration was met with awkward silence.

  Eolyn drew the girl close. “Perhaps, Ghemena, in time. There is so much yet to be decided.”

  “Moehn has hard months ahead of it,” Mariel said. “No one knows where the food will come from. The Syrnte did not leave much behind.”

  “Ours are a hearty people,” Borten replied. “They are not unused to hardship, and there is yet time for a second harvest. We will survive the winter and rebuild in the spring.”

  “You will go back soon, then?” Eolyn asked.

  “I petitioned for stewardship of Moehn,” Borten said. “Feroden’s family was destroyed, save for young Markl, whom I hope to take on as my ward. The rest of our nobility are in shambles. The people of Moehn have no one to lead them—no one capable of leading them—in times like this.”

  “You would be a most worthy choice,” Eolyn said, though it saddened her to acknowledge this. Without Borten, she would have few friends in the City, and no one in whom she could completely trust.

  “Thank you, Maga Eolyn.” Borten cleared his throat, a frown upon his brow. “Your return to the highlands would be most welcome. With your power to heal and lead, to give people hope—”

  A guard appeared, announcing the arrival of Thelyn. The High Mage swept into the room wearing the full regalia of his station, a staff of polished cherry wood in hand.

  A knot settled in Eolyn’s gut, but she greeted the Council Member with a gracious smile and introduced him to her companions. Thelyn took her hand and bowed, lifting her fingers to his forehead.

  “It is done,” he said. “Taesara is no longer Queen of Moisehén.”

  “I see.” Eolyn did not know how else to respond. The heavy weight of Borten’s silence settled on her shoulders.

  “How can that be?” Mariel asked. “Our Queen is no longer a queen?”

  “The King has made it so, and his decision has met with the Council’s approval,” Thelyn replied. “He requests to see you at once, Maga Eolyn. It is my honor to escort you into his presence.”

  “What for?” Ghemena demanded.

  Thelyn arched one brow, amusement in his dark eyes. “We do not question the King’s will, young Ghemena, but if you must know, he is poised to offer Maga Eolyn the highest honor conceivable for a woman of Moisehén. I suggest that we do not keep him waiting.”

  “But Maga Eolyn,” Mariel said, “I thought you and Sir Borten—”
<
br />   “Mariel.” Borten’s reproach was quiet but firm.

  Mariel bit her lip and stared in confusion at the floor.

  Ghemena took a stance between Eolyn and High Mage Thelyn.

  “I think you should leave,” she said. “I think you should go away right now and never come back!”

  “Ghemena, please.” Eolyn drew the girl back. The decision had come so quickly, more quickly than she had ever thought possible. And to have it announced in this of all moments, when what little was left of her family had just been restored to her. “High Mage Thelyn, you must have patience with us. While this news is not entirely unexpected, it is…unsettling. I need a moment with my students. You may wait in the antechamber. I will be with you shortly.”

  Thelyn’s gaze flicked to Borten then back to Eolyn. He gave a stiff bow and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  “We should run away,” Ghemena said, “before the Mage King casts his final spell and makes you his slave forever. We can hide in the South Woods, and Borten can protect us. No one will find us there.”

  Eolyn gave her a gentle smile, saddened by the direction the girl’s imagination had taken. “Ghemena, you know love spells do not exist, not in the traditions of Moisehén.”

  “That man is not part of our traditions.”

  “The Mage Kings are a new tradition,” Eolyn replied, “one sanctioned by the Gods now, for two generations.”

  “Does this mean you aren’t coming back to Moehn?” Mariel asked. “You’re going to stay here now? Forever?”

  “You can’t say yes to him!” Ghemena’s face was red with fury.

  “This is Maga Eolyn’s decision, not yours,” Borten said sharply.

  Ghemena looked at him as if he had slapped her in the face. “But she—”

  “You have said enough, Ghemena. Maga Eolyn understands your concerns, and High Mage Thelyn is right. It is not wise to keep our King waiting.” Borten regarded Eolyn, his expression a mix of determination and resignation. He managed a bitter smile. “It seems the Gods have brought us back together for the simple purpose of finishing what we had already ended.”

  “Borten, I—”

  “No.” He lifted his hand to stop her. “No more words. Go, Eolyn. Go and meet your destiny.”

  She hesitated, knowing that if she turned away from them now, all hope of recuperating the world they once knew would be forsaken.

  “Ghemena,” Eolyn began, but the girl turned on her heel and stalked over to one of the broad windows that faced south. There she curled up on a chair, hugged her knees to her chest, and stared wordlessly at the landscape beyond.

  Lips drawn in a thin line, Borten went to comfort her.

  Eolyn drew her older student close and spoke in gentle tones. “Mariel, you must understand. To turn away from this path would be a betrayal of my own destiny.”

  “Your destiny is to abandon us?” Mariel’s eyes were damp, and her lips quivered.

  “I am not abandoning you. I want you and Ghemena to stay with me, to complete your instruction, and to petition for a staff. If the Gods grant your petition, I intend to teach you the ways of High Magic, just as I would have in Moehn. We can establish a new coven here, within the walls of this city.”

  “It won’t be the same.”

  “No, nothing will ever be the same again. The war saw to that.”

  “Don’t say that,” Mariel whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “We’ve travelled so far. I thought that once we were together again, once we went home…”

  Eolyn drew her into a tight embrace, heart breaking under the burden of her own doubts.

  “We are together again.” She took Mariel’s face in hand and kissed her on the forehead. “And this can be your new home. It will be your choice, Mariel, whether to stay with me or to go. But if you stay, I swear by the Gods of Dragon, I will teach you everything I know. You will be a maga in the tradition of Aithne and Caradoc, and this time nothing will tear us apart.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Foundation

  Thelyn led Eolyn through winding corridors and inner courtyards. They emerged along the northern flank of the castle wall and paused in front of a simple wooden door.

  Eolyn drew a breath of surprise. “But this is—”

  “—the entrance to the Foundation of Vortingen, yes.”

  “I thought women were not allowed.”

  “Anyone is allowed, if the King wills it. In the time of Urien, magas in his favor came often to this place to celebrate the High Holidays. All that ended with Kedehen’s reign, of course, but Briana was brought here to consummate the union between the House of Vortingen and the Clan of East Selen. King Akmael, however, has not granted this privilege to any woman until today.”

  Thelyn signaled the guards to retreat a short distance. He invoked a sound ward and continued in quiet tones. “Forgive my boldness, Maga Eolyn, but you must understand that we are in a grave moment. While not without precedent, the King’s decision has been a difficult one, unacceptable for many, though now it must be obeyed by all. Your part in this matter is not inconsequential—”

  “My part? I was not even asked—”

  “You will be asked. Now. I feel compelled to warn you that any answer other than one that meets with the King’s pleasure cannot be considered. I say this for your good and for the good of all our people.”

  Eolyn stared at him, indignation rising in her veins. “I assure you, Mage Thelyn, I am quite capable of making my own decisions.”

  “Then I trust you will make a wise one.” Thelyn opened the door and stepped away. “You must enter alone. I cannot follow.”

  Eolyn slipped into the dark corridor, passing her fingers along the coarsely hewn wall as she walked. Powerful currents of magic pulsed inside the rock, sparking at her touch. She could feel the spirit of Dragon still breathing fire into the heart of Vortingen’s mountain.

  The passage opened onto a wide, grassy knoll. Scattered trees lined the cliff edges. At the center, a circle of pale monoliths reached toward the sky, where clouds were beginning to burn with vermilion-pink tones of sunset.

  Akmael stood among the long shadows, contemplating a low-slung outcrop of granite. A tongue of silver flame flickered idly over the palm of his hand. He looked up as she approached.

  “Eolyn,” he said. “At last.”

  Humbled by the grandeur of the place, Eolyn paused just outside the circle.

  “Come.” Akmael extended his hand. “I want to show you everything.”

  Eolyn removed her shoes, and they walked together along the cliff edge, grass cool beneath her feet. The landscape was illuminated in copper shades of late afternoon. Toward the east, rolling hills led to the dark forests of Selen. Westward over fields and pastures laid the distant wastes of Faernvorn. In the north, Eolyn could just make out the stoic gray face of the Eastern Surmaeg.

  “It is said that when Dragon first appeared to Vortingen, he flew from the north and landed here.” Akmael indicated the spot, unmarked saved for a ring of fragrant purple Aethne. “Vortingen had recently defeated the People of Thunder, and his ferocity in battle was legendary. Nothing could stay his blade or instill fear in his heart. Yet when the wind from Dragon’s wings threw down the trees, when the mountain thundered beneath Dragon’s feet, when Dragon’s fiery breath broke open the night, the Warrior Chief fell prostrate and wept.”

  Flames danced behind Akmael’s dark eyes. Every gesture was filled with excitement. Eolyn was reminded of the boy prince she first met in the South Woods.

  “Dragon set his scorching breath upon the mountain’s face, and when the ground was burned away Vortingen saw this slab of granite.” Akmael led her back among the monoliths. “In ths way Dragon revealed to Vortingen all the lands that would come under our stewardship: Moisehén, Moehn, Selen, and Selkynsen. As the kingdom was consolidated by Vortingen’s heirs, monoliths were brought from each of the four provinces to complete this circle and keep watch over the territories
given to the followers of Caradoc and Aithne.”

  Akmael paused. A frown furrowed his brow.

  “Perhaps we have not always fulfilled our duty as the Gods envisioned, but it is a difficult task to maintain peace among a people so prone to war. I have been burdened by my father’s legacy and uncertain at times how to continue…Eolyn.” He took her hand and searched her face. “You never told me in what form Dragon appeared to you when you petitioned for your staff.”

  Eolyn’s breath quickened. She had not anticipated this question, and she hesitated, accustomed to guarding the secret deep inside her heart. “You never told me about your fast, either.”

  Akmael laughed. “I was prepared to do so, Maga Eolyn. There was nothing I wanted more than to boast about all my visions, but as I recall, that was the day you threw me out of the South Woods and told me never to come back.”

  “I did no such thing. You knew what Doyenne Ghemena had asked of me. I told you that you could come back when I finished my training in High Magic.”

  “And how long was that going to be? Five years? Six? An eternity, as far as this young prince was concerned.” The amusement faded from his eyes. “Twice the Gods have asked me to wait for you, and twice I have failed. Their patience must be beyond measure, to have brought us back to this moment again.”

  He took Eolyn’s hand and drew her close. “Tell me your story, Eolyn. I very much wish to hear it.”

  The words felt strange on her tongue. She had never spoken to anyone of this. It would have been too dangerous to do so, until now. “I expected a quiet creature. A marten perhaps, or a dormouse.”

  “I hoped for a bear, myself,” he said.

  “I spent the night in Lynx’s lair. As dawn broke, I searched every rock and crevice along the ridge, but found nothing. Not even an ant or a spider. I had never seen the place so devoid of life, and my anticipation faltered toward despair.”