On the Shores of Irradan (The Everring Tree, #1)

by Ronald Long

  There were few Wrents who had spent as much time with Domne as Cuno had. He was the one to take charge now. Not this young pup.

  "What would you have us do?" Cuno asked, still walking the perimeter.

  Ballo took a step into the circle and began to walk along the outer edge, his eyes never leaving Cuno's.

  "We strike back," Ballo replied. With one paw he gripped his spear firmly.

  "The elves think us beaten. We ought to use that to our advantage."

  He stabbed his spear into the air several times for effect.

  "We strike at night and disappear after killing many elves. We take revenge for our fallen!"

  Some in the circle barked their approval of the plan. Others stomped their paws into the soft earth. Any Wrent plan that involved killing the long-legs would receive at least some approval. In his years following after Domne, Cuno had learned one important rule: You can't exact revenge when you're dead.

  "And have them kill the last of our pack in the process?" Cuno countered.

  Ballo bared his teeth and snarled at him.

  "And would you have us run with our tails between our legs?" he barked viciously.

  This time the Wrent's spear was stabbed straight at Cuno. He could feel the moment approaching. Wrent leaders were never chosen by popular vote nor were they passed down from father to son. The foxes followed only the strongest. They were bound to the Wrent who could prove his strength no matter the challenge.

  Cuno made sure of his footing before turning to face Ballo full on, rage and determination filling up his being.

  "We make war," he replied. "Not our pack alone. Not our tribe alone. All tribes. We take the forest of the long-legs as our own."

  Ballo laughed, but Cuno stood firm. This plan was materializing in his mind as he spoke it. He could see himself as the leader of the Wrents: strong and vicious. He could feel that this was his moment.

  The scoffing of this challenger would not take that away from him.

  "And how will you do what no other Wrent has done before? How will you, Cuno, unite the tribes to fight as one?"

  Cuno growled in response and clinched his fist, knowing the time was close at hand.

  It was true. The tribes never fought together if they could help it. United though they were in their hatred of the elves, they were divided in their purposes and tribes. No Wrent had ever given allegiance to another who was not of their tribe.

  But Cuno saw what he knew others could not.

  An opportunity.

  "A mongrel like you wouldn't understand," he barked.

  Ballo howled with anger and dove at Cuno, spear tip pointed at his heart.

  He was ready.

  With one strong paw, he knocked aside the spear. With the other, as Ballo's body came crashing into his, he grabbed a glowing red rock from the ground and thrust into the side of Ballo's skull.

  It exploded with a blast, throwing Cuno off his paws and hurling the body of Ballo several feet away.

  He could smell the grass and dirt beneath him with excellent clarity. Burnt flesh and skin also invaded his snout with ferocity. The hand he had held the rock with was burning like it was on fire.

  The night sky spun above him, but he felt a surge within him. A sudden swell of energy.

  He was hurt to some extent. It pained him to move the paws underneath him and lift himself off the ground. None around the circle moved. They all stood still, seeing who would rise.

  Cuno looked for the blow of retaliation from Ballo, but it didn't come. His body lay smoking several paces away from Cuno. The challenger was dead. Fully satisfied with his work, Cuno now examined his throbbing hand.

  Though the fur to his elbow was brown, from his forearm to his paw, it was turned a brilliant color of red. Embedded in the middle of his paw, surrounded by pulsating and still charred skin, was a rock similar to the one he had smashed Ballo's skull with. It was smaller, though the color was the same.

  Cuno guessed it had broken off during the explosion.

  He reached out his other paw to touch it, expecting it to hurt greatly. To his surprise, when he placed his paw on the rock, it glowed but didn't cause him the slightest pain.

  Trying to grip it with his other paw, he pulled. There was still no pain, but it wouldn't come out either. The stone was lodged deeply into him. He closed and opened his paw several times. Each flex brought a brighter glow from the rock now lodged in his hand. Cuno felt a fire in his arm. Clenching his paw tightly, he could feel energy pulsating out from the stone. This was a sign. He was meant to be the one to unite the Wrents. The stone had blessed him with power. He could feel it was true.

  Cuno looked around at the yellow eyes that were trained on him.

  Their pack's new leader.

  “Adach, Gile,” he called out to the circle.

  A general rustle followed as those who looked on either looked to the ground or for the ones who had been singled out. It was not uncommon for a Wrent leader to kill whomever he thought might pose a threat. Whether a direct challenger or someone who may become one.

  Two Wrents slunk forward, cautious of Cuno, and bowed their heads low. Cuno had plans for these two that did not involve killing them right off.

  “Travel north as silently and quickly as you can. Back to our lands. Tell the tribes you encounter, Cuno the Red Handed is coming.”

  For a moment, they continued to stay low, only looking up at the Wrent who had commanded them. Now was his time to show his might.

  “NOW!” barked Cuno, driving his paw with the stone at the both of them. He felt the power of the stone surge within him. A flash of red light and a burst of flame between the two sent them running north, tail between their legs and yelping in pain.

  The circle around Cuno widened as many looked at their new leader in terror and awe. Clasping his paw around the stone of power, he glared back at them. Now was the time to become a leader.

  “We move northeast,” he said. “To the human lands.”

  Chapter 19:

  Sunsets and the House of Nobles

  Max walked along what the nobles had for decades called the Outer Wall. This wonder of masonry not only formed the very back of the House of Nobles, but was also the very last wall that overlooked the cliffs of Lone Peak.

  The old noble had always appreciated the view from the wall. He had grown up watching majestic sunrises and beautiful sunsets from this very same spot.

  In his younger days, he had been more carefree and simply enjoyed the view for its beauty.

  Today, the strain of the day and the heavy burden of leadership his position required of him caused him not to only appreciate the beauty, but also the peacefulness of this moment.

  There were no fights on the Outer Wall. No debates took place here. As ruling Noble, Max had the authority to ban all political talk on the space.

  He was not much of a religious man, choosing to abstain from most ceremonies of death or worship of local gods, but the bricks he now stood on were the closest thing to sacred he knew.

  Max stood there feeling every single one of his sixty-three years weighing down on his shoulders. He had taken over leadership of Lone Peak when he was forty and felt like he could conquer the world. It had been his leadership that had kept the country from starving in darker times. His planning and careful provisioning of crops had seen that not one of his citizens starved if they were willing to work.

  In those days, he practically floated through Lone Peak, born on the praises of his people.

  But seasons change.

  Now, he felt frail and was constantly bothered by the soreness in his joints. Now, there was this cough of his to contend with. For the last three months, he'd been feeling under the weather, waking up late in the night and sleeping little whenever he managed to doze off. It was all from bad fits of coughing that would keep him up for hours.

  He yearned for a restful night's sleep.

  When his cough was not keeping him up, however, thoughts of his opposition
were able to fill his restless evenings. There was enough on his mind to keep him up for days. The food stores of Lone Peak were vastly lower than they had been in decades. Last year's harvest had not been what they had expected. Spring was here and the mood was hopeful that a good year of crops was ahead of them.

  Max could feel the hope in his people and understood that the other noble houses wanted to capitalize on this general air of good will. Yet he knew all too well that a few bad storms, or a very hot summer, could endanger their country far more than most.

  His father had been a farmer, one of the best. By his hard work and determination, they had fed the people of Lone Peak for years on end. Max had remembered years of want and food shortages in his younger life. They were hard times. But the young nobles now knew no such want. They saw only opportunity.

  Ships to be built. Towers to be erected. Expeditions to go on.

  These were what had made Darrion a kingdom worth celebrating, they claimed. And the old noble was hindering growth because he wasn't sure there was enough grain in the store houses.

  They mocked him.

  Max's cautious attitude kept them in check, however. Something they disagreed with greatly. Still, he prided himself in looking out for those who would be most affected by a food shortage: the poor, the farmers, the young and the old.

  He had been these before and was now getting too old for most menial tasks.

  A thought that also kept him up at night.

  Another spell of convulsions caught him and Max found himself clutching the edge of the wall and covering his mouth, waiting for the infernal coughs to stop. When at last it subsided, a young girl with a tray holding two cups appeared by his side looking concerned.

  "Your medicine, my Lord," she said, giving him a small curtsy.

  Max took a deep steadying breath and managed a weak smile at her.

  Of all the attendants who roamed the halls of the House of Nobles making beds, filling food plates, and keeping the castle running, the small little redheaded child always cheered Max, even on his darkest days.

  She didn't smile much, nor did she skip around and make jokes like other children her own age. She seemed more serious than her years would typically allow her. At only twelve, she was in charge of many things her peers wouldn't have been entrusted with.

  Like the care of Max's medicine.

  She spoke little and when asked questions only responded in short, polite answers. Max found great comfort in her presence, simply for the fact that most of the other servants and people he encountered seemed ready for him to step down from power, retire, or succumb to illness.

  As of late, the number of those wishing to watch Max's reign end was growing immensely.

  Yet this little girl appeared to have genuine concern for him.

  "Thank you, Marie," he said, inclining his head to her. "I do sound rather awful, don't I?"

  She curtsied again as he took both the small glass cup of a medicine he knew would taste quite terrible, and a larger cup of clear water.

  "I hope this new medicine works better than the last," she replied.

  "I just hope it tastes better," Max said as he looked down disapprovingly at the small glass of green looking syrup. "Although the last dose actually put me to sleep for an hour. I appreciated the nap."

  He made a grimace, then swallowed the medicine in one gulp. It was not, indeed, better tasting. Max grabbed for the glass of water and chased the awful tasting substance down with it.

  Gasping for air after drinking the entire glass in quick, successive gulps, Max resurfaced and thought he might rather deal with the coughing than take any more medicine.

  "Please tell Sebastian that if he's going to whip up anymore tonics for me to take that he may as well give me a dose to put me to sleep as well. Whatever was in that blue concoction."

  Marie curtsied and turned to leave.

  He turned to face the sunrise again, but something was wrong. In a sudden wave of dizziness, Max grabbed hold of the side of the wall.

  "Marie!" he called out.

  A loud clatter told his ears that the young girl had dropped her tray. He felt her arm around him to steady him. She really was a small thing and couldn't handle even his meager weight for long.

  "My Lord?" she asked as he felt his knees buckling.

  "Dizzy," he said, trying to sound reassuring. The servant girl's voice had trembled with fear. "Just dizzy. A chair."

  He felt her leading him, small child though she was, to a nearby semi-circle of chairs he had commissioned to be built not two years previous.

  His vision was blurry. It was hard for him to see the armrest he knew to belong to a beautifully carved stone chair at the end of the row. He found it more by memory than by sight.

  Once he settled himself in the chair, the world began to spin less quickly. He still felt the urge to vomit, however. If it meant turning upside down every time he took a dose of medicine, he'd rather have the cough.

  "Are you alright, my Lord?" Marie asked as she put her hand on his arm. Shadows told him that she had knelt in front of him. He reached with his other hand to hold onto hers. Her presence steadied him. He felt, even as powerful a man as he was and eldest of nobles, this little girl's touch was comforting and calming.

  "Yes," he said as a cold sweat began to overtake him. "Yes, I'm fine. Perhaps another glass of water?"

  "Of course, my Lord," she answered. Retreating footsteps told him she had sped off to the nearest fountain to retrieve a drink for him.

  Since opening his eyes sent the world spinning, he shut them tight and tried to remember that the chair was indeed stone and anchored to the earth, not a child's spinning top.

  Marie's footsteps faded back into the hall as she ran to fetch him his water.

  That was what startled him the most then, when he felt himself being raised from the chair and lead away by much stronger hands. These rough actions did not belong to a servant.

  "Who is this?" he asked, opening his eyes and immediately regretting the decision.

  The sea out in front of him spun and the sky seemed to be in the place of the waters, as if they had traded places. The arms gripping him were far too strong for them to belong to little Marie.

  "Who are you?" Max asked as he felt himself being dragged away from the chairs. "Where are you taking me?"

  The world was still spinning blindingly fast and with each forced step, Max became even more unstable.

  Then he felt the very distinct sensation of being lifted up off the ground. Another fit of coughing overtook him as his legs bumped against the half wall that separated the rear of the House of Nobles and the cliffs below. He also heard a small yell and the clatter of a tray and glass cup to the stone floor.

  Now he felt like vomiting. Max opened his eyes to see who it was that was forcing him over the wall. Three things registered inside his head all at once: the fact that he had hit the stone floor instead of being launched over the wall, that his attacker had dropped him to run off, and that Marie was screaming wildly at his side.

  Then his vision went dark.

  Chapter 20:

  Visitors

  Blume wasn't sure where her feet were taking her as angry tears rolled down her face. The buildings and streets of Lone Peak seem to fly past her as she ran.

  The fear that her ability to perform magic was the only thing that gave her any worth was flooding over her.

  It'd been that fear that had consumed every waking moment since they had left Ruyn. Without magic, what was she?

  She looked up to see that she had run to the stables where they kept Snowy.

  The smell of horses and freshly cut hay filled her nose and her heart yearned to ride.

  Running into Snowy's stall, Blume saw that someone had already saddled him. She rushed over to the horse, led him out of his stall and leapt on top of him.

  A stable hand shouted from a nearby stall. The young boy had two bags on his shoulders and a water skin on his hip. It looked like he
was ready for a short trip.

  "Hey! I was about to take him out for a ride!" he shouted as he saw Blume climbing onto the white horse.

  Blume didn't even stop to acknowledge him as she steered Snowy out of the stall and kicked at the stirrups.

  They left the stable hand shouting out for them as they galloped into the streets.

  ***

  The wind stung Blume's face. She wasn't sure if the streams coming from her eyes were from the anger and resentment that had been welling up inside her and was now bursting out, or from the air that rushed past her face.

  She wasn't sure for how long they rode nor where she was intending to ride. After what could have been one hour or a few, she couldn't tell, Snowy began to slow his place. The horse was sweating with exertion at being run so hard. Putting her hand on his neck, she patted him soothingly.

  "I bet you're thirsty," she said with a twinge of guilt in her voice. She had run the poor horse too hard and too far without a break.

  Looking around, Blume could hear the sound of a small brook that ran down the cliffs and helped to irrigate the crops of Lone Peak. Holve had shown her a map of how they managed to keep the crops well-watered despite the harsh terrain.

  There was water nearby.

  “Let's get us both something to drink,” Blume told Snowy, directing him with the reins towards the sound and off of the path.

  She didn't know how long they had been riding. The suns had just barely peaked over the horizon when she had entered the library that morning with Holve and Ealrin. Now they seemed to be over the midday point. When had she left the library? For how long had she helped search old dusty books before she had gotten so angry at Ealrin she could burst?

  Thinking about that made her upset and sad all over again, so she drove it from her mind. It was quite warm and Blume was happy to keep Snowy to the shade of the short trees that lined the path. Within minutes, she had spotted the water making its way down the cliffs and steered Snowy towards it. They arrived and Blume let herself down from the horse. They both drank greedily.