I refilled the waterskins then mounted back up.
“Good to go?” Herace asked. “Not far now. I can practically smell the trees.”
I nodded to Herace. He led us off once again.
The sun was high in the sky. Things looked different here, in the summer; last time it was only spring. The trees didn’t seem to bloom in Sythir Eaoghn. Nothing bloomed. There were no flowers.
I was a little surprised, too, that Glenn Mereillon never appeared. We passed nearby the last place we had entered, but there was nothing. I found it very strange.
“Hey Ortham, do you remember how to contact Lyrèlie?” I asked. “You know, by breaking a blade of grass?”
“Hm. Yeah, actually. I do remember,” he replied. “That would be a pretty good place to stop right about now, seeing as we have three injured folk.”
“We need to keep going,” Herace cut in.
“But why?” I asked. “The fae were able to heal Ortham within a day. And the Witches wouldn’t be able to reach us there.”
“It’s not so much that, as how long we would waste finding the place,” Herace replied. “Then we would have the issue of trying to leave – that would give the Witches plenty of time to gather their strength, and plenty of time to surround us.”
I let his words hang in the air. He was right. It wasn’t worth the risk; it was safer to go back home.
“You fight the Witches?” asked the unman, almost in disbelief.
“We do now,” Ortham replied grimly.
“Yeah. I made the mistake of dream delving – I ended up killing one,” I added. “Maybe that’s why they’re after us?”
“Mm, I thought they were already after you,” Ortham said. “Just like the, uh, you know.”
I took a sideways glance at the unman.
“Yeah. I know,” I replied. “And you’re right. I think what really set it off was when Majira first showed me the dreamscape. I think that set them all off. Suddenly they knew I could see them.”
We rode on in silence for a while. There were no birds singing in the trees; not even a rustle of wind.
“They want your soul,” the unman suddenly said.
I looked over to her. She was staring straight ahead, as if she had never said a word. I could see the dark tattoo on the back of her head, the eldritch symbol at whose meaning I could only wonder.
“I’ve heard that before… but why? What for?” I asked.
“Power,” she simply replied.
Then she looked over at me. Her eyes were a crisp, deep blue. More blue than the harbour of Safon, than the domed summer sky. There was no malice in them.
“But I am free now,” she said reverently in her Unnic accent.
I’m not sure what she meant by that, but it clearly meant something to her.
“Are you done hunting me?” I asked awkwardly.
I didn’t know how to say it; I just wanted reassurance.
She nodded.
“Yes. I am free.”
A cool sense of relief washed over me. I realized then that I had been holding onto a bitter suspicion ever since we had found her bleeding on Retker’s Knoll. It felt good to finally dispel it.
We rode on for the rest of the day, stopping again only once to rest the horses. We were never at ease, never let down our guard, until the trees thinned and the sandry ridge that marked Céin Urthia’s eastern border came into view.
“Maker be praised!” Herace said in jubilee as we finally laid eyes on home.
I sighed out in relief and laughed. Finally we were home!
As we passed through the final stretch of trees we stopped. Descending the ridge, following the eastern trail, was a host of bronze-clad warriors.
“Is that the Royal Guard?” Ortham asked incredulously.
“Hail!” Herace shouted, waving his good arm.
One of them saw us; they raised their lances. A clarion called out sharply. The centaurs charged down the slope, shouting triumphantly as they did.
Perethon galloped toward me, an uncharacteristic smile upon his usually grizzled face.
“Maker’s blessing!” he exclaimed. “Princess Dawn!”
I leapt from my horse and ran toward him, throwing my arms around his waist. He hesitated at first, but soon returned the embrace. I was just so happy to see him, so glad to be away from harm.
Two faun healers had already dismounted. Herace directed them to Ortham and they got to work, sealing up what they could.
“Who’s this?” Perethon grunted, nodding to the unman sharing Ortham’s saddle.
I didn’t know how to reply. I didn’t really know who the Disciple was anymore. Was she a prisoner? A guest?
“It’s… a long story,” I eventually replied.
A figure pushed his way through the crowd of centaurs, sitting astride a dappled grey horse. I recognized him from the dreamscape – long hair, beggar’s clothing, and pointed ears.
It was Magus Bram Tan Heth the Mad, in the flesh.
He dismounted, walked toward me, and bowed deeply.
“Your highness,” he said. “Finally we meet in a more… congenial setting.”
“Magus Bram! I had no idea you were here! How…?”
He straightened up and winked at me. But he gave no answer.
Once Ortham’s wound had been sufficiently closed we all mounted up and the Royal Guard formed ranks around us. Bram Tan Heth led the column with Perethon; we rode up the sandy ridge, through its sparse summer grasses.
And as we passed over the border I felt the invigorating surge of the Sacred place.
I breathed in deeply, smelling the aroma of a Céin Urthian summer. A perfumed breeze blew in from the deep, emerald woods. I closed my eyes, letting its energy revitalize my every fibre.
It was good to be home.
And safe at last.
60
Ortham
I leaned against the parapet, looking out to the glimmering canopy of trees beyond. The air was beginning to cool now; summer was drawing to a close. Soon the warm days would begin with frost, shortening as autumn steadily approached.
I wondered what the forests around Naraya would look like as the leaves turned brown. If it was anything as brilliant as spring, as pleasant as summer, it was certainly something to look forward to.
The sun was lowering toward the horizon. I hadn’t missed a single sunset since returning to Naraya. There wasn’t much for me to do in the evenings; Dawn was always busy. Always busy, getting ready for her coronation, conspiring with Majira and the Mad Magus Bram, taking counsel after counsel… for two weeks now.
And so, for two weeks, I would drag a stool out behind the keep and watch the sunset every evening. There was no better way to pass the time.
At least now I had my own quarters in the keep. No more sharing with all the servants. I was, unofficially, the court battle-mage; it would become official after Dawn’s coronation.
Queen Dawn… that would take some getting used to. Not just Queen Dawn. High Queen Dawn.
I was sure that, like her father, she wouldn’t insist on the ‘High’ part. Those with true power don’t need to be reminded of it.
I squinted as the sun dipped below the western horizon. The sky was a canvas of stunning colour; splashes of burning orange and vivid pink. The whole world was bathed in a golden light. I never tired of sunsets – Herace called me melancholic for it, but I think he just didn’t understand. It wasn’t that I was sad; it was just the perfect time to sit and think.
I hadn’t seen Herace since the day we got out of the Weeping Hills. We travelled by Plin Oèn and we parted ways; we helped the injured Disciple into his saddle and they rode away. Perethon and Magus Bram were pretty concerned. A Disciple in Céin Urthia? But in the end they couldn’t stop Herace. He was a prince, after all, and Dawn supported it. Not like he was breaking any laws… just being a bit strange.
But that was Herace. I looked forward to seein
g him at the coronation. Maybe then I’d get some answers, answers more solid than ‘I saw her in a dream.’ As long as he was alive and mostly sober, though, I wasn’t too worried.
“May I join you?”
I turned around. Dawn was walking up the tower steps in a powder-blue silk dress. She wasn’t wearing her crown; her hair was down.
“Of course,” I replied with a smile.
She walked over to stand next to me. We both looked out at the sunset, high above the cobbled streets and surrounding forests.
“So this is where you hide every evening,” she said.
“Not always. Sometimes I sit down on the hill,” I said. “Not much else to do.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy,” she replied. “The coronation, the college, trade with the League…”
“Of course, the college. So is that really happening?”
Dawn shrugged.
“I want it to. So does my mother. It’ll take some haggling with the court, though… and years of work.”
“Naturally.”
“But… I want you to be part of it.”
I was taken aback.
“Wait, what? What could I possibly do?” I asked.
“What do you mean? I want you to teach there!” she replied. “You taught me. And you’re probably the only battle-mage west of the Bitter Frosts who can do it.”
“More like I’m the only battle-mage west of the Bitter Frosts who isn’t drunk or imprisoned. Or dead,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Ortham. I’m serious. We need you. I need you.”
I tried to resist but I made the mistake of looking into her face. My will faltered immediately as I saw her hopeful expression.
“I’ll think about it,” I replied, but we both knew what that meant.
Dawn smiled. She put her arm in mine and leaned her head against my shoulder.
“Well no matter what, you’ll always be my personal battle-mage,” she said with a sigh.
We leaned against the parapet in silence for a while. The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky still bright with pale colours. I enjoyed the touch of her arm on mine.
“Hey, why don’t we go down to the garden? The fireflies will be out by now,” Dawn suggested, pulling away from me.
We walked down the steps and carefully made our way through the keep. We always had to be careful not to be seen together too much – we didn’t want to feed the rumours. I had already heard a whisper or two – not that I minded. Dawn didn’t seem to mind much either. It was everyone else who cared.
Dawn’s silk dress flowed behind her as she hurried through the half-lit halls of the keep; her hooves clicked upon the stone. We came to the doorway that led into the private garden; she waited for me at the threshold, silhouetted finely against the dusk light beyond.
I passed through and shut the door behind me. She grabbed me by the hand and we walked through the still-warm night, protected from the breeze by hedges and trees.
Dawn stopped beneath a bending bough of violet flowers. She tilted her head back to breath in their perfume; she closed her eyes and smiled as she did. I admired her face, felt a strange mix of longing and joy swell within me.
I reached up and plucked one of the flowers from the drooping bower. She opened her eyes and looked up at me; I presented it to her. She tucked it into her wavy hair.
“How does it look?”
“Perfect,” I replied in a hushed voice.
We continued down the path, wending our way down the winding trails. A soft, evening glow lit our way. Om, the great red moon, was rising above the trees.
“See! The fireflies…” Dawn said, pointing to an open bed of swaying grass.
She tightened her grip on my hand. Fireflies bobbed up and down above the stalks of grass like tiny torches. Crickets chirped dolefully, heard but never seen.
We walked until we reached the weeping willows by the spring, their slender fingers dipping into the glassy water; it was so clear, so still that I could see the reflection of the stars brightening against the gloaming sky.
Dawn let go of my hand and walked out to the edge of the spring. I leaned against a willow tree, watching her dark figure move toward the mirroresque water. She stood there on the bank for a moment, looking out across the spring. Then she took the flower from her hair and gently placed it into the water, letting it float away.
Ripples flickered out across the glassy surface as the flower drifted off.
She walked back to me. Fireflies danced upon the water’s surface.
I leaned back against the willow and tossed my hat from my head on to the grass. She took both my hands in hers. I stared into her emerald green eyes; they seemed to almost sparkle, like gems set above her high cheekbones. I put a hand against the side of her face, feeling her warmth. She closed her eyes and smiled.
“Did you ever imagine?” she whispered.
“Imagine what?”
She opened her eyes.
“That we’d be here. Like this.”
I smiled gently back and shook my head.
“No,” I whispered. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She leaned toward me. I put my arms around her waist and pulled her close. I closed my eyes.
We were so close, so perfectly close; I could smell her perfume. She never wore perfume. But I could smell it now, floral and sweet like lilies in honey.
I felt her lips on mine. Soft as velvet. A shiver ran through me, a feeling I had never known. I gently tightened my arms around her, felt her press against me. She ran her hands up to my face and held it.
We parted lips; she breathed out in a shudder. So did I. I didn’t want to open my eyes. Not yet; I didn’t want to lose this perfect moment. More perfect than any sunset I had ever seen, than I ever would see.
“I love you, Ortham,” she whispered.
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
She shivered. I hugged her close, her warmth upon me as I leaned my back against the rough bark of the willow.
She rested her face against my chest, her hands upon my shoulders. I left my hands on her lower back, feeling her skin beneath her silk dress.
“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she sighed in a hushed voice.
I ran my fingers through her hair. She looked up at me.
“So do I,” I whispered back.
She leaned in again, pressing her lips to mine. We kissed tenderly; I breathed in her perfume, let it fill my lungs.
“Promise me we’ll find a way,” she said.
I held her face in my hands. We stared into each other’s eyes; I let myself get lost in the green pools of her eyes, swimming through the verdant, summer glow.
“Of course,” I promised. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She smiled and rested her head again.
I looked up to the willow’s arbour, gazing through to the starry evening sky.
I wished we could stay in that moment forever.
But there could always be more. There could always be tomorrow…
Eventually Dawn pulled herself away. I stood up from against the tree. She stooped to pick up my hat from the grass and placed it on my head.
“Tomorrow’s a busy day,” she said with a hint of regret.
“Every day’s a busy day,” I replied.
She reached up and straightened my hat. I put a hand on her cheek; she smiled softly.
“I’ll go in first. Wait until I’m inside, alright?” she said.
“Sounds like a plan.”
We walked hand in hand back through the garden. I didn’t want to let her go; I didn’t want the night to end. I felt like I was floating away, almost like I was drunk, or in the midst of a pleasant dream.
The edge of the garden came into view. We lingered there for a moment; Dawn turned and threw her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly.
“Goodnight, Orth
am,” she whispered.
“Goodnight, Dawn,” I whispered back.
She gently let me go, landing a fleeting kiss upon my lips as we parted our embrace.
I watched as she walked back up the grassy slope to the looming keep. Her powder-blue dress fluttered in the rising night breeze.
Halfway up the slope she turned back to me.
“I love you, Ortham!” she said aloud, voice carrying triumphant through the night. “And I always will!”
Before I could even reply she turned and ran toward the keep, disappearing into its shadow. She shut the door behind her.
I sighed out a shivering breath and closed my eyes. I could still smell her perfume on my shirt, feel my lips tingling. A warmth glowed within me and I couldn’t help but smile.
Nothing would ever be the same.
I gazed up to the onlooking stars, the only witnesses of that night.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
61
Bram Tan Heth
I had never before taken a pupil so capable – the limits of her power were yet unknown. It was frightening – it was exhilarating. She was the sire of great stock, and now with the Untouched Wood united and soon to be hers, her soul was vast and her reservoir deep.
It would take much training, however; much training to learn the ways of magick. How to use it without killing yourself and those around you; how to dream delve without being lost forever in the dreamscape, wandering mad.
She had much to learn. She had no particular affinity for magick; its use did not come naturally to her. Having an expansive soul and a large reservoir was a major boon in that she would not have to spend any time expanding her soul or deepening that reservoir, which could take months if not years of intense training. But having those things didn’t mean learning magick would be any less of a trial.
During our second session, however, she told me something very strange – she told me that she had used battle-magick before. Fulgimancy, to be precise; it was the only spell she knew, and she didn’t know it very well.
I was shocked. However did she learn a difficult spell so quickly?
Then, of course, I realized that the court battle-mage, her confidant who went by the name Ortham, was a well-trained fulgimancer.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 49