The king’s command halted him. “Let the prisoner be!” He leaned back on his throne with a regretful sigh. “A shame that the dragons have no descendants on earth. I grew up on such intriguing legends. Why do you suppose the islanders were rumored to be endowed with magical powers?”
Orlla met his piercing gaze. “The power they wield is not their own.”
The king narrowed his eyes, his gaunt frame tensing like a cougar. “You speak as though the islanders exist.”
“They do, Your Highness. My brother, Samten, was born on the island and I was raised there by his father, a former Keeper.”
“Keeper? What is this Keeper you talk of?”
“A fabricator of the runes that protect Efyllsseum. They ensure the health of its people, enhance its harvests, and manage its favorable weather patterns, among other things.”
The king exchanged a questioning glance with the judge, who bowed his head, shaking it as if in disbelief. “She asserts the rune-making annals on Efyllsseum have been preserved and that the island is in possession of ancient dragon secrets lost to the mainland,” he explained.
“And the power the islanders wield,” the king continued, turning his attention back to Orlla. “If it is not their own, then pray tell, whose power is it?”
Every face in the room turned her way. She took a quick, steadying breath before she answered.
“The Opal of Light lays buried on Efyllsseum.”
Chapter 16
A deathly silence fell over the throne room. The pulsing beat of Orlla’s blood grew louder in her ears until she felt certain her heart would burst. The courtiers’ faces were waxen, their bodies frozen in shock as her words circled the room in an eerie echo. Even Samten stood rigid as though he had fallen into a stupor.
King Hamend gripped the arms of his throne so tightly, his knuckles turned bone-white. Orlla was vaguely aware of the judge on her right wheezing as if he was having difficulty breathing.
Thoughts of Akolom flitted through her head. She could see his steel-gray eyes admonishing her, his disappointment in her darker than any thunderstorm. She considered her father and what this would mean for him, and a well of tears sprang up inside her. She wouldn’t be able to protect him from what she had set in motion. She could almost feel his fingers searching for her hand and not finding it anymore.
“The prisoner is lying,” one of the king’s advisors said, his voice dripping scorn as he leaned toward the king, red-rimmed eyes narrowing to slits. “The island kingdom of Efyllsseum is a myth. As for the Opal of Light, the High Dragon King alone knows where it lies—he may even have destroyed it in his wrath.”
“This is what we have always believed.” King Hamend traced his long fingers over his skeletal brow. “But what evidence do we have that Efyllsseum does not exist? The prisoner says the pass to the island kingdom has been concealed from us all these years. What if she were to lead us to it?”
The advisor stiffened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Your Highness, the woman toys with you, shamelessly preying on your longing for a realm free of sickness and death. Perhaps she has allies waiting in the woods. It could be another of Brufus’s traps. We have lost enough soldiers to his devious schemes already.”
Ignoring his comments, King Hamend rose and descended the steps from his throne to where Orlla stood. He threw a scant glance at Samten and then settled his gaze on Orlla. “Prove to me that you are who you say you are.”
She swallowed, her throat tight as she held up her bound hands to the king. “Untie me and you shall have your proof.”
The judge scuttled to King Hamend’s side. “I must caution you, Your Highness that—”
“Enough!” the king roared, elbowing him aside. “The truth will out! Untie this woman at once!”
A guard standing nearby hurried over and cut Orlla’s bonds with a knife. The judge clenched his fists, his mouth twisting in rage at the affront to his authority witnessed by the entire court.
Orlla rubbed her aching wrists and then addressed the king. “If you will permit me, I will work a veiling rune on the doors leading out of the throne room.”
The king stroked his chin for a long moment considering her proposition. “Very well, but you will remain on this side of the doors at all times.”
Orlla tilted her head toward him. “Of course, Your Highness.” Feeling the judge’s gaze boring into her, she turned and walked toward the main doors, painfully aware of the armed guards who closed in on either side of her.
Before the elaborately carved wooden doors, she closed her eyes and took several deep cleansing breaths. She didn’t have time to create a complex rune that could conceal the door for longer than a moment or two, but it scarcely mattered. It was only to prove a point—that the ancient secrets taught to the human race by the dragons still existed. Holding her hands up, she moved her lips silently as she began to weave the elements of the rune. Layering the cryptic rules one on top of another, she felt the weightlessness of the matter in front of her begin to take effect.
When she opened her eyes to survey her work, the outline of the door was already blurring into the surrounding walls. Sharp cries of fear and astonishment undulated around the room, followed by a low rumble of voices. Orlla steeled herself for repercussions. Not everyone would be awed by her achievement. Some would fear it. But for now, she worked for an audience of one—King Hamend. Unless she could convince him of the power of the Opal of Light, she could not hope that he would spare her life, or Samten’s.
Scrunching her eyes shut again, she worked furiously, pulling the power from the stone into the rune to veil the heavy wooden doors in front of her. When a courtier behind her shrieked, she knew she had succeeded. Her eyes shot open and she took a half-step forward. Guards grabbed hold of her arms again. Thick, stone walls faced her, impenetrable in form and appearance. The wooden throne room doors had vanished, apparently leaving everyone trapped inside the room. Satisfied with her work, Orlla turned to the king. He strode across the floor and stood beside her, surveying her handiwork. Hesitantly, he stretched out a hand and felt what appeared to be a wall in front of him.
“The door is merely veiled from sight, Your Highness,” Orlla explained.
“A clever ruse,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I feel the wood beneath my fingertips, yet my eye does not perceive it.”
The slit-eyed advisor materialized at the king’s side. “Sorcery, Your Highness,” he hissed. “This woman is worse than a spy, she is a witch. She must not hang, she must burn.”
The king flattened his lips in a disapproving line. “When I require your counsel, I will request it. Until then, begone.”
The advisor retreated across the room, his expression sour as curdled milk. The judge leaned his head conspiratorially toward him and muttered something inaudible.
“Where on the island does the Opal of Light lie buried?” the king demanded, turning his attention back to Orlla.
“Beneath a volcanic crater. Protectors guard the entrance to the tunnel leading down to it.”
King Hamend placed his hands behind his back and paced in front of her, frowning. “Who rules the island of Efyllsseum?”
“King Ferghell,” Orlla replied. “He has been in power for over five hundred years.”
King Hamend stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes at her. “How is such a thing possible?”
“The Opal of Light’s power is concentrated on the island. It preserves our youth indefinitely.”
The king’s shoulders sagged. “All while our people toil harder and grow weaker each year.” He locked his gaze on Orlla, his features tight with rage. “Efyllsseum stole the earth’s birthright, and many have paid the price for such deception.”
Orlla bit her lip. “I admit I did not know of your suffering until a few short days ago. The people of Efyllsseum are taught that mainlanders are greedy and bloodthirsty at heart. They do not know that you suffer at their expense. But I am willing to help you right the wrongs that have
been done. If we can persuade the Keepers of Efyllsseum that it is in everyone’s best interest to relocate the Opal of Light to the mainland, and share it henceforth, King Ferghell will have no choice but to comply. He cannot keep the pass through the Angladior mountains hidden without the support of the Keepers.”
King Hamend nodded thoughtfully. “Then you will lead twenty of my Kingsmen to Efyllsseum to present the mainlanders’ demands. If King Ferghell refuses, I will bring war to Efyllsseum’s shores and even engage Brufus, if necessary, to help us secure victory.”
Orlla’s thoughts flew in several different directions at once. There was nothing else for it but to agree to lead the Kingsmen through the pass to Efyllsseum. If she refused, Samten would hang and after they had made her watch his execution, they would kill her too. “I will do as you ask, but I have my conditions.”
The king arched a brow. “And what are these conditions?”
“My brother is to be released, unharmed, and my bow and arrows and steed are to be returned to me forthwith.”
The king pressed his pale lips together. “Consider it done.”
“Furthermore,” Orlla added. “My fellow prisoner, Elspeth, is to be set free and her debts paid in full.”
A nerve twitched in the king’s cheek, his calculating eyes fixed on her. Orlla held her breath, unsure if she had pushed him too far and he would order her flogged for her insolence. The semblance of a smile tugged at his lips. He raised a hand and gestured to a guard. “Attend to this request at once.”
The guard hurried off without a backward glance, his sword flapping at his hip.
“You will leave from here with my Kingsmen,” the king ordered, snapping into an authoritative tone. “Arnulf will handpick the men who are to accompany you to Efyllsseum.”
As he turned to leave, Orlla said, “Your Highness, there is one more thing I must bring to your attention.”
The king frowned. “Speak, but do not test me.”
“Should King Ferghell not agree to relocate the stone to the mainland, I request asylum in Macobin for my brother and myself.”
“You will have it, but pray that you won’t need it,” the king responded curtly, before sweeping past his advisors and exiting the throne room. As soon as his footsteps had fallen away, hushed exchanges broke out among the courtiers behind their elaborate fans. They peered surreptitiously in Orlla’s direction as Arnulf took her by the elbow and steered her and Samten through the wooden doors. Guards filed in on either side of them, walking in close formation as they escorted them from the room.
Arnulf led them through a maze of winding corridors to a small parlor room in the Kingsmen’s quarters and then summoned a servant to bring them some food. “I need to round up the men who will accompany us,” he said. “I will return shortly.”
Orlla grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t forget my bow and arrows.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He sniffed her sleeve tentatively and then wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You reek from your overnight stay in prison—something will have to be done about that.” He walked over to the door and turned back around. “Don’t give any thought to escaping. There are two armed guards posted outside.”
“I told you I wasn’t a spy.” Orlla fixed an accusatory look on him.
A mixture of anger and disdain flickered across Arnulf’s face. “It would have been better for you if that were your only crime. Now I know that you have more than only Horace’s blood on your hands.” He turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.
“You cannot fault him,” Samten observed. “Mainlanders will not easily forgive the grave misdeed Efyllsseum perpetrated upon them.”
Orlla sank back against the wall with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure justice can ever be restored, no matter how hard we try to correct the balance of power.”
“Sharing the stone with the rest of the world is a good beginning,” Samten said.
Orlla grimaced. “I fear King Hamend will not settle for sharing the Opal of Light once it reaches his shores.”
When a servant arrived with a tray laden with food a short time later, Orlla and Samten gratefully ate their fill of smoked herring and freshly-baked bread before pushing away their plates and rubbing their bellies.
Samten groaned with satisfaction. “I was about to faint from hunger.”
Before Orlla could respond, there was a sharp rap on the door. She stiffened, but quickly relaxed when two servants walked in carrying armfuls of clean clothing and a wash basin and jug.
“Arnulf requested that you change before he gets back,” one of them said wrinkling her button nose.
With a wry twist of her lips, Orlla accepted the bundle of clothes. “Thank you, I will happily rid myself of my foul-smelling garments.”
After Orlla and Samten had washed up and changed, they sat back down to wait for Arnulf.
“Do you think King Ferghell will permit the Keepers to bring the Opal of Light to the mainland?” Samten asked.
“He will have no choice once the Kingsmen deliver King Hamend’s terms,” Orlla replied.
A thud outside the door caught their attention.
Orlla rose and placed a finger to her lips. She slipped a hand inside her boot and slid out the small knife Erdhan had given her just as King Hamend’s slit-eyed advisor burst into the room brandishing a sword.
Chapter 17
“The king may have fallen for your witchcraft and lies, but I am no fool,” the advisor rasped, his red-rimmed eyes venting hatred. “I won’t let you lead us into Brufus’s trap. King Hamend is dying, and when he is gone I will rule Macobin in his place.”
A cold sweat tingled down Orlla’s spine. Slicing her knife menacingly, she leapt in front of Samten. “Arnulf and the Kingsmen are on their way. You won’t get away with harming us.”
A sneer spread across the advisor’s face. “No Pegonian wench will jeopardize the crown I earned on the battlefield, the crown for which my own brother died.”
Orlla slashed another aggressive stroke through the air in warning, but the advisor stepped closer, unfazed by her display.
She flexed her knife hand. She was sorely disadvantaged with only a short blade to his bloodied sword. He must have already slain the guards outside the door. She and Samten were on their own, with only their wits to survive the wiles of a seasoned killer. Her mind thrashed about for a way to buy them some time. It wouldn’t be long before someone spotted the dead guards lying in a pool of blood. But, it wouldn’t take more than a moment for this battle-hardened soldier to slay her and Samten.
The advisor twirled the sword in his wrist, advancing with the confidant swagger of a man who has no real opponent.
Orlla gripped the hilt of her dagger tighter and directed the point of her blade at the advisor. “Take another step and I’ll bury it in your neck.”
He gave a mirthless laugh as he lunged at her with a downward thrust of his blade.
She narrowly side-stepped the attack, the sword grazing the skin on her arm. Samten stepped forward, poised to spring, but she shouldered past him, indicating to him to stay put as she made a sweeping cut with her knife and ducked beneath the advisor’s blade.
A heavy footfall sounded outside the room. The advisor pivoted his head. In the heartbeat he was distracted, Orlla sprang at him like a cat, plunging the tip of her blade into his neck just as Arnulf burst through the door, wielding a Kingsman’s sword. Orlla’s dagger sank deep, and the advisor plummeted to the floor with a gurgling wheeze, clutching at his throat for air. Arnulf sliced his sword downward in one fell stroke, splitting the man’s stomach wide open and ending his struggle to catch a breath.
“Are you all right?” Arnulf shot a concerned glance Orlla’s way.
She nodded, her throat too tight to talk, as she knelt and pulled her dagger free of the corpse.
“We heard a thud outside the door. Are the guards dead?” Samten asked.
Arnulf curled his lip as he wiped his sword on the advisor’s jerkin. “So
rry souls. Didn’t even have a chance to pull their swords from their scabbards. I doubt either one of them heard him coming.”
“It was apparent in the throne room the advisor was desperate to get rid of us,” Samten said. “Now we know why.”
Orlla locked her eyes on Arnulf. “Is it true the king is dying?”
Arnulf’s brows shot up in alarm. “Where did you hear that?”
“From the advisor,” Samten answered. “He claimed he would succeed the throne upon the king’s demise.”
“He wasn’t about to let us lead the army into one of Brufus’s traps and destroy his chances,” Orlla added.
Arnulf’s face hardened like granite. “Someone tried to poison the king recently. He was deathly ill for weeks. I have a good idea now who was behind that assassination attempt.”
Orlla eyed the advisor’s body with distaste. “He may not have acted alone. I noticed he and the judge exchanging whispered words in the throne room.”
“I will send word to King Hamend of this treachery.” Arnulf resheathed his sword, eyes planted on the dead man lying in a ring of his own blood. “We need to leave at once. The Kingsmen have horses saddled and waiting, and a storm is brewing.”
Samten walked around the advisor’s body to the door, but Arnulf shot him a hard look. “Not you. You’re staying here until we return with the Opal of Light.”
“No!” Orlla stepped between them. “That wasn’t part of the deal to leave my brother behind.”
Arnulf narrowed his dark brows. “You don’t get to make deals with the king. He spared your life and gave you a chance to prove that Efyllsseum and the Opal of Light exist. Naturally, he requires surety. After witnessing your rune abilities, he fears you may attempt to flee once you reach the Angladior mountains.”
“But Samten’s not safe here,” Orlla said through gritted teeth. “Apparently, your guards are worthless.”
Arnulf grunted. “Then we’d best make haste and return before anything untoward befalls him.”
Opal of Light_An epic dragon fantasy Page 15