Erdhan looked stricken. “I am sorry to hear that. My father is sometimes a brash man, but I cannot imagine living without his advice and guidance.”
“Perhaps it is our due reward for our greed,” Orlla said in a haunted tone.
They reached the grounds of the Keeper Conservatory just as dawn was breaking over Ballinkeld. Erdhan came to a halt mid-stride, his jaw askew as he contemplated the salmon-hued strokes sweeping over the horizon.
“It’s magnificent,” he said in an awed whisper. “I’ve never seen the sun spill color over the earth like this before.”
A profound sadness gripped Orlla. Efyllsseum had deprived the mainlanders of even the simplest of nature’s gifts. She gave Erdhan a few minutes to ponder the sight, then tugged him forward. “You will see many more such dawns if we succeed in relocating the light dragon stone to the mainland.”
Somewhere close by, a rooster crowed, spurring them on. They sped up the stone steps and Orlla pushed open the unpretentious wooden door to the Conservatory. It was unlikely any students would be here yet, but the mentors often arrived early to begin preparations for their morning classes. She gestured to Erdhan to follow her inside. “Wait here in the vestibule. It’s best if I explain who you are before I introduce you.”
Erdhan took a seat on a wooden bench, one eye fixed on the main door. Orlla entered the training arena and glanced around the space. Her eyes settled on a woman dressed in a long, mauve mentor’s robe and plumed cap, hunched over a table at the back of the room. As if sensing eyes on her, the woman turned and peered over her shoulder. Orlla smiled at the welcome sight of Jubel, Akolom’s closest confidant in the Conservatory.
“Orlla! Is that really you?” Jubel hurried toward her, arms outstretched. “Are you all right?”
Orlla gulped back unexpected tears at the concern in the mentor’s voice. She gripped Jubel by the sleeves of her robe. “No. I come with terrible news.”
Jubel’s eyes widened in alarm. “Has something happened to Akolom?”
“He’s alive, but he’s in trouble because of Samten and me.”
Jubel raised a questioning brow. “Is it true your brother stole a boat and fled to the mainland?”
Orlla averted her eyes. “Yes, and he has been captured.”
“Captured?” Jubel threw her a look of heightened alarm. “By whom?”
“Brufus’s soldiers. They will only release him if I bring them the Opal of Light.”
Jubel’s face darkened but she quickly composed her features. “How did they come to know of its existence?”
Orlla twisted her lips in an apologetic grimace. “I am to blame. I entered Macobite territory to search for Samten and inadvertently aroused the suspicion of several of Hamend’s Kingsmen. They arrested me and tried me as a Pegonian spy. Samten spoke out at my trial and testified that we were from Efyllsseum.” Orlla wrung her hands. “He was trying to save me. I’m so sorry, Jubel. They threatened his life. I had no choice but to reveal Efyllsseum’s secrets to save him.”
A careful crust of calm slid over Jubel’s face. “You told them … everything?”
“Yes, but nothing on the mainland is as we were led to believe.” Orlla pulled out Akolom’s missive from her cloak and pressed it into Jubel’s hands. “This will explain everything.”
After Jubel had finished perusing the parchment, she looked up, her eyes filled with resolve. “We have distrusted King Ferghell’s accounts of the mainlanders for years, but he remained unwilling to share the power derived from the Opal of Light.”
“Then we’ll just have to try harder to persuade him,” Orlla said. “Brufus is gathering a large army in the Angladior mountains and, with no one to fortify the runes, they are weakening by the hour. It won’t be long before the pass becomes visible. Unless we can persuade King Ferghell to draft a treaty declaring the Opal of Light’s power is to be shared among the kingdoms, war will soon reach Efyllsseum’s shores.”
Jubel smoothed a hand over her long, golden hair as she weighed Orlla’s words. “I will cancel classes today and call an urgent meeting of the Keepers, but it will be difficult to convince them.”
“I brought someone with me who can help with that.”
Jubel scanned the room, her fingers instinctively sliding to the hilt of her sword beneath her robe. “You did not come alone?”
“A mainlander accompanied me,” Orlla said. “Give me a moment and I will fetch him.”
She retreated to the vestibule and beckoned to Erdhan. “I spoke with Jubel, one of the Keepers and a close confidant of Akolom’s. She read the missive and she’s willing to help us.”
“This is indeed welcome news,” Erdhan said, the relief in his face obvious.
“We have little to celebrate yet,” Orlla said gravely. “You will have to testify to the veracity of Akolom’s report before the Keepers. After that, King Ferghell must be persuaded to relinquish the Opal of Light.” She pushed open the door to the training arena and gestured Erdhan inside. “Come, I’ll introduce you to Jubel. You would do well to heed her advice on how best to sway the Keepers.”
At the emergency meeting of the Keepers, Orlla glanced around at the somber faces of mentors under whose tutelage she had sat for many years. There was no sign of Barhus among them, but that was typical. He was probably drunk and passed out somewhere, or hung over and had deliberately ignored the summons. Jubel opened the proceedings by reading aloud Akolom’s missive, the keepers’ faces betraying their shock at the impending threat of war and the Pegonian army gathering in the Angladior mountains.
When she was finished, Jubel rolled up the missive. “Orlla will now answer any questions you have.”
Heart clattering in her chest, Orlla got to her feet. “You have heard the words of our master mentor, Akolom, and what he requires of us. I am prepared to address your concerns before we take a vote.”
“Is Akolom safe and in good health?” a Keeper at the back of the room called out.
“For now.” Orlla allowed a pause to unfold before adding, “But we must act swiftly. The pass will not hold for long, and the outpost will soon be overrun.”
“How did you escape from Brufus’s soldiers?” another Keeper asked.
Orlla gestured to Erdhan seated next to Jubel. “This Macobite man rescued me while the soldiers were sleeping. Without his help, I would not be standing here before you today.”
“Let us hear from the mainlander,” the Keeper replied.
Erdhan got to his feet and cleared his throat. “I am Erdhan, son of Josef, a Macobite from the town of Wilefur. I can attest to every word in Akolom’s missive. Our kingdom suffers greatly and with each passing year, our people grow more desperate. My own brother is afflicted with a hacking cough that worsens daily.”
“Enough of your woes,” another Keeper called out. “Tell us how you came to be on our island?”
Erdhan turned to Orlla and raised a questioning brow.
Orlla hesitated. She was fairly certain Gaff wanted to remain anonymous, and that Akolom preferred his association with the boatsman be kept quiet. “A fisherman smuggled us across from the mainland,” she said. “We didn’t exchange names.”
She glanced around the room again. “If there are no more questions, I will turn the vote over to Jubel.”
The Keepers nodded their agreement.
Jubel got to her feet and joined Orlla and Erdhan. “We have always known the universal purpose of the dragon stone and sought on previous occasions to persuade King Ferghell to relinquish control. Now, we face the very real possibility of war coming to our shores, a calamity of our own making.”
Hushed whispering broke out among the Keepers.
“There is only one path open to us,” Jubel continued, her voice rising. “We must unearth the Opal of Light and take it to the center of the three kingdoms, where its power may be freely availed of by all as the High Dragon King intended.”
A brawny Keeper with a wiry black beard stood. “King Ferghell will never agree to
such a demand. We will only waste valuable time going to court and trying to reason with him, after which he will pit the Protectors against us. I propose we retrieve the Opal of Light without the king’s knowledge and bring it to the mainland ourselves. Once we have established an equitable distribution of power, the king will have no option but to seek peace with Brufus and Hamend.”
Jubel’s expression betrayed no emotion. “Make no mistake, if we are caught transporting the light dragon stone off the island, we will be charged with treason.”
The room broke into heated debate. Orlla saw fear in many of the Keepers’ faces, a fear she respected. They were academics, not warriors—Keepers of the runes handed down through the Conservatory over the centuries. She could not expect them to be willing to lay down their lives for a cause without first counting the cost.
Jubel raised a hand to silence the room. “We will take a vote now. Our decision must be unanimous.”
The Keepers shuffled in their seats, exchanging fleeting glances, as though sizing up the courage or cowardice in each other’s faces.
Orlla’s stomach churned with apprehension. Without the support of the Conservatory, there was no hope of averting war, or saving Samten.
Jubel scanned the room. “All in favor of relinquishing the light dragon stone, say aye.”
For a long moment no one spoke, and the tension in the room mounted. The Keeper with the wiry black beard was the first to rise and give a resounding aye. One-by-one the other Keepers in the room stood and ratified the motion.
Orlla turned to Erdhan, her eyes misting. “Both of our brothers have a chance at life now.”
He gave a grave nod. “The rest is up to us.”
“The vote is upheld,” Jubel announced. “Arm yourselves and meet me back here at dusk, unless I send word to your homes that plans have changed. Tonight, we travel to the sacred rune circle.”
A loud crash outside the door startled everyone. Seconds later, Barhus stumbled through the door. Orlla raised a brow at his disheveled state.
“Back here at dusk, you say?” Barhus drawled, slurring his words. “Am I late for the meeting?”
Jubel set her lips in a line of grim determination. “You missed it. And in your current state of inebriation, it would be best for everyone if you returned home.”
Barhus gave her a bleary-eyed look of contempt, and then took a couple of unsteady steps forward, glancing around at the reproachful faces of his fellow Keepers. His eyes rested on Orlla and a flicker of anger traversed his face. “Where is your good-for-nothing brother?”
“From now on, you need not concern yourself with Samten,” Jubel interjected. “You are not fit to oversee him, and I am dismissing you as his mentor.”
Barhus scowled. “You cannot divest me of my authority without due process. I must be informed at once if Orlla has knowledge of Samten’s whereabouts.”
“This meeting is over,” Jubel growled. “We are all heading back to our homes, and I suggest you do the same, Barhus.”
He shot her another dark look from beneath his brows, before groping his way unsteadily back to the door.
“Say nothing about what we discussed to him,” Jubel cautioned the departing Keepers once Barhus was out of earshot. “He is so drunk he may let something slip. And don’t concern yourselves that he will show up at dusk to accompany us—he’ll be passed out again by then.”
“I need to go to my father and tell him what’s about to unfold,” Orlla said to Jubel. “I know he may not understand, but it wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t try.”
Jubel gave her a sympathetic smile. “Do what you must. Be back here at dusk.”
Orlla and Erdhan took the precaution of throwing their cloaks over their heads before exiting the Keeper Conservatory. “Don’t engage anyone in conversation,” Orlla warned, as they set out along the road. “A simple nod in passing will suffice.”
When they reached her house at the far end of Ballinkeld, Orlla pushed open the front door and gestured Erdhan inside—saddened but not surprised at the gloomy silence that greeted them. “Father!” she called. She turned to Erdhan and grimaced. “He doesn’t always answer. I only call out so I don’t startle him.”
Erdhan followed her down the hallway and into the kitchen. A concerned frown puckered Orlla’s forehead when she noticed the fire was unlit. She checked the pantry, shocked to find there was nothing to eat, not even a loaf of bread. Had Grizel forgotten to bring her father any food today? She laid a hand on Erdhan’s arm. “Perhaps my father is unwell and in bed. Set a fire for us while I check on him.”
She hurried back to her father’s bedchamber, peering into the other rooms as she went by. Her father’s bed was made up, but the room was empty. Frowning, she placed a hand beneath the blanket. The bed was cold.
Fear cascaded over her. Her father hadn’t left the house in three years.
Chapter 23
“My father is missing!” Orlla burst back into the kitchen. “He didn’t sleep in his bed last night.”
Erdhan got up from the hearth, his brow furrowed. “Could Akolom’s sister have taken him to her house?”
“No!” Orlla said vehemently. “He never leaves our house. It’s been years since he went outside.” She held the back of her hand to her lips, eyes stinging with unshed tears as a shocking notion hit her. “King Ferghell might have ordered him arrested and sent to the dungeons after Samten fled. He could be using him as a pawn to draw my brother in.”
Erdhan looked grim. “In that case, your king has a blacker heart than Hamend.”
“We must go to Grizel’s. She might know of his whereabouts.”
“What if you are spotted in the village?” Erdhan asked. “People are stirring now, and some may already be afoot.”
Orlla gave a vague nod. “True, but they don’t know you. I will hide on a pushcart under some supplies and you can take me along a back alley to Grizel’s house.” She ran an appraising eye over Erdhan. “You will pass very well as a butcher in that bloodied attire.”
Erdhan raised a brow at her. “I’m fairly certain that is no compliment.” He rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. “Although I confess it may be an honest assessment of my present state.”
Orlla gave a wry grin. “I’ll fetch you something fresh to wear.”
After Erdhan had changed into an old work shirt and jerkin of her father’s, she led him around the side of the house to a small workshop that housed some farming implements, rusted tools and a wooden pushcart overgrown with weeds. Orlla inspected it from every angle. The leather straps attached to the handles were worn and cracked, and the wood was eaten away in parts, but it would suffice for their purposes. Erdhan helped her yank it free of the weeds growing through it and together they proceeded to load up the cart with a pile of moldy rags, a couple of moth-eaten blankets, and a few rusty implements from the back of the shed.
“That should be a big enough pile to hide beneath,” Erdhan said.
Orlla wrinkled up her nose trying not to inhale too deeply as she crawled under the blankets. “Turn left at the end of the lane. I’ll direct you from there.” She stuck her head back out. “Whistle if we meet anyone so I know to keep still. And act as if you are in a hurry. Any conversation will only invite questions that can’t be answered.”
A grin broke out across Erdhan’s face. “You make for quite the charming ragamuffin, even under a pile of rusted rubbish.” He adjusted one of the blankets over her head, concealing her entirely.
“Mercy!” he said, as he pulled away. “Those rags stink.”
“I am glad for it! It will keep any lecherous laborers who cross my path at bay,” Orlla replied in a scandalized tone.
Erdhan laughed. “A gutter-bred fluent in honeyed insults!”
“Put the straps around your neck,” Orlla directed him. “If you look like you’re carrying a heavy load, people will be less inclined to engage you in frivolous chatter.”
Erdhan gripped the cracked handles of the cart and pushed
it out of the shed and onto the lane. The front wheel wobbled precariously, jerking the cart from side to side as he forced it over the ruts in the dirt. “I’ll wager this pushcart was retired for a reason,” he grumbled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t give out before we get there.”
“I don’t remember the last time we used it,” Orlla said, a nostalgic lilt in her voice. It seemed like another lifetime ago when her father used to trundle the cart down the lane to market with Samten and her bouncing up and down on it.
When the cart veered left, Orlla whispered, “Keep going to the baker’s at the end of the road on the right. Grizel lives in the rooms above.”
As they continued along the road into town, Erdhan suddenly began whistling loudly. Orlla curled into a knot and held her limbs steady, her skin prickling with anticipation.
“Well met,” a female voice chirruped from across the street.
“Well met,” Erdhan responded, interrupting his whistling only briefly.
“Say, you look like a hard-bodied man. Could you come hither and lend a hapless maiden a hand to load this barrel on my cart?” the female voice crooned.
“Uh, by all means,” Erdhan said, his tone betraying uncertainty.
The cart slowed, and then shuddered to a halt as he set it down on its legs. Tentatively, Orlla peered out from beneath the blankets, gritting her teeth when Erdhan slipped the straps from his neck and strode across the street to assist the stonemason’s daughter—a young woman with a thick braid of chestnut hair and a penchant for seducing farmhands. Erdhan reached for the barrel she waved at and hoisted it atop her cart.
“Thank you, sire!” The woman tilted her head coquettishly and curved her full lips into a come-hither smile. She ran her fingers teasingly down his muscled arm. “Stop back by when you’re finished with your day’s work, and I’ll serve you up a hot meal as tribute for your trouble.
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