Medieval WIP | Novel NaNoWriMo

Chapter 1
ROBERT

“Shouldn’t we be heading back?” Robert shifted uneasily in his saddle as he watched the pale morning sky turn from violet to lavender.

James stood with his back to Robert, facing the wide ocean before them. His head turned up towards the heavens as he took one deep breath after another, savoring the crisp cool breeze. The wind coaxed his dark hair from his forehead and whipped his loose riding clothes about.

“Just one more moment,” he said.

Robert waited, knowing that there was nothing he could do.

At this point, they were already late. Sir Christopher would have some choice words to say to them today. He gripped the hilt of his knife reflexively.

The first rays of the sun burst across the sky, wreathing his prince’s form in a halo of gold. James turned then, a crooked smile on his face. “I suppose this means we’re late again?”

Robert huffed. “Don’t act so coy. You knew what you were doing.”

James swiftly alighted on his white horse, smirking all the while. “It’s no fun if we don’t have to race.” He spurred the beast forward and took off like an arrow.

Robert found himself struggling to start, much less catch up. He cursed under his breath. James didn’t carry a single weapon on him. How was he supposed to keep him safe like this? He chased after him, hoping to overtake him by the time they reached Laeindel.

They rushed through the gates to the city, nearly toppling over several carts being pulled along by bent backs. Robert could hear the sounds of protest fading behind them. Up ahead, the gilded tips of Laeindel sparkled in the new sun. The large castle looked benevolently upon its lands and people, like a lion over its pride. The golden banner of the Reinhardts manned the castle walls. Guards stood at attention as their prince raced past them, their spear tips and helms glinting like the towers far above.

Robert had hoped that he and James would make it at least to the stables without being reprimanded by Sir Christopher. But they had no such luck.

The hardened knight stood in the yard, already in his sparring leather. His arms were crossed, and his eyes looked particularly unmerciful this morning.

James hopped down from his horse, apparently unbothered. Stable boys ran up to take the reins from him. He patted his horse fondly as they took it away for grooming.

Robert dismounted as another stable boy came to take his own horse. The large red snorted once and flicked its tail as a goodbye. Robert’s fingers found the hilt of his knife once more as he went to join the Master of Arms in the yard.

Sir Christopher was giving which the prince hardly heeded.

"-I have only ever had one request, Your Grace, and that is that you report for training at dawn. Not two minutes after, not twenty. Exactly at dawn. Do you understand?"

James clicked his heels and saluted, his right fist over his chest. Robert didn’t have to look to know that he was smirking.

The Commander’s lip curdled. It twisted the scar on his face so that he looked like a corroded gargoyle. It was difficult to tell if he was smiling or scowling. “If that’s so funny, then you’ll have no trouble lacing anew the sparring jerkins this afternoon. I’m sure there’ll be plenty to smile about then.”

James’ shoulders fell slightly. Robert did his best to suppress a chuckle.

“And ​you​.” Sir Christopher’s gaze fell on him. His eyes flashed as cold as steel. Robert’s stomach dropped. Even if James made them late, it was ​his​ fault. And he ​always​ had to carry out his sentence.

The old knight rattled off his usual speech. “I should have known better than to anoint you. This is not the behavior of a knight of the Royal Guard. Do better. You’ll be helping Markus oil old weapons in the armory.”

Sir Christopher put the two of them to work immediately. They donned their sparring gear, performed the usual exercises, then rounded on each other while he watched.

This part of the day was always Robert’s favorite. While James got to be the prince and was better and more important out there, here, in the yard, was Robert’s domain. He was bigger and taller than the prince, meaning his reach and strength outmatched his young opponent. This was just a game.

That wasn’t to say that the prince didn’t offer him a challenge. It seemed that every day he improved his skill, learning to step inside Robert’s longsword and advantage. This didn’t bother Robert. He had a second line of defense in his knife. The blade was like an extension of himself. It fit comfortably in either hand, slipping between his fingers as if it had a mind of its own.

He smiled as he watched the prince scoop some sand and dirt into his hands, kicking the ground with his boots as he fell into a proper stance. Only an amateur would need a starting position like that. Robert could spring into a fight from any station. He waited for his prince to make the first move. James held his blade low, pacing from left to right as he searched for a weak point. Robert offered one or two openings just visible to the trained eye, hoping that he’d take the bait.

He did.

Quick as a viper, James lunged for his unprotected wing. Robert deflected it with his sword, then thrust his elbow at James’ nose. James ducked. Robert grunted with surprise. He pivoted to block the next swing. Left, parry, thrust, down. He knocked the prince’s helm with his hilt.

“Sword up, James!” Sir Christopher called.

Robert swung high, but James ducked again. He came up on his flank and drove his point towards the small of his back. Robert spun towards him to avoid the thrust. James returned with an upwards cut. Robert caught it in his crossguard. They struggled for a bit. James gave way. He drove one knee to the ground, bringing his blade down and catching Robert along the leg. Robert stumbled, off-balance. The prince used his elbow to hit him in his sternum. Hard. Robert was on the ground. James tried to tackle him, but Robert wouldn’t have it. He swatted the prince with the flat of his blade, then jackknifed back onto his feet. He wouldn’t be knocked into the dirt again. He attacked the prince with renewed vigor, up, down, left, right, down, left, down. His opponent could hardly keep up. Robert drove them across the yard. He could tell the prince’s strength wouldn’t last much longer. He’d almost won.

Then James did something he did not expect. He stepped forward into a parry and ended up inside Robert’s attack. But instead of striking, the prince twisted his blade and disarmed him. Robert was so surprised, he’d forgotten about his knife. The next thing he knew, James’ blade was at his neck.

“Yield.”

Quicker than lightning, Robert grabbed James’ sword hand and twisted it until he dropped his sword. He kept twisting until the prince had turned his back to him to lessen the pain. Robert drove his knee into the exposed back until James hit the ground, his face full of dirt.

“You yield.”

A moment of silence, then a huff of air. “Fine,” James said dejectedly. Robert released him. He stood up and retrieved his longsword.

James picked himself up from the ground, rubbing his sore arm and shooting Robert a dark look. Robert chuckled.

Sir Christopher nodded. “Enough for today. Go clean up.” They were dismissed. For Robert, that meant bathing in the stream then patrolling the city streets for something to do. He might visit the forge... He pursed his lips in anticipation.

WC: 1314

Chapter 2
JAMES

Despite his sore arm, James felt good after today’s training. He’d managed to disarm Robert and knock him to the ground on his first try. Maybe one day soon the knight would start to take him seriously. And Sir Christopher had nodded. That in itself was a rare acknowledgment.

As he passed through the corridor to the north wing, he could see the shimmering ocean crashing against the distant bluffs. The sun was close to its zenith, and it shone above a clear blue sky and sweeping green and gold plains. He could still catch the faint scent of the sea breeze.

In his chambers, a bath had already been drawn. He climbed in eagerly, still a little bitter that Robert had rubbed his face in the dirt.

When he was clean and dressed, he sent for Master Hugo. The portly old man in his gray robes appeared at his door less than ten minutes later.

He settled himself into his usual spot by the seat at the end of James’ dining table. “Are you ready to continue your lessons, Your Grace?”

James sat at the end of the table, leaning back cavalierly in his chair. “Do your worst.”

Master Hugo spent the next several hours going over the alliances and enmities between major and minor houses across Avolire. The Blackleys in Sond, the Erderbrays in Estin, and the Mynads in Nordos. He bounced between places and houses as if he were weaving a tapestry. It was confusing and complicated, and he talked as much about the small minutia as he did the grand schemes. He was like an old woman spilling tales of gossip. The names went on. It was part of James’ duty as heir to the crown to know these things, but he couldn’t possibly remember it all. He stared in befuddlement at the map laid before him of his father’s four kingdoms.

The Reinhardts had reigned in Avolire since the last war against the goblins. They’d reunited the four kingdoms under a single rule to defeat the massive goblin army. The ruling houses of each seat of power swore fealty to James’ ancestors thousands of years ago. The Ravenwoods of Newen in Nordos and the Praedeens of Braewood in Sond. The Reinhardts of Laeindel ruled in Estin. Whils had been desolated ages ago, nothing but goblins and orcs and other strange creatures ever ventured there anymore. Estin engaged in trade with both Nordos and Sond, for minerals and lumber, respectively. Their own main export was grain. At times, they’d even engage with the odd orc for raw ore or precious metals.

James sat up suddenly, causing Master Hugo to stop mid-sentence.

“Why don’t we ever talk about what’s in Whils now?” he asked.

Master Hugo cleared his throat. “There’s nothing of significance out there, Your Grace. It’s a barren wasteland.”

“You’ve told me that orcs come from there.”

“Well, y-”

“And that we’ve traded with them for gold and jewels.”

“Y-yes, Your-”

“And so where would they have gotten them from if not Whils?”

Master Hugo shuffled his feet beneath the table. “Your Grace, I am sure that it is highly plausible for them to have stolen these items from a mining village in Nordos, or any other such unfortunate town.”

“You mean that we’ve been dealing in stolen goods?”

“Er, no, well-”

“Well they must have come from somewhere. Why not Whils? You’ve said yourself that nobody’s been there for hundreds of years. Who knows what it could be like now?”

“I hope you live a long prosperous life without ever having to find out, Your Grace,” Master Hugo said in a closing note that told James his tolerance for outbursts had run out.

James pouted, but sat back in his chair all the same. It wouldn’t do to anger his father’s closest advisor.

They soon moved on to a more interesting topic. Master Hugo orated an epic poem regaling the longest ice storm in Nordos. The people had taken refuge in the city of Newen, where the very walls were heated by hot springs from deep underground. But even that wasn’t enough. The people turned to the cryptic and mystifying giants, who bequeathed to them a small flame to ward off the cold. The Nordosi brought this flame to the center court of Newen’s castle, and it spread warmth to all within it. It continued to burn for hundreds of years, warming all visitors who came.

“And it’s still burning today?” James asked.

“I have seen it, Your Grace. There is no cold like that in the ice mountains of Nordos. And yet within the castle of Newen, it is as comfortable as the mild climate of Estin.” Master Hugo’s eyes twinkled to see his pupil so enraptured.

A loud clang sounded through the castle as the noon-bells rang.

“Is that the time already? I’m afraid I’ve kept you long enough, Your Grace. I must attend court with your father.” The old master stood from his chair, collecting the scrolls and bound books and maps that had accumulated during their session.

James watched him go, thinking of ice giants and orcs.

He joined his mother and sisters for a late luncheon in the small hall. The spread consisted of light fare: cuts from the last hunt, fruit, bread, and wine. Sir Christopher attended as well.

“How fares the Guard, sir?” Queen Lyra asked pleasantly. Sir Christopher inclined his head. “Very well, Your Grace.

Sir Roderick shall soon make captain.” “And my James?”

James kept his eyes on his food, his heart thundering in his ears at the thought of what the Master of Arms had to say.

“He’s improving greatly. Just this morning he nearly defeated Sir Robert.”

“Nearly?” asked Rosalie. She looked at her older brother.
“I ​did​ beat him,” James said. “But then he disarmed me.”
“Is that what you call a defeat, Your Grace? In my day, that would have meant a loss,” Sir Christopher said with a glint in his eye.

James could feel the color rise in his face as his little sisters giggled.

“I expect within a year or two, you will be able to properly match him in combat,” the knight said assuredly.

“And what about me?” Isabel asked, tugging at his sleeve. “When will ​I​ be ready?”

Sir Christopher gave a warm smile to the thin girl dressed in riding gear. After years of insisting, and one peculiar incident with a kitchen knife, her mother had finally conceded to letting her learn the sword.

“​You,​ little one, will have beaten us all by then,” he said with a chuckle.

A serving girl cleared their plates when they were finished, and brought out small cakes and tea.

Rosalie clapped her hands with delight at the sight of the sweets. She plucked up a plum cake and took a delicate bite. Her eyes rolled closed and she chewed with relish.

“Not too much, darling, you’ll ruin your appetite for dinner,” said Lyra.

The doors opened, and the king strode into the hall followed by Master Hugo and a knight of the Guard. The knight stationed himself by the door.

“Hello, hello,” King August said as he kissed both of his daughters. “What lovely young women are seated here. My beautiful wife, my beautiful daughters... Wait a minute,” he paused, making a show of inspecting Isabel. “I’m not sure what this one is. She’s wearing a leather jerkin and riding pants. This can’t be a princess.”

“It’s me, Papa!” Isabel giggled.

“Ah! Isabel, of course! I heard you’re learning mounted archery. Very impressive!”

“I’m coming with you on your next hunt!”

August laughed. “Soon, perhaps.”

“They just finished lunch, love, I wasn’t sure if you were coming,” said Lyra. “I could send for something.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m only here for a bit. I must return to court. James,” he looked at his son, “I hope you’ll join me.”

“Yes, Father.” James snuck a quick glance at Sir Christopher, who must have realized that James had escaped punishment. His steely eyes were obscured beneath his furrowed bushy brows. James couldn’t help but grin at his luck.

WC: 1365

Chapter 3
ROBERT

Robert whistled as he strolled through the city. He passed market stalls, inns, beggars, and brothels. They were all crammed together, trying to overtake the other. His height exceeded that of the eaves of the thatched roofing, so to him they all looked the same. The dust from the dirt road kicked up with each step he took. He frowned slightly to see his fine leather boots get sullied. This was unlike the streets within the castle walls, which were paved with stone.

He stopped short. This knighthood had really gotten to his head. He smiled at himself. To think that he’d live well enough to worry about a bit of dirt on his shoes, when only two years before he would have killed a man to own them.

His stature aside, he’d always been a formidable man. He’d joined a band of copperblades called The Red Brothers as a lanky boy, but quickly became a deadly fighter. Within the year he was made a captain, the youngest in the company to ever do so. He’d learned early on how to look at his enemies. As far as he knew, he was the deadliest man in Avolire. Now he was a knight and an officer of the Royal Guard. He wore Reinhardt gold and carried a longsword. The busy streets of Laeindel parted before him without him having to lift a finger.

He continued whistling, his feet knowing where to take him. Near the south wall was a small rise. It was the only place in Laeindel besides the castle from which one could see the ocean. He climbed the steep path to the top. Before he got there he could see the black smoke churning from the hearth.

He found the smithy in the forge, hammering away at an old breastplate, smoothing out a nasty-looking welt. The smithy’s strong brown arms glistened with sweat in the light of the fire. Robert watched the oil-stained gloves move with practiced ease as they turned the metal around and set to hammering over and over.

He coughed to announce his presence. The smithy looked up in surprise, a wide smile spreading across her face.

“Robert! How long were you standing there?”

“Not long. I came by to say hello.”

Nicole removed the breastplate from the anvil and set it in a bucket of water to cool. She shed her gloves and sooty apron, rounding the hearth to where Robert stood.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have cleaned up.”

“I love to watch you work,” he said. He had to stoop to kiss her.

“How did you manage to come so early? Is James with you?”

“No, I gave him to Pollock. He should be able to handle him for a couple of hours,” he said with a grin. ​Handle​ may have been an overstatement, considering the impulsive nature of the prince. “At least someone will know where he is.”

Nicole laughed, and Robert’s heart swelled. He could listen to that sound all the way to his deathbed.

Her eyes lit up. “Well, it’s too early for ale, but I could brew some tea while you’re here?”

“That would be nice.”

She led him out and around the forge to the small stone cottage behind it. Robert sat down at the simple wooden table and watched Nicole as she rustled up a kettle and some cups, stoking the fire and fetching water from the well. Her hair was done in a long braid down her back, and it would sway behind her as she went back and forth between tasks.

She finally settled beside him with the tea. Robert accepted it gratefully, even though it wasn’t his preferred drink. She wove her arm with his, twining their fingers together.

“Where’s Markus?” Robert asked, alarmed at the contact.

“Father’s at the castle forge. He asked me to take care of things here for the day. He won’t be back until sundown,” she said, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Doesn’t look very busy today,” Robert said.

“No, but that’s fine. I’ve been working on my own project.” “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what it’ll be yet, but it’s kept me busy.” She stared out the small window at her forge. It was as much hers as it was her father’s. Over half the city went to Markus for his expert craftsmanship, but as he’d gotten older, Nicole had begun to take over. Most of their export was her own work. Robert imagined that it was even better than her father’s.

“Guess what I heard in the market this morning?” Nicole asked suddenly, her eyes brightening at the spark of gossip.

“What?”

“I heard that Samantha the cobbler’s daughter is going to marry Edgar.”

“Who is Edgar?”

“He lives outside the city. His family owns a farm. But he comes here often, selling produce in the market twice a week.”

“Is she going to live with his family in the country?”

“I think so. Or Edgar may save up first to buy his own plot of land from the crown. Such a difficult decision to make, don’t you think?”

Robert thought about having his entire future rest in the hands of a person who knew nothing about him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t hard for him to imagine. He’d been in a similar situation when he’d first arrived at Laeindel.

He squeezed Nicole’s hand. “I’d like to think that someday soon the people will have similar things to say about us.”

She smiled, though it wasn’t clear what she was thinking. “Someday, perhaps.” She stood up to clear the table, not looking twice at Robert’s untouched tea.

“What sort of punishment has Sir Christopher cooked up for you today?” she asked. “I assume James got you into some kind of trouble this morning. You should probably be off.”

Robert sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon. “Oiling weapons in the armory. I can’t believe him. He ​watched ​the sunrise this morning, as if we had nowhere to be.”

Nicole laughed. “Well don’t be too hard on him. If it wasn’t for him getting you into trouble all the time, we never would have met.”

Robert huffed. Sir Christopher had sent him to the armory countless times as punishment for James’ nonsense. It was there that he’d first laid eyes on Nicole. “I’m already easy on him. I’d have killed him by now if it weren’t for that.” They returned to the forge, where Robert had left his longsword.

“Well, try to remember me before you’re tempted again,” she said with a smirk.

“I’ll try,” he said, and kissed her in parting.

WC: 1121

Chapter 4
JAMES

James followed his father to the throne room, Master Hugo and the Guard trailing behind. Uncertainty gripped his gut. Recently, his father had taken to having him join him in court. James knew his responsibility as his father’s heir and so endured his duty in stride. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease when he sat on the dais, the natural discomfort of one who didn’t fit in one’s role. James was nervous, but he held his chin high. He wanted to prove himself as a capable leader.

“RISE FOR KING AUGUST REINHARDT, THE RISING SUN OF THE EAST, SECOND OF HIS NAME, STEWARD OF ESTIN, LORD OF LAEINDEL, AND LORD AND PROTECTOR OF THE REALM OF AVOLIRE, AND HIS SON, THE CROWN PRINCE JAMES REINHARDT OF LAEINDEL.”

The rustling of fine silks sounded through the hall as the court and its attendants stood.

James tried to keep his eyes forward as they made their way to the marble dais. He could feel the gaze of the room upon him, and he tried not to think about the expensive and important lords and ladies who judged his every move. Their eyes seemed to penetrate his skin to try to determine whether he was worth having an opinion of.

The throne greeted them at the end of the hall, shining yellow in the afternoon light that streamed through the western windows. It was emblazoned with the Reinhardt crest, upholstered with black velvet cushions and ornate detailing. James had always thought it was a tad too much. Its headrest stood at least a head above Robert, who was the tallest man he knew.

He looked around at the knight who stood to his right. He was sure his name was Pollock. He wished it was Robert instead. It would have been easier to have a friend at the moment.

His father mounted the steps and turned to face the crowd. A servant stepped forward, a woven circlet of gold resting on a soft cradle in his hands. August took the crown and placed it on his head. With it on he looked far more intimidating than fatherly. He looked ​eternal.​ He waited for James to join him on the dais before sitting down. Somebody had provided a chair for him. Master Hugo settled into a desk at the foot of the dais, upon which lay a scroll of parchment and a quill.

“As you were,” August said, waving.

The court sat.

“Bring in the next petitioner.”

A knight of the Guard escorted in a haggard-looking man, with old mud crusted on his shoes and cloak. He stepped forward timidly. His eyes darted from the knight to Master Hugo, then to James and his father, as though not sure whom to address. Or perhaps he was scared beyond his wits. James guessed it was the latter.

“Come forth,” August gestured to the man with a slight flick of his wrist.

The man shuffled forward a few more steps. He stood hunched, as though only newly conscious of his appearance in the eyes of the nobles surrounding him.

“F-forgive me, Your Grace, I en’t accustomed to the lay of these halls.”

“Nevermind that. State your purpose.”

“I’ve had two daughters, Your Grace, an’ now they’ve growed up and left. Left to start their own families, I mean. An’ myself an’ the missus are without any help with the land. I went to Lord Fischer about it, but he said he couldn’t spare none. Was wonderin’ if His Grace could supply us.”

“What is the nature of your work, er...”

“Galen, Your Grace.”

“Galen.”

“Mostly crop, but we got some animals, too. A steer, chickens, and a mule.”

“I see. And how far do you live from Laeindel?”

“Little more than a day’s ride, Your Grace.”

“Right. Galen, I will offer you two hands from the royal household, provided you shelter and feed them. Master Hugo, I’ll have you pick two boys, preferably ones who don’t have close ties within the capital. Have them sent to this man’s farm within the fortnight.”

Master Hugo inclined his head and made a note on his scroll.

Galen bowed so low, James feared he would topple over. As he straightened, James could catch the glint of tears in his eyes.

“Thank you, Your Grace, thank you. I’ll take care of the boys like they were my own, I promise. Many a blessin’ upon you an’ your house.”

James could feel a surge of warmth rise within his chest to see a stranger feel such gratitude towards his father.

August nodded to accept Galen’s thanks, though his expression remained solemn. His dark eyes followed the man out of the hall, a distant look clouding them.

“That was nice of him to say, don’t you think, Father?” James commented, wondering at the sober behavior.

“It was,” the king sighed. “Though my heart weighs heavy to know that not all of these shall be pleasant interactions. You should guard your heart against the fleeting whims of the people, James. It’s the only way to endure this burden and to rule justly.”

The next petitioner was on his way in as Galen was on his way out. The man made a face at the old man’s weathered wear, which contrasted sharply against his own finery. His colors were burgundy and pale blue. He marched down the hall with a fervent look in his eye, as if he had come to give the king a piece of his mind.

James tried to recall the name of the house this man belonged to. Burgundy and blue were the colors of a southern house... he couldn’t quite remember.

“This one is yours, James,” his father murmured under his breath.

James nodded, his voice stuck in his throat. His stomach had dropped out of his body and rolled away. He wasn’t prepared to speak so soon.

The fancy lord stopped by the attending knight, and gave only the slightest of bows in a curt nodding of the head as he was announced.

“Lord Vern of House Dareg!”

“Your Grace,” he began, “I come before you regarding an urgent matter of honor.” He looked expectantly at August, who nodded to James.

“My son will preside over this matter.”

Lord Vern’s visage twisted foully, as though he’d had salt instead of sugar in his tea. “It was my intention, Your Grace, to speak with the king about a great insult to my family’s name, and yet not only did I have to wait for a mere ​peasant’s solicitations, but now I find that I shan’t at all be speaking with His Majesty?”

Annoyance gave James his voice back. “My lord, you said your matter was urgent. You now have an audience with the crown. Perhaps you will state your purpose.”

The lord sniffed, clearly irritated that he did not get his dramatic pause. “Very well. As you know, Your Grace, the Dareg family has resided in the southlands of Estin for a long time. We are a great house, and therefore are due proper respect. We shan’t suffer any slight.”

“Tell me what was done, my lord.” James was already weary of Vern’s theatrics.

“A band of ruffians, The Red Brothers, they called themselves, was heard singing bawdy songs about my esteemed father. I did not personally hear it, Your Grace, for I do not frequent such vile places as taverns, but it has been reported that they called my father a lazy drunken pig... among other things too foul to utter here.”

James now remembered a comment from one of Master Hugo’s lessons about Lord Dareg and his benign neglect over his country. His people went hungry most winters and were often plagued by thieves, without any hope of aid from their lord. James could imagine they had plenty of reason for not thinking too kindly of him. He would have to try to be careful, for the truth might make an enemy of this nobleman. To make the situation worse, Lord Vern had also spoken of The Red Brothers, the copperblade company that Robert used to belong to. James knew that he couldn’t show favoritism, despite this fact. Not all copperblades were as noble as Robert. Though Lord Vern was annoying, he belonged to a powerful house. He would have to try to avoid offending him.

August looked at him, curious to see what his son would make of the situation.

James shifted in his seat. “What would you have me do, my lord?”

Lord Vern’s lip curled. “I would have you lend me a fighting force to subdue these vagabonds and bring justice to my name. Your Grace,” he added hastily.

James took a moment to consider this before speaking. “Though I sympathize with the offense you and your father have suffered, I do not see the need for violence,” James began. “My father has led this kingdom in the longest peace known to Avolire in recent history, and I would not see it disrupted. From what I’ve gathered of your country’s state of affairs, I understand that those who can afford it must hire copperblades to protect their property. And that is not to speak of those who cannot afford it and must fend for themselves, if they can. So these Red Brothers occupying your land are a necessary evil. While they must be there, I suggest you find a way to broker peace. Seize the offenders, if you must, but see that they are put to a fair trial. I can lend you a knight of my guard to help you see that this is done.” As James spoke, Lord Vern had grown redder and redder, as if he were on the brink of eruption.

“One knight! I requested a ​force​, what could I ​possibly accomplish with a single-”

“Be grateful that I offer your house aid at all, ​my lord​, and not a revolution on behalf of your people! What sort of lord lets his own land suffer as your father has? It sounds to me that the songs sung about him were sown in truth.”

“You insolent boy! You insult me with your meager aid, and you ​dare​-”

“I’m sure you will find one knight to be quite sufficient for a peaceful agreement, Lord Dareg,” Master Hugo interrupted. “And I would remind you to remember to whom you speak.”

As quickly as Lord Vern had reddened, the color drained from his face. James had never heard Master Hugo speak in such a severe tone, not even to admonish his own pupil. But he was glad of it today. One more word from Lord Vern would have urged James to strike him down. Even now, he had to tell himself not to grip his armrests so tightly.

“Of course, you are under no obligation to accept our aid,” August said, his voice calm but hinting at a dangerous undertone. “Apparently there are plenty of swords for hire right at home.” His eyes glowered from beneath his crown, burning through Vern’s slight frame.

“N-no, Y-your Grace, I... I thank you for your sympathy,” Vern stuttered. He looked back to James. “I will gladly accept your aid, my prince.” He bowed, but this time almost lower than Galen had.

“You may shelter here in the castle tonight, my lord,” August said cooly. “As I’m sure you are weary from your journey. Tomorrow you may return home with a fresh horse, supplies, and an escort. I wish you luck in defending your family’s honor.”

Lord Vern bowed once more, then scampered out of the hall. James was glad to see him go.

“I hope you realize that you shamed yourself,” August said out of the side of his mouth.

James released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Guarding my heart against villains like him is easier said than done.”

August gave him a sharp look. “It doesn’t get easier, James. You started off strong and decisive, which is important. But you let your personal emotions get in the way of your judgement. You’ve made an enemy.”

James did his best to hide his upset. His father’s disapproval spread a poison through him like a blackened rot. He could feel the eyes of the court bearing down upon him, their opinions made.

The herald was about to announce the next petitioner when the throne room fell into darkness.

James felt weightless. A series of images flashed before him, almost too fast to interpret. A blinding sun and scorching desert. Himself as a boy, trying to lift his father’s sword. A gnarled tree growing through a stone floor, spreading cracks as it forced itself up. The first time he rode a horse. Robert kneeling at his feet, swearing fealty. A drowning woman. His own hands drenched in his father’s blood. As soon as these visions had come, they were gone.

James started, confused by what he’d just seen. He was back in the throne room, and it was still black as night. His eyes couldn’t register any movement in the inky darkness. The torches had been snuffed out. Not even the windows produced light, as if the sun had been doused. James felt cold, like he imagined the ice mountains of Nordos to feel. A pause of silence hung in the air, harbinging the panic that was sure to ensue. But before anyone could scream, the light returned. James blinked as his eyes adjusted to the familiar brightness.

He heard a collection of gasps coming from the court. In the center of the aisle stood a slim mysterious figure. It was a woman, as far as James could tell. But her body did not boast of any womanly curves. She could have passed for a skinny boy if it weren’t for the long unkempt hair that fell in ropey strands to her knees.

She collapsed. James could feel her fatigue rolling off of her in waves, and it made him drowsy. As a knight helped her to her feet, she seemed to be muttering a string of words too fast and low-pitched to make out.

August was the first to speak, shaking everyone from their stupor. “I’m sure you could have used the door, Lady Katalya,” he said.

“N-no time. The stream... the message...” Her voice rasped like she hadn’t seen water in days.

“What message?” August’s tone became grave.

“My king... things are stirring which have long lain dormant. Just now... a vision...” She closed her eyes, and for a moment James thought she’d gone to sleep. But the light in the hall once more began to flicker, and then ​bend​, as though it were being refracted in a mirror. It created images there in the middle of the throne room. He saw the tree forcing itself through stone, and a dark pool. A light appeared in the center, golden and bright. It grew closer, taking form.

James gasped. There, suspended in the air was the most beautiful work of craftsmanship he’d ever seen. It was a helm, made entirely of gold. Fine filigree encrusted the visor, and twin wings of white gold crowned the top, diminishing into fine tips.

“The Derediem has risen. To whomever possesses it, it bestows universal power, and divine virility.” Katalya’s voice had taken on a doubled quality, as though it wasn’t just her who had uttered those words. She slumped when she was finished, clearly having expended the extent of her energy.

August frowned, waiting for Katalya to make her point.

“It must be brought to Laeindel, my king,” she panted. “The royal succession depends on it. My visions were clear. The capture of the Helm of Day will determine the next generation of kings.” Her eyes flicked to James. They were muddled and eccentric, betraying nothing.

James looked to his father. August appeared calm, but James could see the whites of his knuckles.

“You must take action,” Katalya continued. “This vision was not granted to myself alone. I could feel the presence of the others, as well. Leto... and Aren. They know of this.”

The names of the other sorcerers sent chills down James’ spine. He knew very little about their Order, but to think that there were others as powerful as Katalya made him uneasy. They were each sworn to a seat of power in Avolire, Leto to Newen and Aren to Braewood. They lived unnaturally long lives, and dealt in the old magic. They usually kept to themselves unless called upon during a time of need. From what Katalya had said, both the stewards of Newen and Braewood now knew about this Derediem, and could choose to pursue it, overthrowing James’ father as king.

August stood. “Thank you, my lady, for your haste. Please allow Sir Anscombe to escort you back to your chambers.”

The knight that had helped her up now offered Katalya his arm. She took it gladly. If he had offered it any later, James thought she would have collapsed again.

August spoke up to address the court. “I now call an end to this session. Myself and my council have many things to discuss.”

WC: 2860

Chapter 5
ROBERT

Robert worried about his young charge. James had been acting uncharacteristically somber ever since Lady Katalya’s appearance in court. He reported for daily training on time, and he didn’t engage in any of his usual troublemaking schemes. Robert would have called it an improvement except for the fact that the prince always seemed elsewhere. An ever-present crease had formed between his brows, transforming his face into an image of his father’s.

The king had ordered a constant watch on his family, that at all times of the day a knight ranking captain or higher was to escort them. He wouldn’t say why, only that their safety was more important than ever. Robert had hardly left James’ side in weeks. He missed Nicole.

He had heard very little of what exactly had happened in the throne room, but he understood that it was a serious matter. Nobody in the castle would speak of it. The rumors he heard in taverns were widespread and nonsensical, ranging from floating armor to tales of revolution. He didn’t know what to believe.

The prince now stood on the battlements, looking southward. He’d probably exchanged about three words with Robert since the morning, which had become typical nowadays. Robert didn’t like how closely James stood to the wall’s embrasures. If he was inclined, he could pitch himself over and fall to his death. Robert’s hand found its way to the familiar hilt of his knife. He would ​not​ let that happen.

Voices came up from the bailey behind them as Princess Isabel practiced her archery, cheers from her sister as she made a good shot and encouragement from the onlooking knights and squires.

“That sounds enjoyable, why don’t we go and watch?” Robert suggested.

No response.

“How about we go for a ride? We haven’t done that in what seems like ages. Or perhaps a visit to a brothel-”

“You may go if you wish. I’m not in any mood for it.” Robert grimaced. This wasn’t his area of expertise.

“If... if there’s something wrong, James, I would know of it. You haven’t been yourself.” He paused, wondering if he was overstepping. “I worry...”

“I’m fine,” James interrupted. He turned, showing Robert a half-hearted smile. “There’s just... a lot on my mind at the moment.”

“Care to share any of it?”

James let out a stream of air through his nostrils, turning back to the southern view. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Robert joined him by the embrasure. He could see Nicole’s forge from here.

“Katalya said that there’s this... this helm that’s supposed to determine the next successor.”

Robert frowned. “Successor? For the throne?”

“Yes. My birthright. Apparently both Newen and Braewood received news of this and have the opportunity to seek it for themselves.”

Robert didn’t know what to say. It was no wonder James had been in such a dark mood. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have his destiny overturned so abruptly. He himself wasn’t one to linger and wait for a solution. He was a man of action. But before he could think up a consolation for James, a knight of the Guard approached.

“Sir Robert,” he said, saluting. Turning to James, he bowed. “Your Grace.”

“What is it?” Robert asked.

“His Majesty the king requires you both in his council chamber at once. I shall escort you.”

Robert and James exchanged looks. The time had come for action.

The king’s council chamber was located directly above the throne room. It afforded views of the surrounding lands in every direction. During the day it was flooded with sunlight, and at night the torches would glow so that the people below would see a beacon shining above their city. The room had been designed so that no man was above the other, not even the king. A circular table sat in the center, and the council was seated around it.

Robert scanned the faces. The usual members were present. Sir Christopher, as Master of Arms and Commander of the Guard, sat by the king, and his eyes met Robert’s briefly. Three of his captains stood behind him. Master Hugo, the Master of Letters, had his parchment and quill at the ready. Lord Tyrene, the Master of Trade, tugged impatiently at his mustache. Master Cobb, the Master of Craft, sat with his rough and scarred hands splayed before him, and looked incredibly bored. His fingers absentmindedly rubbed the smooth surface of the table. Lady Osmund, the Master of Law, nodded at their arrival.

Among these were also several special guests. Lady Katalya was present, as the honorary Master of Magic. She seemed to be entranced in some sort of hypnosis. The queen sat on the other side of her husband, and beamed at James. And there was a lord with several attendants whom Robert didn’t recognize.

King August looked up as they entered. “James. Sir Robert. Please sit.”

James went to sit next to his mother. Robert joined the captains.

Robert studied the newcomer. He was a large man. He reminded Robert of paintings of the stoic ice kings of old. He looked rough from the road. He still wore his traveling cloak, which was trimmed with fur, despite the season. Scars crossed all over his face, running tracks through his beard, which must have been blond like his hair but was now nearly green from dirt. Long braids ran down over his broad chest, woven with small blue stones. They were the only ornament he wore. His gaze was still piercing despite the drapes of leathery age that framed them. Robert knew from a look that this man had seen the battlefield for most of his life. He wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to cross him.

“This is Lord Elt Ravenwood, Steward of Nordos,” August said. “He traveled here from Newen as soon as he got the news regarding the succession. His house has chosen to support anew our claim, and the rest of Nordos backs him.”

Robert watched James’ expression settle into something between suspicion and determination. They had yet to see who this Lord Ravenwood was, and James’ fate depended on whether he could be trusted to keep his word.

“Master Hugo, if you could elucidate once more the situation in its entirety, now that we’re all present,” August prompted.

The old man ​harumphed​ the dregs from his throat before he spoke. “As I have it from the Lady Katalya, the ancient artifact known as the Derediem has... er... ​arisen​, and its capture shall render the bearer the next ruler of the four kingdoms. The Derediem has not been seen since the Goblin War a thousand years ago. Most have believed it to be a myth, until recently. Its power is unknown, but it brought victory to the ancient seat of Whils before the country crumbled to dust.”

“Get on with it, will you?” Cobb interrupted. “We don’t have time for fairytales.”

“Peace,” August said, raising a hand. “Tell them what you told me this morning, Master Hugo.”

“We have received word from Lord Griva. He says Sond has chosen to pursue the Derediem for itself and assume kingship. Given that they learned of the Derediem at the same time as us, they have probably already set out to look for it.”

The table fell to silence.

Cobb was the first to speak. He pounded his fist on the table, causing everyone to jump. “Those cheating, traitorous bastards!”

“Now, I don’t think such language is necessary-”

“They lost the right to my respect the day they tried to rebel against our good king’s father! We should march up to their walls an’ smash their heads together. There’ll be no Sond left to rule.” He nodded as though impressed by his own words.

Robert noticed that the captains who stood beside him seemed to agree with the builder’s notion. However, their commander seemed to disagree. Sir Christopher sat unmoved as he brought reason to the table.

“We shouldn’t engage in war while we’re vulnerable. If they acquire this Derediem, the first thing they’ll do is march up here and attack. If this thing is as powerful as the legends say, our diminished forces would be useless against them. No, we must take the defensive and remain strong as long as we can.”

“As long as we can? So we are to wait until they find it?” Lord Tyrene asked.

“No. We’ve got to look for it, too. If we can get it first, then there won’t be a war,” said Lady Osmund.

“Why should we pretend at peace when they’ve already revoked their fealty? Even if we capture it first, they’ll betray us at the next opportunity,” said Lord Tyrene. “I say we cut them off. Without us, they’ve got less than half of their food supply. They’ll fall apart without us having to lift a finger.”

August shook his head. “Peace must be protected as long as possible. It is not only House Praedeen that would suffer should we cut off Sond from our supply of grain. The common people of Sond would starve first, and they won’t thank us when we restore peace to Avolire. For now, what we know is that Sond means to take the Helm of Day.”

“Then an expeditionary party must be sent at once to capture it first,” said Lord Tyrene.

“Yes, but whom?” asked Lady Osmund.

“It should be mine,” said Sir Christopher. “I’ll assemble my finest to do the job.”

One of his captains stepped forward. It was Sir Roderick, the king’s own bastard son. “I’ll go with a team of my men. It should be me. I shall defend your honor, Father.”

Queen Lyra gave him a sour look.

“No, no, we need you here. And we can’t afford a large party.” Master Hugo set down his quill and massaged his wrist. “We need an insidious group, one that can travel quickly and effectively.”

“What if we hired mercenaries?” suggested Lord Tyrene.

“And have them betray us to a deeper pocket? We need those who are unquestionably loyal to the crown.” Sir Christopher turned to the king. “We need somebody who can be trusted to keep this secret and to return quickly.”

“I could go.”

Everyone turned to see who had spoken. Even Lady Katalya woke from her reverie and snapped to attention.

James straightened under everyone’s gaze, and turned to face his father. “Roderick was right. It should be your blood. I can go, and I can travel lightly. You can trust me to return, as it’s in my best interest. And no unnecessary resources would be wasted,” he added, nodding to Lord Tyrene, who brightened at the thought.

“James,” Queen Lyra pleaded for her son to reconsider with a faint whisper.

“Father. It should be me.” James’ eyes sparkled with the fire of determination.

Lady Katalya stood, her chair producing a rude outburst. “The prince is right. There is a facet to this that has not yet been unveiled. The Derediem may only be touched by one who possesses royal blood. It would render any other undone. I apologize, my king, that I did not reveal this, but the prince’s decision had to be his own.” She bowed, then resumed her seat.

King August looked stricken at her words, but quickly regained his composure. “If it must be, then so it shall. James, if this is the path you choose, I must accept it. Your courage honors me. But I will not have you travel alone.”

It was here that Robert stepped forward. He had been aching to speak since James volunteered himself. “I’ve protected Prince James since I entered your service, Your Grace. I will not see him harmed on my account. I shall accompany him, with my commander’s permission.”

Sir Christopher turned in his chair to look at Robert and huffed. “Not that I could stop you from joining in some misadventure with your troublemaker. I’d expect nothing less. I’ll not see you in my presence without him.”

Robert nodded gratefully. He looked to James and saw his own relief reflected in the prince’s eyes.

“I believe that matter is settled, then. The two of ‘em should be enough to find and return this Derediem thing,” said Master Cobb. The council table murmured in agreement.

“So what about Sond? It seems according to Lady Katalya that we need not worry about their ability to capture the helm.” said Lady Osmund.

“Despite this, I would not rest at ease. Their search parties will still pose as a threat to my son. And we can still expect a rebellion. I fear that Sir Christopher was right in that we need to shore up the defenses of Laeindel,” said August. “Thankfully, we shan’t be alone. In our new alliance, Lord Ravenwood has offered the aid of his militia, which is on its way to us now.”

At this, Lord Ravenwood finally spoke. His voice travelled not just by air, but through his seat, the floor, and up through Robert’s boots into his chest.

“Let’s remember, Your Grace, what is expected in return.” His piercing eyes flitted from the king directly to James, who frowned in confusion. Robert disliked the ravenous look on the lord’s face.

August worked his jaw as he shared a glance with his wife. There seemed to be a silent exchange between the two, then the queen spoke with a placating quality.

“In order to secure our new alliance, the Steward of Nordos has proposed marriage between Houses Reinhardt and Ravenwood. Lady Ella Ravenwood of Newen shall be wed to the Crown Prince James Reinhardt of Laeindel.”

Robert’s eyes went immediately to the prince. The young man maintained his look of determination as he held the gaze of Lord Ravenwood.

“James? You’re a man grown. By law you have the right to accept or refuse,” said Queen Lyra, a slight quiver in her voice.

James looked first to his mother, then his father. His eyes met briefly with Robert’s. He turned back to the Nordosi with that cocky smirk of his that could drive a man insane.

“To refuse would be a fool’s choice. And I am no fool.” Robert had to force himself not to grimace. But to his surprise, Lord Ravenwood let out a belt of laughter that nearly caused the room to shake.

“Well, I should hope not, lad! Our fate depends on it.” He turned to the king. “Your Grace, I think that our purpose here is complete. We’ve made the major decisions for today and I’d like to retire now.”

King August seemed to let out a breath and inclined his head. “I agree. You and the rest of this council are dismissed. We will rejoin tomorrow to discuss preparations.”

At that, the lords and ladies stood and bowed, then made their way out. Robert stayed behind and watched with amusement as James’ face transformed from confident to anxious when he thought no one was looking. Lord Ravenwood was right. His actions henceforth would set the course of Avolire’s future.

WC: 2519

Chapter 6
ELLA

Ella’s arms shook as she drove her pick into the icy rock for the thousandth time. She couldn’t feel her hands, whether from the thick gloves and layers that covered them or from the freezing cold, she couldn’t tell. The fur trim of her hood obscured her view of the top, but she felt that she was close.

She sniffed. The scarf that wrapped around her face was coming loose, allowing the wind to scrape at her raw nose and mouth. The pain of the straps on her shoulders was getting to be almost too much to bear. Part of her wished that she’d stayed home instead of running off with a half-formed plan, but the other dug deep in her resolve and urged her to keep going. Four days was hardly anything, and she couldn’t live with herself if she gave up now. More than that, she had an obligation to her people. She couldn’t fail them.

She pushed herself up, grimacing at the pain. She might have passed out if she hadn’t driven her next pick into thin air. She looked up in surprise, knocking her hood back, and saw a lip not two feet above her. Beyond it was nothing but gray sky and cloud. She scrambled up, renewed strength coursing through her limbs. It was difficult at first, but she managed to swing her leg up and catch her toe pick on the surface. The rest was a simple matter of rolling onto flat ground. She lay there panting, elated at her success. Her arm hung over the edge, nothing below it but a seven-hundred foot abyss.

“How lovely to see ye again, m’lady.”

Ella nearly fell off the cliff. Her hand moved for her spear shaft as she sat up, only to see several men astride mules, wearing her father’s colors. They seemed to have been waiting for her.

“No,” she wheezed. The voice had been that of Cayn, the foremost mountaineer in Nordos. “Not you.”

“Your mother was so worried about ye. She’ll be glad t’see ye safely returned.”

Ella bit back a curse. These men wouldn’t have minded the foul language, but they weren’t above telling her mother about it.

Her eyes swept her new environment. Even if she had the strength to run, she wouldn’t make it three feet. They had her surrounded, and she was completely drained. She’d spent weeks secretly training to make this climb, and in the end, it was for nothing. She drove her pick angrily into the frozen ground, finding no better way to express her frustration. Two of the men dismounted and approached her. One took the heavy bag of supplies and spear off her back, and the other pulled her to her feet.

She recognized the latter.

“Edwin! You, too?”

He didn’t seem bothered by her betrayed expression. He gave her an infuriating grin.

“They needed somebody who knew where you’d end up.”

“How would ​you​ know?”

“I have my ways, my lady. Now shall we get going? A fall is coming in.”

Ella allowed herself to be led back to Edwin’s mule. Edwin seemed surprised by her amenability, even when he wrapped his arm around her waist from behind her in the saddle. But Ella was too distracted with schemes for her next move.

It started to snow by the time they made camp that night. Ella took personal satisfaction from having made these men travel for days in search of her.

“It’ll only be a light dustin’,” Cayn commented at the sky. The men murmured in agreement, glad to not have to build too sturdy a shelter.

Edwin dismounted and helped Ella down. She winced at her sore muscles. She helped spread mats on the ground as a fire was made and food brought out. Edwin settled next to her and shared his rations.

“So where were you headed?” he asked.

Ella ignored him in favor of the dried fish.

“That don’t matter now, Ed. We’ve got her back an’ we’re takin’ her home. She don’t owe none but her mother an explanation,” said Cayn.

His words were welcome, but the message they bore carried a weight that Ella didn’t like. They fell into an uneasy silence, the flute-like wind providing an ominous melody.

Wind like this comes but once
Snow drifts high and deep
Hold your loved ones close my dear
Or lose them to endless sleep

The lullaby rang loudly in Ella’s mind. It reminded her of dark nights spent in her mother’s arms when it was so cold not even the Giant’s Hearth brought warmth. She looked around at her new companions and felt a twinge of guilt that it was her actions alone that brought them out here in this frigid cold.

Edwin offered another dried fish, but she declined. The less she took from him, the better for the both of them. She did accept, however, his offer to share his bedroll. On nights like this, it was suicidal not to share body warmth. She recalled the recent nights she’d spent alone and did not want a repeat any time soon. She had had nothing but a fire and a flask of whiskey. For her next venture, she would have to figure out a different course.

They dropped off to sleep, burrowing into their furs for any lingering warmth. Except for Cayn. He stood watch by the fire, the red light casting his features in an eerie glow.

Ella felt Edwin’s arm sneak around her. She knew if she brought it up that he would put it off as an excuse to stay warm, despite their mutual knowledge of his feelings for her. She imagined that he might have been a good match, had she been the woman he thought her to be. She’d tried to tell him as much, to no avail.

They woke to a loud cracking sound from below, and Cayn’s shouting.

Ella shook herself from sleep immediately and threw Edwin’s arm off from around her waist. Her muscles screamed in protest. They wouldn’t soon forgive the long climb she’d made. She grabbed her spear from beside where she lay and sprang to her feet, trying to ignore the pain. Edwin was not far behind her.

The sky was still clinging to the dark, but the pale east promised day. All she could hear was the groaning of the ground. She couldn’t make out Cayn’s words over the noise, but she could tell what he was trying to say by the movement of his lips: surge​.

Apparently they had made camp on a glacier, and they were unlucky enough to get caught in a surge. Ella had heard stories of men crushed beneath ice and rock because they could not escape the churning landscape.

The mules had scattered. Whatever had been unpacked would be lost to them. They didn’t have time to break the camp. One of the men pointed in the direction of high ground. Cayn nodded and motioned for the others to follow. Edwin grabbed Ella’s arm and tugged her behind him as he raced to safety.

The environment shifted quickly, like a kneaded slab of dough. The icy ground was almost impossible to stand on. It took both Edwin and Ella’s combined strength to run after the group.

Just when the two safely reached the high ground, they heard a cry and an even louder roar that echoed against the topmost peaks in the distance.

Ella looked over her shoulder to see what could have made such a sound.

It took her a moment to even see the creature. It blended so well with the bleak landscape that at first, all she could make out was a few of their own men being tossed into the air by some unseen force.

Only when a man’s arm was ripped from his body, spraying crimson red on the creature, could Ella make out the shape of a mountain troll.

From what she could tell, the troll was made completely of ice and stone. It stood nine feet tall and had long thin arms. The arm that wasn’t busy lowering one of the men into its awaiting jaws dragged on the ground behind it. Ella felt sick to her stomach when she saw the man’s body get tossed to the side. She looked to see if he was still alive. He wasn’t moving.

“No!”

Even over the noise of the surge, Ella could still hear Cayn’s scream. He did what she never thought anyone would do. He charged towards the troll and the body. She watched in frozen shock as he swiftly navigated the rapidly moving terrain, somehow narrowly avoiding both the open gaps in the earth and the troll’s wild swipes at him.

Cayn ducked a swipe and slid next to the fallen mountaineer. He knelt over the body. The grim look on his face only confirmed their fear. He got up, raising his battle axe, and faced the giant ice troll.

“C’mere ya ugly devil!” He roared.

“He’s going to face it,” Edwin said with a touch of wonder.

“Come. We musn’t let him do this alone,” Ella said, slipping Edwin’s hold.

“Ella! No!”

But she didn’t listen. She ran in a stiff sprint towards Cayn. As she moved, some part of her mind wondered in bewilderment at her rash action. This probably wasn’t the brightest idea. She only had a spear and pickaxe, neither of which would do much good against a full-grown troll made of ice and stone. She hefted the pickaxe anyway, figuring it was better than nothing.

With a yelp, she stopped short. Between her and Cayn yawned a wide fissure in the ground. It was too far to jump and too icy to scale.

It was enough to give her pause. Why not just turn around and run? Cayn was probably finished and Edwin was too far to catch her. She could find a mule. One of them was bound to have enough supplies to see her south. She could easily slip away, and the surge would cover her tracks. They’d never see her again. It would only be harder to escape if she let them take her back now. If the troll ate them all, there would be no one to follow her.

The violence of that thought shook her from her reverie. She couldn’t think like that. This was a man’s life in the balance.

The earth shifted again, knocking her from the precipice. She fell into the fissure. If she hadn’t had her pickaxe in hand, she would have fallen to her death. She managed to catch a small crag in the rock.

She could hardly breathe over the rapid pounding of her heart. Her breath clouded the frigid air, fogging her vision. Her arm felt laced with fire as it strained to hold on. She craned her head over her shoulder to look at the awaiting darkness. With a shock, she realized the earth was still moving. The other side of the fissure was closing in, and it was coming fast.

Ella fumbled at her belt to unfasten her other pickaxe. A wild swing lodged it into the ice overhead. She began to climb.

“Here, lass!” Cayn’s voice sounded from above. He extended a hand to her. She grasped it, only to be hoisted by a surprisingly strong grip. Soon he had her above ground. Ella held onto him tightly, nearly falling backwards into the abyss. Within seconds, the two sides crashed together, punctuating her near-death.

She had but a few moments before a deep growl reminded her of the troll. While Cayn was distracted, it had drawn closer and was nearly upon them. Quickly releasing Cayn’s hold, Ella got to her feet and faced the monster that was eyeing the both of them hungrily.

Cayn chuckled. “Facing the devil with me, eh? As much admire yer bravery lass, go back to Edwin an’ the others.”

“I am not leaving you behind,” Ella said, keeping her eyes on the creature.

“I en’t leaving him behind, neither.” Cayn jerked his head at the fallen mountaineer. “Go back. Can’t ye see it’s already dangerous enough as it is?” He stepped in front of her and swung his battle axe, stopping the troll’s advance.

While it paused, he charged. The troll opened its mouth wide, belting a tremendous roar that made Ella take a step back.

“GAAAAAAAAAHH!” Cayn raised his axe over his head and brought the blade down hard on the troll’s arm. It only glanced off. The troll roared again and snatched Cayn up from the ground, trapping his axe arm.

Cayn, hardly rattled by being plucked up like a doll, laughed madly as he continued to hack at the troll’s rocky flesh with a dagger in his free hand. “That all ye got yeh mankey mountain beast?”

The troll scowled at Cayn as if it could understand him. It opened its mouth again and ate Cayn’s dagger, hand and all. The crunch of bone could be heard all the way from where Ella stood. But more terrible still was the mountaineer’s scream.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

The troll flung him to the side, licking the blood from its maw.

Cayn dropped his axe and clutched the crimson stump that used to be his hand.

It was then that Ella sprang into action. Blinded by tears, she wielded her pickaxe high.

She had never faced a mountain troll before. The fallen men around her told her that she didn’t have much of a chance. Steel seemed to be useless against it. The ice that covered it had deflected their weapons. She needed something that would get through. Her eyes darted around, looking for some inspiration. They landed on some tree remains shattered from the surge. The idea came quickly.

“​Fire​.”

The troll was ambling over to her, though it wasn’t very fast. It seemed to be taking its time. Ella guessed that it didn’t see her as a threat. She scurried to the mess of wood and found a decent-sized limb. Using her pickaxe and spear, she struck a spark onto it. She couldn’t believe her luck when it caught. It was the fastest fire she’d ever made. Turning back to the troll, she waved the burning branch to catch its attention.

The troll had bent over Cayn. It looked like it was interested in trying another bite of him.

“Oy!”

The troll looked up from the mountaineer, who was struggling to inch away. “Over here!”

The troll’s beady eyes followed her. It bared its fangs half-heartedly, as if unsure if she was worth it.

If it doesn’t come get away from him, then I must go to it. Ella thought. Heaving her branch, she charged the beast. It hardly had time to swipe at her before she struck it with the flames. It caught on the troll’s leg, and she pushed against it with all her might.

A terrible roar echoed through the mountains. It was so loud Ella could feel it tremble through her bones. The troll jerked its leg back, causing it to lose its balance. It slipped and came crashing down, a little too close to Cayn. Ella craned her neck to see if he was alive.

The mountaineer cradled his stump, still bleeding profusely. Ella felt encouraged to know that she was not too late. She wasted no time in attacking the troll again. Its arms swiped madly to catch her, but she was too fast. Dodging the sharp claws, she reached its other leg and swung the burning log. Again the troll cried.

Ella noticed that wherever she pressed the hot flames, the rocky flesh crumbled away.

The troll flailed about, unable to regain its footing without feet. The legs that once held it up now lay in a pile of steaming stone.

Ensuring the troll could no longer move, Ella dropped the log and fell to her knees beside Cayn.

“Cayn! Are you-”

He groaned.

“The others. They’ve gone. The land has separated us.” Ella said.

“Nay, none o’that matters now.” He croaked. “We move on. Help me patch this up.”

With shaky hands, Ella helped the old mountaineer to his feet and led them away from the troll.

...

“That’s enough, lass.” Cayn said through gritted teeth. Ella tied the makeshift bandage off and began preparing a sling for his arm. She’d managed to gather some odd supplies that were scattered about. She had hardly kept it together as he’d instructed her how to treat his wound. She blinked away the tears that threatened to blur her vision. She had to focus to keep her fingers from trembling. She didn’t know what else to do. If she let her mind rest, she’d go back to the moment when she had almost left this man to die. All she could manage now was to set herself to helping him as best as she could.

She sat back on her heels when she was finished, waiting for further instruction. Cayn’s jaw was still set from the pain. He didn’t say anything for a while.

“Fine day for it,” he finally managed.

Ella sobbed. “I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t-”

“Stow it. This en’t the time for tears. That troll is still alive, and it’ll be drawn to the scent of my blood. We’ve got to get a move on.” He leaned forward and used his remaining hand to help himself up. He slung his pack over his shoulder and grunted when it hit the back of his injured arm. Ella handed him his axe which still lay on the ground. He took it without a word and started off down the hill.

Ella winced at her sore limbs and hobbled after him, using her spear to lean on. The snow from the night before obscured the ground, making it difficult to discern ice from earth. It made for treacherous walking.

She worried for Edwin and the others. Cayn seemed to be leading them to Raven’s Beak, a natural meeting point for the mountaineers. She guessed that he hoped to see the others there, or at least have a vantage point to spot them from. And if there was no sign of the men, then they’d press on to Newen.

Ella no longer felt satisfied by the amount of effort it had taken to find her. She couldn’t shake the image of Cayn’s raw stump. She fell back a bit so that she could cry without him hearing.

WC: 3091

Chapter 7
James

He’d been up to his neck in the library since the council meeting. Nobody knew enough about the Derediem for a proper search to begin. He looked up from his current tome to see that night had fallen. The last thing he remembered was Robert exchanging his post with Pollock so that he could get some sleep, and Master Hugo had stopped by to supply extra candles. By now it was probably well past midnight.

James closed the lengthy book on the history of Estin written by Master Ilso and rubbed his eyes. He supposed he could resume his research in the morning. He had thrown himself at the task so vigorously so as to avoid thinking about the quest before him. He’d made two huge commitments at the council meeting, and hadn’t yet allowed himself to fully appreciate their significance. He had to figure out where the Derediem was located, find it before Sond’s search parties, and safely return it to Laeindel. Then he had to get married to a woman he knew nothing about in case Sond decided to send an army to attack his father’s kingdom. It was a lot to take in all at once.

James had never thought he’d get married so soon. His father had many years left to him, so the need for James to be matched had seemed still so far off. In a childish way, he had hoped to one day marry for love. His parents had. He shook his head. It wasn’t for him to dwell on this now.

He pushed back from the book-laden table and stood.

“I think I’ll retire, Pollock.”

The knight followed him out and saw him to his quarters.

James was able to sleep longer than usual. Sir Christopher had dedicated all his attention to the defense of the city, and so had released his pupil from their daily training.

He awoke from a strange dream about his vision from court. His father’s blood trickled from his hands down his arms. The stone floor beneath him would tremble, and he knew the sprouting tree would soon break through. He could do nothing to prevent it, and the tremors only grew stronger. He never saw the tree emerge before he woke. He soon forgot about it as he prepared for the day.

James took his breakfast in his chamber. When he opened the door to his room to leave, he was pleased to see Robert stationed there.

“You must have slept well. You’re rarely this late to rise.”

“Had a late night. And it helped to not have you breaking down my door for dawn training.”

“I was tempted.”

They went directly to the library, ready to resume the tedious task of finding information on the Derediem. James pulled towards him a book on the first goblin rebellion.

“There’s hardly anything here,” he said presently. “They say that the Derediem helped the lord of Whils defeat the goblins, yet it’s not mentioned at all in this book titled ​A History of the First Goblin Rebellion.”​

Robert shrugged. “Perhaps it would help to know who ​they are.”

“Perhaps I should go down into the city and ask every person I find what their thoughts are on the whereabouts of the long lost Helm of Day.”

“Despite your jest, I think there’s something in that,” said Robert.

“What?”

“All these books and scrolls. They were written by past scholars and Masters of Letters, yes?”

“What of it?”

“Well, that type tends to deal in things like history and science. Things that can be measured and touched and understood. This helm is the stuff of children’s tales and magic. Don’t you think that perhaps the scholars didn’t consider those sorts of things important enough for their history books? It might have been beneath them.”

James considered this. It was true that all he knew of the Derediem came from hearsay and stories from when he was young. And it hadn’t once appeared in any of the texts he’d gone through.

“Well then where do we look?”

“I think I may be of service here.”

Master Hugo appeared from behind a row of shelves, arms laden with a stack of books. He shuffled over to James' table and unloaded them.

“As I came in I overheard Sir Roberts' supposition, and though I am the type that he spoke of," he shot Robert a reproachful look, "I will admit that there is a considerable gap in my field pertaining to the subject of magic. However," he drummed a quick rhythm onto the new books, "In these, there is no dearth."

James took the closest volume and read its title. “​Epics and Ballads of the Golden Age​?”

Master Hugo nodded. He hummed as he pulled out a chair and relieved his weary legs. “In this instance, Your Grace, I think it prudent to eschew reasonable doubt and embrace the incredible. As we’ve discussed in many a lesson, the seed of truth can be gleaned from even the tallest tale.”

James opened the book and leafed through the pages. He recognized only a few of the myriad songs and poems. He hadn’t thought there would be so many.

“These must stretch back eons,” said Robert, rifling through some scattered scrolls.

“No more than a few hundred years, actually,” said Master Hugo. “Before that, parchment and ink didn’t exist. But yes, the stories themselves are older than memory.”

James looked up from a poem about two lovers. “How will we know what to look for?”

The master folded his hands across his middle. “We will want a text without an author, to start. And I imagine anything written about the Helm of Day would be indirect and discreet. Its location wouldn’t be much of a secret otherwise.”

“In other words, we don’t know what to look for?”

“Quite.”

The light from outside streamed in gold from the west when James sat back in his chair. His eyes could no longer focus and his neck ached terribly. Master Hugo dozed in his seat beside him.

“James.”

Robert spoke low so as not to wake the master.

“What?”

“What does this say?” The knight pointed out a line at the top of a short poem.

James leaned over to look. He thought it a selfless gesture for Robert to help in his search, considering his limited reading ability. He felt a twinge of guilt for not offering to teach him more often.

“​Where kingdoms of old grandeur fell still​.”

“Kingdoms of old grandeur,” Robert repeated, savoring the words.

The line struck a chord with James. It brought to mind something Master Hugo had said during the council meeting.

“James.” Robert pointed at a line further down. “I think this could be something.”

His words jolted Master Hugo from his daze. The old man sat up. “Let’s hear it, then.”

James read,

“Find me dearest, where my life falls ill
Where kingdoms of old grandeur fell still
I shall protect you if I perceive thee worthy
Come find me and demand thine mercy
Ere the end of your journey.

Safe is where I’ll keep you
Lonely exile I’ll undo
Death and destruction upon our rivals
For you, my loyal disciple
I shall bestow the divine ultimate title.

The powerful dark with endless bound
Upon the terror and trumpet sound
Lovers’ fate intertwined shall vary
My capture to exact a noble dowry
All is decided through blood and fury.”

He looked at the others. “It just sounds like another love poem.”

“I believe it was only meant to sound like one. Read it again, Your Grace. Carefully.”

James did. He hardly got through the second stanza before it hit him. He met Robert’s beaming eyes.

“​The divine ultimate title,”​ they said in unison.

...

“We think it’s in Whils.”

The quiet in the litter ride had ached to be interrupted. James had joined his mother on her regular pilgrimage to the Ossuary that morning, and they were now returning to Laeindel. He’d only been twice since he was young, once to lay his great-uncle’s bones to rest, and again because of a boyhood dare.

The Ossuary was a low cave near the northern shore of the city where the royal family buried the bones of their dead. The cave opening looked east towards the beginning of the world, so that the dead still caught the light of new day, and remained heedful of the events of the living.

The interior was made entirely of clean cut white stone. During the day, even though it was dark inside, the cave had a mute glow about it from the vestigial light of the sun. It was cold and beautiful. In the middle of the floor, a rectangular pool cut away into a void of black water. It was here that the bones of the dead sank to rest.

Queen Lyra had kneeled before the pool for over an hour. She said that she found comfort and guidance from their ancestors. James had found no evidence of it himself.

"You know my opinion of the matter," Lyra said, her eyes on the passing city.

“Yes,” James hesitated. "Well, it may not be as fraught a situation as we'd originally thought.” He carefully watched for a change in the queen’s expression. Finding none, he trudged on. “Robert’s poem talked of kingdoms of old that fell into ruin. It’s the clearest clue as to where the Derediem might be. And another line about bestowing the divine ultimate title must refer to the royal crown.”

“Might? Must? These words do little to encourage me.”

“I found little confidence in it myself until Robert and Master Hugo convinced me. There’s more. It even seems to prophesize my... betrothal.” The unfamiliar word stumbled awkwardly from his mouth. “It said ​My capture to exact a noble dowry​. It all fits.”

“We haven’t shared words about the engagement. What do you think of it?” The shadow of the litter’s grille fell onto her face, patterning it and making her expression indistinguishable. However, the abrupt change in subject told James that he should tread lightly.

“I think it’s a fair exchange, what with our need for more men-”

“No. What do you think of your marriage? It seemed that you hardly gave it any thought before agreeing to the terms.”

“It was the clear choice. I wasn’t going to say no. Father... the kingdom needed me to say yes, it didn’t matter how I felt about it.” Despite his words, he found that he still had feelings about marriage.

“There’s more to life than duty, James. There’s family, there’s hope, there’s love-”

“Right now they’re all linked to my duty. I’ve got to marry and I’ve got to find this Derediem. For you, for me... for them.” He gestured to the people on the street.

“You took up this burden. It did not have to be you, and yet you chose the responsibility. You did not have to.” Her voice broke.

“Mother.” James drew her towards him and held her.

“You don’t have to,” she repeated. “You have a choice. You always have a choice.”

James’ heart sunk to see his mother so distraught. Though he hated to hurt her, he saw his path clearly. He knew it wasn’t a matter of personal desire, but of his obligation to his country. The image of the thick scarlet blood on his hands still haunted him not only in his dreams but now in his waking thoughts. He had to protect his father’s legacy.

WC: 1929

Chapter 8
ELLA

She woke up with a start. But instead of a glacial surge or a mountain troll, it was her chambermaid bustling about her room that woke her. She tried to sit up but found that it was impossible. Everything hurt. Her limbs were bags of grain, with white-hot needles pricking all over. Even her head hurt. She hadn’t eaten in over a day, and her stomach reminded her of it with a vengeance.

The pain convinced her that it hadn’t been a nightmare. She really had taken off on her own, survived the wild, scaled a cliff, and fought a mountain troll. She wouldn’t have believed it had she not felt it. And the losses weighed the heaviest of all. Several men died, one of the bodies abandoned to be eaten, and Cayn lost his hand because of her.

A strangled sound escaped her lips. Her chest hurt and she couldn’t breathe.

“My lady?”

Her chambermaid’s face came into her view of the wooden beams of her ceiling.

“S-Sum... Sum-” Ella managed. She couldn’t move, and her body gave itself over to tremors. Her heart raced away from her. She shivered, despite the suddenly oppressive heat of her covers. She couldn’t understand what was going on. Her body acted as though she were being chased by some unknown monster. Her mind drifted despite her efforts to focus on any one thing.

She faintly heard Summer rushing out of the chamber, crying for help as she went. That was the last thing she wanted. She felt abandoned, terrified that she might die before anyone found her. Time stretched to infinity. She had no idea how long she lay there waiting for help. The attack only seemed to get worse and worse. She began to feel dizzy.

She sensed movement from the corner of her clouding vision. An unknown figure loomed above her, dark and slender. There was the sound of a dark muttering she couldn’t make out. She lost consciousness.

...

“Ella, my sweet, come back to me.”

Her mother’s eyes were heavy with worry.

“Mother...” Ella remembered what had happened. Her breathing quickened, but she calmed when she realized that she wasn’t getting another attack.

“You’re alright. Leto gave you a mixture to help.”

“Leto?”

“Yes, he found you. He seemed to already know about your... affliction.”

“What was it?”

Her mother seemed to shake herself, and she made the Sign of Light, a swift curling of her wrist and a quirking of her fingers. A ward against evil.

Ella frowned.

“Let’s not talk about this just now. You need to eat.” Her mother stood from the chair she had drawn to the bedside and allowed Summer to bring Ella a platter of food.

Ella caught Summer’s eye, and the chambermaid gave a slight nod to indicate that she would tell Ella what she knew once her mother left.

“I’ll leave you to eat. Later, when you’re ready, come to see me in the great hall. We must discuss the consequences of your actions.”

Ella was too interested to hear what Summer had to say to let her mother’s foreboding words bother her. When the door closed, Summer sat in the chair.

“Leto?” Ella prompted.

“Yes! I have never seen a more frightening man.”

Ella recalled the brief glimpse she’d caught of him before she’d drifted off. All she could remember was a vague, shadowy figure.

“I’ve never seen him at all,” she pondered. “I wonder how he knew.”

“My gran used to say that the sorcerers would only appear in times of trouble,” Summer said, eyes wide.

“I’d rather they stay away, then. He really was frightening.” She took a bite of fruit, savoring the taste. She hadn’t had fresh food in days.

“I came back as soon as I could. I had found Her Ladyship and told her what had happened. By the time we made it back, we found him chanting some sort of spell over you. He said that you weren’t poisoned, but that the attack came from natural causes. Her Ladyship didn’t like that. I don’t know what else happened. She sent me from the chamber.” Summer bit her lip, as though she should have done differently and stayed. The poor girl loved to gossip so.

Ella put her hand on the girl’s knee. “Thank you. You saved me by running to help.” She didn’t know how true her words were, but they seemed to do the trick. Summer brightened, pleased by the recognition.

“Will you take this food away? I don’t have much of an appetite anymore. And I suppose my mother’s waiting.”

Summer quickly obliged, setting the tray aside and bustling to the wardrobe.

“Which color would you like today? You haven’t worn the blue in a while,” Summer mused, draping a woolen gown over her arm for Ella to consider.

“Sure, whichever.”

Ella forced herself into a sitting position, then stiffly climbed out of bed. The warm, steady, fur-covered floor was a welcome change after the deep snow drifts and shifting ice. She slipped on the blue gown over her shift. Summer helped her fasten her sleeves and brush her hair.

“You’re starting to look yourself again, my lady,” she said.

Ella chanced a glance in the mirror. What she saw was the same golden-haired beauty she’d always known. She couldn’t help but feel relieved that the haggard mask she’d glimpsed on her return was gone. She was used to telling herself that she didn’t care about her looks, but it wasn’t true. She would remain the pretty heiress of Newen, and on some level, that comforted her.

Summer hummed as she brushed Ella’s hair. Her soothing strokes were calming, and allowed Ella a brief escape from the turbulent pace of the past few days. But soon enough Summer was finished. She had braided her hair into her favorite style.

“It’s time, my lady. Would you like me to assist you downstairs?”

“No, thank you.”

Ella made it to the end of the corridor before she ducked into an alcove. She had kept herself together as long as she could. The moment her mother had brought up her attack, the memory of the panic threatened to strangle her. Her hand touched her neck, as though a heavy cuff really was clamped about her, threatening to close. Her breathing hitched, and she paused, terrified that the demon had returned. She couldn’t tell how much time passed before she decided she was safe. She warily picked herself up and continued on to her waiting mother.

“Ella, love! I’m so glad to see you restored to health. I’ve been terrified for you,” her mother said, standing to embrace her daughter.

The white raven that hunched over the great seat pierced Ella with its embroidered gaze as she returned her mother’s hug. She stared resolutely back at it, recalling the promise she had made to it only days ago.

“Sit, I’m sure you’re weary.” Her mother gestured to the seat beside hers. It was positioned so that Ella would have to look directly at her. The raven lingered on the edge of her vision.

“I’m relieved. Leto appearing was most unusual.”

“Mother, what happened to me?”

Her eyebrow twitched.

“It doesn’t matter now. Now we must focus on your engagement to the Reinhardt boy-”

“Mother! You don’t get to decide what is important. I’m sure I nearly died. Tell me what’s wrong with me.” Ella glared at her mother, emboldened by her own words.

Lady Ravenwood kept control of her face, but her knuckles were white in her lap. Her voice was low and clipped as she spoke.

“Leto said that you have a demon in you. Should you get too excited or experience trauma, it will take over your body and kill you. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you getting hurt again. And it can’t get out that the heiress to Newen has a malady. The people must think we’re strong. He gave me this, to aid against future attacks.” She produced a vial of clear liquid and handed it to Ella.

It fit snugly into her palm. For something that would save her life, it looked ridiculously insignificant.

“Just a drop will do the trick, apparently. But excessive use will kill you.”

Ella closed her fist around it, feeling grim. This demon was an unexpected difficulty for her current plan. And apparently, her mother thought her weak. Too weak to be a lady, much less do what she had planned.

“Anything that won’t kill me?”

Her mother straightened, glad for a change of subject.

“Why, yes. We have the heavens to thank that your little escapade was ended quickly, or I might have had to send word to your father. His position is in danger, you know, being down there in Estin to bring two families together and you going missing without a word to anyone. He would have had to tell his king the engagement was off. And that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Our family name would be held in bad regard for generations to come.”

“Mother-”

“And I do not see why you take such issue with your engagement. He’s supposed to be a handsome boy, near your age, and he’s heir to the throne. You will be queen, my dear. That’s what every girl wants.”

Ella glanced at the white raven. “He’s not the sole heir, though. Not anymore.”

“Oh, not that Derediem business again.”

“You heard what Father said! Whoever finds it becomes the next ruler of Avolire! Why shouldn’t it be me? Our country?”

“Your father pledged this house to the Reinhardts. What you suggest is not only ridiculous, it is treasonous. Your position is secure, no matter the outcome. Why would you endanger it?”

“I’m tired of playing this game. I want to cause something in my life for once.”

Her mother’s face was stony. “Rejoice, then. You’ve caused heartbreak for me. Misery for Cayn. Grief for his men’s widows. And you can thank yourself for your demon.”

“Mo-”

“Silence. Return to your room. You’ve excited yourself and you need rest. Merryl!”

A guard stepped into the hall.

“Escort my daughter back to her chambers. And make sure sheremains there.”

...

Ella lay awake in her bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. She hadn’t been outside since her mother had sent her away. She hadn’t checked, but she was sure that she was still under guard. Lady Ravenwood wasn’t going to forgive her anytime soon.

Not that she craved her mother’s forgiveness. There might not be any left at all after what she planned to do tonight.

Ella took a deep breath, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. She sat up and climbed out of bed. The dying embers from the fireplace cast a faint orange glow throughout her dark chamber. She knelt beneath her bed and pulled out a set of dark furs. This time, she’d do things differently. There would be no mountaineers to follow her and risk their lives.

The clothes were slightly overlarge, but they hid her feminine curves. She slipped on a whale-skin jerkin and donned a sailor’s cloak and boots. She braided her hair and tucked it into a cap. She considered her reflection in the mirror. Outside this castle, she would be unrecognizable. She gathered the few possessions she’d need; her spear, her light rations, and her vial. She tucked the latter carefully into a sewn-in pocket of her jerkin. It lay near her heart, where it would be safe and easy to reach.

She opened the window. It was only a short drop to the ledge below. This was actually a simpler escape than leaving via the hall, for she didn’t have to worry about the guards or unlocking the main gate. She strapped her spear to her back, then swung one leg out. Balancing on the sill, she scrutinized her path of descent. Luckily, the castle of Newen was adorned with lots of ornate detailing, which made it easy to climb. Ella had discovered this as a little girl, and it was a secret that she’d only shared with one person.

She regretted having to leave before seeing Edwin again, but it couldn’t be helped. Whether she succeeded or failed, he would be better off without her. He needed to find someone else to want after.
She could see the shimmering surface of the lake far below her, and the fishing and merchant vessels that would take her away.

A sobering wind brushed past her as she climbed fully out of her window. The faint ache of her muscles urged her on as she quickly descended. She landed on the top of the battlements. She turned around and froze.

There was a figure standing there, waiting for her.

“Mighty quick at that, you are,” said the gruff voice. Cayn strode forward, his features revealed by the moonlight. “I s’pose that’s how you got out the first time, too. And who knows how many other times.”

Ella’s voice was caught in her throat. Her mind raced, trying to make up some excuse, but she was coming up empty. Cayn stood in the way of her escape, and he could call the guard at any moment.

“No need. I know where you were ‘eaded. I’ve half a mind to let ye.”

“Y-you’d let me go?”

Cayn chuckled. “Life’s funny like that. ’S got lots of surprises.” He waved his stump to make his point. “Yeah, I’ve got you to thank for that. I could take me vengeance now if’n I wanted.” He paused. “I know what you were thinking, up on that glacier. You had me right where ye needed me. The others were scattered, the troll had cornered me, an’ the surge woulda removed yer tracks. You coulda made yer escape. Left me to die. I’m surprised ye didn’t, really. Ah, there’s that word again.

“Lass, ye’ve got quite a bit o’ darkness in ye. I hope never to be subject to it again in me life. I en’t goin’ te stop ye. Way I see it, I owe ye. Whatever quest yer on, it must be worth it. I don’t want te be in the way o’ that, not anymore. Just do us a favor an’ come back.”

Ella didn’t know what to say. She slung her arms around Cayn’s neck.

“Thank you.”

“Alrigh’, it en’t right for ye to be so soft. Ye’ll have to toughen up for that hard world out there.” Cayn patted her shoulder and gently pushed her away. “Ye best be on your way, boy.​”

Ella nodded, glancing once more at the only home she knew. She felt the warmth of the Giant’s Hearth leave her as she disappeared into the darkness.

WC: 2471