The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 17
“Now, Loren,” said Enalyn, and once again Loren’s heart skipped a beat at hearing her own name. “Tell me this grave news that threatens all my domain. And for goodness’ sake, stand as you tell me, for the top of your head is not nearly so comely as those remarkable green eyes.”
Loren swallowed hard, and found for a moment that her legs had failed her utterly. But at last they heard her command, and she forced herself to stand.
“Your Majesty. I have come … that is to say, we have learned …” She faltered, for the words would not come, no matter how hard she tried to muster them.
Enalyn leaned forwards, clasping her hands in her lap. “You need not worry at your choice of words,” she said gently. “Nor for how they will sound. If it helps, simply say it as plainly as possible. And worry not, for you are not the first to find your tongue tied in this room. Indeed, that was mayhap the greatest purpose of its design.”
Loren smiled at that, if weakly, and cleared her throat. “Your Majesty. The Shades have returned, and the Necromancer with them, after many centuries. Even now they muster to make war upon all the nine lands. We found them in the Greatrock Mountains, and they have pursued my friends, and myself, ever since.”
The High King’s eyes flashed. But at her side, the lord chancellor only scoffed. “She comes here barking the words Kal has taught to her. He has said much the same thing to me, and many times over the years, as has his pet, Jordel. If he wished to trouble us with this nonsense, he could simply have sent a letter and saved us all much trouble.”
Against her good judgement, Loren found wrath rising hot in her breast, and not the least at the lord chancellor’s use of the word pet to describe Jordel, who had been one of the greatest men she had ever known. She spoke almost without thinking, and did nothing to hide her anger. “They are real, and they have returned. We know, my friends and I, for we have seen them. And Jordel would be here to tell you himself, but he cannot, for he died fighting the Shades, alone save for us, far away in the highest peaks of the Greatrocks. You should consider yourself honored if you ever so much as stood in the same room as such a man.”
The room fell silent as death, save for the echo of Loren’s own voice rebounding from the walls. The lord chancellor fixed her with a glare, while the dean’s mouth sat open in a small o of disbelief. But the High King stood from her throne, one hand falling to hold on to it, as if for support. Immediately the lord chancellor and the dean fell to their knees, and Loren dipped her head again.
“Say again, girl. Jordel, of the family Adair, is dead?”
Loren’s rage had fled her, and now she found it hard to speak around the lump in her throat. “Yes. He fell in battle, saving our lives at the cost of his own. Our road has been darker ever since. Your Majesty.”
Enalyn bowed her head, silent. No one moved, or dared even to breathe too loudly. When the moment passed, she sat again. The lord chancellor rose, as did the dean, although somewhat stiffly.
“Remove Xain’s gag,” said Enalyn.
“Your Majesty,” said the dean quickly. “I urge against that. He is a criminal, and sentenced to death for his crimes. Furthermore, he is an abomination, an eater of magestones. We cannot know that his mind is his own.”
Enalyn turned to him, mouth twisted in displeasure. “Look at his gaunt cheeks, his wasted limbs. He is half-dead. Can you, as the dean of the Academy, not protect me and my court from so weak a wizard as this? For if that is the case, I know I would feel more comfortable with a much more powerful wizard holding your position.”
The dean glared down at Xain, and there was more than a hint of anxiousness in his look. But he shook his head quickly. “Of course I will, Your Majesty, and it will be my great honor.”
“Good,” said Enalyn. “Remove it.”
A royal guard hastened to obey, and once the cloth was removed, Xain flexed his jaw once or twice until it popped. Loren saw the dean holding his fingers in a claw by his side, lips parted as if ready to strike with magic. But Xain only rose to one knee and looked up at Enalyn—neither with anger, nor with shame. He looked only expectant.
“Did you speak over his grave?” Enalyn asked him.
Loren had not expected that, and by his look neither had Xain. He bowed his head. “No, Your Majesty. None of us could, for the grief of his loss was heavy upon us. But he fell from a bridge that spanned a great chasm, and into the stones of that bridge I inscribed my words.”
“Tell me.”
Here fell a great man
A clarion trumpet against danger
In darkness where none could see
His name was Jordel
Xain spoke the words as if they were a prayer, and suddenly Loren was back on the bridge by his side. She saw Jordel’s mangled body once more, and the cairn they had built him of rocks, and his red cloak, which they had buried him in. She bowed her head, and tears sprang unbidden into her eyes.
Enalyn nodded at Xain when he was finished, a quiet smile on her lips. “That was very like him.”
Then she clapped her hands, and it was as if a spell had broken. “Very well,” she said. “If you speak the truth, and the Shades are indeed gathering power once more, we must put a stop to it immediately.”
“Your Majesty, it would be a mistake to act too quickly upon this,” said the lord chancellor. “You would be taking action based on the words of a known traitor and criminal, witnessed only by street urchins and children of whom we have never heard.”
“They came escorted by four of your soldiers,” said Enalyn.
“Soldiers who will receive appropriate discipline,” said the lord chancellor, staring daggers at the Mystics, who studiously avoided his gaze.
“I fear I must confess myself still in mystery,” said the dean, eyes narrowed as he looked from Xain to Loren and back again. “Who are these people the girl speaks of?”
“Time enough for a history lesson later,” said the lord chancellor. “For now, I recommend that we rid ourselves of these … visitors. Your Majesty, with your leave, let us dismiss them and hold an emergency council to determine the best course of action.”
“But you cannot mean to simply let Xain go free,” said the dean quickly. “He has committed many crimes against the King’s law, and must face his punishment.”
Enalyn cut him off with a look. “No. At least not yet. If he has returned here of his own free will, then I can at least entertain the possibility that he has atoned for his crimes—or begun to.” She turned to Loren and the others. “You will remain here, in the palace. Under guard, I am afraid, for I cannot let Xain roam free any more than I will consign him to a swift and brutal punishment. But you will not face justice until I know what is just, if you take my meaning.”
“Your Majesty,” said Xain, raising his head. “My son. If I could be permitted—”
But she fixed him with a hard glare, and he subsided. “I have not yet decided what to do with you, Xain. I will not reunite you with your son only to force him to part from you again. That is a cruelty I would visit upon no child, least of all my own kin, however distant.”
Xain bowed to her once more, but Loren could see him fuming. The palace guards came forwards, lifted them to their feet, and escorted them towards the throne room door. But just as they turned, Enalyn called out sharply for them to halt.
“Forest girl,” she said. “I had heard that a young girl of the family Yerrin was traveling by your side. Was I misinformed?”
Loren found her head spinning at that, for it seemed impossible that the High King should know anything at all about her. But she forced herself to think hard, choosing her words very carefully. “The girl was with us upon our road, but no longer.”
Enalyn’s head came up slightly, like a dog catching whiff of a scent. “And do you know where she is now?”
“I have some idea where she might be, but not exactly, Your Majesty.” That was true enough, she reasoned. She knew Annis was on her way to Ammon, but she knew not where she was on the voyage, and in truth she did not even know where Ammon lay.
The High King nodded, and Loren felt that nod held understanding beyond words. “We will speak more of this. Farewell.”
Then the guards’ hands were upon her again, and the throne room was soon behind them.
THEY WERE WHISKED THROUGH A series of serpentine halls in which Loren was soon lost. Erik and the other Mystics were separated and led in another direction before Loren could say farewell. Soon she found herself before a chamber with a great wooden door. Inside were quarters more lavish than any she had seen in her life: in the middle was a large chamber with plush chairs around the walls, as well as an ornate table surrounded by many smaller chairs for eating. Many doors led off from the main room into bedchambers, each one of which was as large as the common rooms of any inn Loren had ever visited. Gem’s eyes nearly popped from his skull at the sight of it all, and Chet was struck dumb. But Xain shrugged as he surveyed it.
“They are modest chambers by the palace’s standards,” he said. “Still, it is better than the prison cell I thought to find myself in.”
Outside their door were posted several guards. There were two palace guards, as well as two Mystics—neither of whom had been among the Mystics they arrived with. One of them carried no weapons, and Loren guessed she was a wizard. Then there was a wizard from the Academy, wearing the same type of robes as the dean had worn, though nowhere near as lavish. Each type of guard looked at the other with as much distrust as they gave to Loren and her friends.
They spent all the rest of that day in the chamber. Gem ran about, ruffling the plush pillows and jumping on the beds until he had chosen one for himself. But Loren, Chet and Xain sat in the main room, silent save for the occasional answer to one of Gem’s questions. Loren could not forget that, as fine as the quarters were, they were still prisoners, and they had no guarantee of any future safety. It put a damper on any conversation, and that night they went to sleep in their separate rooms with heavy hearts (though Loren still liked the soft feather mattress a great deal more than the hard ground of the road).
The next morning, servants brought them breakfast in the main chamber. There were eggs and sliced ham, and fine juices that Loren did not recognize the taste of. Gem wolfed his meal down, but she and the others ate more slowly. After all, they had nothing to do after they ate, and so there seemed no reason to hurry.
But in the midst of their meal, they heard an animated discussion just outside the door, and one voice in particular speaking very loudly. Then the door was thrown open, and a young man in fine clothing came barreling through. He took one look at them, and then fixed his eyes upon Xain.
“Xain!” he cried. “You mad, mad, mad fool. What in all the nine lands ever possessed you to come back to this forsaken island?”
Then he leaped forwards, dragging Xain from his chair and into a tight bear hug. Xain’s eyes widened as though the very life were being squeezed from him. Loren and Chet stared at the man in shock. His clothing was nearly as fine as the High King’s own, and was gold and white like hers with the same kind of breeches and a fine shirt. But he also wore a coat, and it was silver, and its threads shone in the early morning light that poured through the windows of the east wall.
“Loren, and Chet,” said Xain, when the man had finally released him. “May I introduce, with some reservation, the Lord Prince Eamin.”
Then Loren felt her throat seize up, and she shot to her feet just as Chet did the same. She wondered briefly if she should kneel, but before she could act upon it, the Lord Prince had her wrist in his hand and was shaking it as though she were a bag filled with coins that he hoped to loosen.
“The girl and the boy from the Birchwood, or so I have heard,” said Eamin, and the smile upon his face was brighter than sunlight. “And you will be Gem, of the family … was it Noctis? I have never had a gift for names.”
Loren thought Gem’s smile might split his cheeks and keep running all the way to his ears. “You have mine perfectly, Lord Prince, and so I would call you a liar.”
“Gem!” said Loren, gripping his ear tight. The boy squealed, but the Lord Prince laughed and patted his shoulder. But as he looked at Loren properly for the first time, his smile vanished, to be replaced by a look of wonder.
“You … Loren, is it? Come here a moment.”
Loren looked at Xain uncertainly, but he seemed just as confused as she was. Slowly she stepped towards the Lord Prince. Without warning he took her shoulder with one hand, and with the other he tilted her chin up to look him full in the face. She smelled a faint whiff of perfume on him, pleasant and not at all overpowering, and on his breath was the scent of mint.
“You are touched with Elf-glamour,” he said, voice scarcely above a whisper.
She swallowed hard and looked over to Chet. He had looked somewhat annoyed as the Lord Prince drew her so close, but now he seemed concerned.
“Your … Your Highness?” said Loren, unsure of what else to say.
“I can see it in your eyes,” said Eamin in wonder. “You have had concourse with the Elves. Only once before have I seen such a thing, and the tale behind it is well worth the telling. Speak, child. How came you to meet them? What did they say?”
Loren swallowed hard and looked nervously at Xain. She saw in his eyes the same wonder that was in Eamin’s—and also a sort of understanding. He had seen it too, she realized. The day after she met the Elves, he had noticed something different in her eyes, though he knew not what he beheld.
Eamin seemed to think he had frightened her, for he released her shoulder and stepped back quickly. “My apologies. Only I have always been intensely curious about the Elves. It made me forget my manners. Forgive me.”
Loren shook her head quickly. “There is nothing to forgive, Your Highness.”
“You need not tell me the tale of this if you do not wish it,” he said, insistent now. “I pressed too hard, and we have only just met.”
“Though I, for one, would like to hear such a story,” said Xain.
“Leave it be, Xain,” said Eamin in a warning tone, though it was couched in a smile. “Tales of the Elves are things magical and precious, and belong to those who have lived them. If the girl does not wish to speak of it, you must not press her.”
“As you say, Your Highness,” said Xain. But Loren saw the look in his eyes and wondered how long he would keep that promise.
“Others have often told me I may have some relation to the Elves,” Gem piped up, apparently tired of having lost the Lord Prince’s attention for so long. “I doubt there is much truth to it, but they must be fooled by my exceptional appearance and cunning wit.”
Eamin laughed out loud at that. “City children are such a welcome change from the stuffy sort we always get around here. And foresters, too,” he said, beaming a quick smile to Loren and Chet. “Really, anyone who has not spent the last few years upon the Seat is preferable to anyone who has.”
“Have I been away long enough to fit in that narrow category?” said Xain with a wry grin.
“Xain, my dear, dear friend, you have never been better company than anyone in this thrice-damned place.” Eamin gave lie to the words by wrapping him in another embrace. Loren half expected to hear a rib crack. “Now, take your seats again. I am livid that I missed your arrival, and so to make up for it, now you must tell me the tale of all your journeys since you left the Seat.”
Loren suddenly found her food bland in her mouth, and her appetite gone. It seemed that all she had done for the past few days was recount the stories of their travels, and she had no wish to do so again. Standing and pushing her chair back, she nodded to Eamin. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I will take my leave.”
He looked up at her with concern. “I hope I have done nothing to offend you.”
“Not at all,” she said quickly. “Only I lived the tale, and have told it too many times, and have no wish to live through it again.”
He nodded, and in his eyes she saw compassion. “Of course. And you need not call me Your Highness—in this room, you need call me nothing more than Eamin.”
She bowed again, but could not stop herself from saying, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
He smiled, and she left. Chet stood silently to go with her. Gem, however, stayed behind, for his eyes had lit up with glee from the moment he had beheld the Lord Prince.
Loren and Chet went to her room. It had a door set in the back wall, which led out to a wide stone balcony that overlooked a peaceful courtyard. There were chairs in which to sit, but she felt the need to stay on her feet. She went to the railing instead, leaning her elbows upon it and looking at the grounds below. Chet joined her there in silence. A beautiful garden was laid out before them both, and they saw gardeners going about their business among the flowers and the hedges.
“I know we are confined to these quarters,” said Chet. “Yet it is hard to feel as though we are being cooped up. Scarcely in my life have I imagined such luxury as this.”
But Loren had stopped looking at the garden, and instead she stared away north and east. Beyond the grounds below was the palace’s outer wall, and then the city, and then the Great Bay stretching for miles. Somewhere on those waters was Annis. Or mayhap she had landed already in Dulmun, and was on her way to Ammon.
“I wonder how far away she is,” Loren said softly. “And in what direction. I hardly spared a thought for her yesterday, but now I find myself missing her far more than I expected.”
“She will be safe. I know it.”
“You cannot know that for certain.”
Chet turned so that he was leaning back against the railing. “But I can. You devised the plan for her safety, and if I have faith in anything in all the nine lands, it is your cleverness.”
She gave a wan smile at that, but said no more. They spent a while looking out at the Bay, and then at the courtyard, and when Loren tired at last of standing they went to sit in two of the balcony’s chairs. There they rested in the sun and the silence, until the door swung open and Gem came running out to find them. He looked thrilled enough to burst.
