Winter Heart, page 4
After everyone had a chance to fill their stomachs to the brim, and then even more so, the grandest of all the balls ran well into the night. Women’s dresses dripped with jewelry, expensive florals, and delicate lace. The golden designs below the surface of the ice floor in the ballroom glowed in the soft light of the chandeliers, casting a gold light on every one of the silken, rich fabrics in the room.
Inevitably, Maewyn trotted over to where Niamh stood near the wall, her white and teal dress fluttering in her wake. Niamh inspected the gossamer thin designs gracing the hem of Maewyn’s dress, curling patterns of swans and ocean waves. Niamh wasn’t sure why Maewyn had taken to her so quickly, but even after only two days, she was growing begrudgingly accustomed to it.
Maewyn chattered at her over the music, about everything from her favorite foods, the best ingredients to use for sleeping potions, her favorite dress shops, her favorite animal sculptures in the castle, and many other topics on her endless list of talking points. Niamh sighed inwardly.
Soon, she spotted Hael standing stiffly at the other end of the ballroom on their same side. Niamh passed Maewyn off on a poor, unsuspecting noble, and strode over to stand by her master’s side.
“With your permission, master.”
“Hmm?” Hael glared ahead, taking a sip from his glass. He was staring straight at a fair-haired nobleman from Aridia, who was charming a group of young ladies near the grand staircase. All Aridians were fair-haired and fair-skinned. Hael had once said it was because of their Relic, and how it fed their crops. It was hard to tell them apart sometimes.
“Um...I was wondering if I could run that errand down to the valley now?” She matched his gaze, watching the young ladies laugh at whatever the Aridian had said in their shared language.
Hael glanced pointedly in Maewyn’s direction. “You’re looking to escape your social duties?”
Niamh grimaced. He always knew.
“I would get used to Maewyn being a constant presence in your life, apprentice.” Hael said, turning back to gaze out at the full ballroom. “I think you’ll be seeing her more than you think.”
What does that mean..? Niamh could only guess. The conversion with Maewyn at the dinner table the a couple nights before flickered at the edge of her mind. She gave a polite bow. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning, first light.”
FANE COULDN’T THINK about what he'd just done. Not yet. The adrenaline of all of the events only a few hours previous kept him on the Stag’s back. The only thing that he could see as a marker were the occasional peaks of the mountains through the trees. The one thing familiar to him in this new world of terrifyingly open possibilities.
And possibilities were dangerous.
His mind was scattered, flitting from one to the next. Fane didn't have the presence of mind to see who was dead or alive back in the clearing. There was no telling who could be behind him now.
They would travel for several more hours before darkness came over the forest. The forest looked completely different in the deepening evening. Less inviting, and more enclosed. The excitement and wonder that had marked his experience in the forest that morning was replaced with a feeling of small vulnerability. The light emitting from the white Stag lit the path ahead.
The wind sang quietly through the treetops, filling the air with an ominous shhhhhh. A tiny shrew skittered across the short distance between the ferns on either side of the path, but judging from the distant sounds coming from all around, that was not the only animal nearby.
Fane pulled the two rings that Rune had given him from under his jerkin absentmindedly. They glimmered dully at the end of the chain in the dappled starlight, only just barely illuminating faded patterning around the band. Fane squinted through the tiredness in his eyes, but he couldn't make out anything but what looked like two vague bird shapes. So small were the engravings, that he could barely concentrate on studying them any further. Fane let them fall under his shirt again.
You cannot go home, Prince. It said, its ethereal voice echoing in Fane's mind. If you go back to Aridia, you will die. It said, looking back at him with glowing eyes.
The adrenaline of the day finally caught up to Fane’s tired nerves, and sleep came like a blanket, smothering him into submission.
5
FANE AWOKE WITH A POUNDING headache, and a sore body. He knew not where he was nor how long he'd been passed out. Soft bedding was beneath him and he lay under something warm. He opened his eyes expecting to see the drapery of his room, the golden Aridian morning shining through his huge windows. Instead, he only saw a humble cottage. A fire crackled in the modest fireplace across the one-room space, and a thatched roof was above. The walls couldn’t be seen under the roughly cut shelves filled with books, scrolls, vials, bottles, drying herbs and flowers, boxes, jars, and bowls of varying shapes and sizes.
As clarity returned to his sleepy mind, he startled awake. A shadowy figure sat before the fireplace, rocking slowly in his chair, smoke rising above his head from what Fane only assumed was a pipe. Fane reached instinctively for his dagger that was no longer there. He cursed inwardly, not remembering where he'd lost it along the way.
The figure didn’t turn around. “I wouldn’t bother, boy.” A gravelly voice came from the man in the chair. “No harm will come to you here.”
Despite the reassurance, Fane didn’t relax. His palms sweat, and he glared in suspicion.
“Who are you?” He asked, his throat dry and his voice thick from sleep.
“I live here.” The man said simply. Fane grumbled. That doesn’t answer my question. He thought impatiently. The prince rose from the bed, albeit slowly and carefully, taking care to favor his right side. He crept to the face the man, his back to the fire.
He didn’t look very threatening on first glance, his beard reaching his stomach and bushy eyebrows obscuring his deep-set eyes. Fane thought those eyes looked like they had seen the beginning of the world itself. He did indeed have a long pipe in his hand, and he puffed on it thoughtfully.
“How did I get here?” Fane asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice, against all of the gentile manners ingrained in him since youth.
The old man barked a laugh. “Why does that matter? You’re here now. You’re safe.” He peered up at the prince from under his massive eyebrows.
“If you must know – The Stag brought you to me.” He said, his voice softening.
Fane was taken aback. The sincerity in the man’s voice, the utter assurance in which he spoke, set Fane at a strange ease. He felt his muscles relax.
The old man looked at him fully then, motioning for him to sit with a wave of his hand. Fane obliged and took a seat on the footstool next to the rocking chair.
Fane met his eyes steadily, waiting.
“Aren’t you hungry?” The old man broke the silence, and waved a hand at the coffee table in front of the two of them.
Fane noticed then the spread of food that he was sure hadn’t been there previously. Warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, fruits of every shape and kind sat on primitive plates of wood.
Two huge tankards full of the sweetest steaming mead Fane ever had the pleasure of smelling also sat on the table. His stomach growled aggressively at the sight, and he partook eagerly. The old man held his own steaming tankard in his gnarled hands and smiled knowingly under his beard.
"Do you know who I am?" The old man asked matter-of-factly.
Fane shook his head slightly, confused and with a mouth full of bread. "You didn't tell me who you were."
"I know who you are."
Fane furrowed his brow. He didn't think it was all that obvious. Then again, he remembered with a nervous glance toward his hunting leathers by his bed, the royal insignia of Aridia was plainly embossed on one shoulder guard. He remained silent. Days of travel had muddied his clothes, scuffed his fine leather armor, tangled his hair, and gave him a bedraggled appearance. He barely looked like himself now. This was potentially the longest he'd ever gone without bathing. Fane tried not to think about that.
“You are a prince that has never left the capital city in your whole life, and now you find yourself lost and alone in the forest, with hardly a survival skill to speak of.”
Fane stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He met the old man’s eyes again.
"Do you know who you are?" The man asked simply. Quietly.
"I am who you have just said I am." Fane replied, mystified. His hand lowered, the bite of soup forgotten.
"Mhhmm." The old man muttered, nodding, though not looking entirely convinced. "And, my next question, young Prince, is do you remember how you came to me?"
Fane swallowed, "All I remember is the Stag talking to me, and it must have done something, because the next thing I knew, I was here." Fane realized how insane he must have sounded, but some part of him thought that he was in the proper company for that. "I need to go home. The king will assume that I'm dead, or kidnapped, or something else. Someone must have infiltrated my guardsmen. I need to find out who it might be so that I can warn-"
The old man held up a hand. "Why would the king care what happens to you?" His tone implied that he knew the answer, but he wanted Fane to say it anyway.
"Because I am the Prince of Aridia, and I cannot be away for too long, otherwise-"
"Otherwise what?" The old man's voice was quiet, though he commanded the air in the room. Fane stopped. What would happen if he were gone for too long? He'd never been away, not even from the palace, for more than a few hours. He mentally ran through his list of duties, though it was not very long. In fact, he couldn't remember any instance in which the king had delegated anything to him save for some ceremonial appearance or another. Fane couldn’t answer that question before the old man was on to another.
"As to your first explanation, that's not truly how you came to find yourself in my woods. The Stag led you here, of course, but how were you led to the Stag?"
Fane was quickly growing restless under all of these unrelated and tiresome questions. There was really nowhere else for him to go, however.
"I was hunting it."
"And? What else?"
"And one of my guardsmen went mad and murdered...” He stopped, resisting the urge to close his eyes against the gruesome images that still burned themselves behind his eyelids. “...my captain and some others with us." Fane hardly believed anything out of his mouth, it was still surreal.
"This guardsman must have been trying to kill you, then, yes?" The old man said, as if the point was staring Fane in his face.
"I –Yes, I suppose."
"So it would be dangerous for you to continue to assume your identity as the Prince."
Fane had never had an assassination attempt committed against him before; he didn't know the proper behavior under such circumstances.
"Yes..."
Just when Fane thought that conversation was leading somewhere, the old man sat back in his chair as if he was finished speaking. After a moment, Fane thought that he had fallen asleep for how still he became. Fane cleared his throat, just in case.
The old man suddenly opened his eyes again, glaring at him as if he'd just interrupted some deep thought. "It's more than your body that needs healing, young man." Fane opened his mouth to protest, before the old man continued. "I'll be getting a visitor. You can decide then if you’ll go with them or not. Until then, there are things that need doing here. You can keep yourself busy to pay me back for my hospitality."
Is it really hospitality if I have to give something in return? Fane thought ruefully.
Fane stayed with the strange old man in the woods for a few days. At least, he could only guess that was how long it had been. Every day became the same. Despite his oddities and occasional hours-long silences, the man was kind and taught Fane many things. They would awake before dawn, share a hearty breakfast in which Fane tried in vain to learn the old man’s name. Perhaps he had forgotten it. Or he doesn’t even have one. Fane mused to himself, chuckling through his nose.
The old man put Fane to good use, having him assist with various tasks in and around the ramshackle cottage. Gardening, foraging, fixing the roof’s leaks, chopping firewood, among various other seemingly endless tasks. Fane was beginning to wonder if this was less of a kindhearted rescue and more of an indentured servitude situation.
At first, the old man gruffly followed Fane around, making sure that he was able to do the tasks he was assigned. Most of the time at the beginning, this was not the case, and he would teach Fane the basic life skills that his education lacked.
In the glass palace in Aridia, princes learned things like politics, social graces, and dances. Here in the woods, they were exchanged for properly building a fire, knowing which end of an ax was up, and how to hammer nails instead of bending them beyond repair.
Fane had felt a range of things as this new education went on; what started as slight indignance soon grew to frustration and a little shame, as he realized that his pampered upbringing did little to further his skills as a man in life. Deep in his heart, Fane was grateful for the opportunity to prove himself in more than just how neatly he could foxtrot. Every time he finished a task, and was rewarded with an approving nod, his heart swelled with pride.
After a few days, the old man did, indeed, have a visitor at his cottage. Though judging by the old man’s reaction, Fane gathered that this was not the visitor he spoke of. Fane found that he would get these passers-by every so often, retrieving herbs and spices, or more rare magical objects. All of them were mages.
Fane could tell by the way they carried themselves: graceful, lithe, knowing exactly which elements were around them for use. He thought they walked with a certain sense of power, sometimes arrogance.
He thought of the high mages in his own court, native Aridians that had trained in the mountains of Eira. Only rumors circulated down into the valleys and forests of the high up academies and training grounds of the fabled magic users of the Northern land. No one had been permitted to travel to the more remote places, or to be privy to the secrets kept in the stone halls of the magicians unless one ventured to train in those high places. Mages were a mysterious and terrifying brood, indeed.
6
THE JOURNEY TO THE cottage in the woods where Hael acquired most of his rarer magical items was a shorter trip than most around Eira. While other roads required a well-packed saddlebag and sleeping arrangements in preparation for snow storms or snowed-in villages, the road down into the valleys was wide and clear much of the time. This made an easy and pleasant trip whenever Niamh wanted to take a jaunt through the nature around her. She'd taken the trip several times over the course of her training. It was this same well-maintained and wide pathway that the visiting dignitaries and nobility had traveled only a few days before to attend the royal wedding. If their opulent, bulky carriages could do it, then so could her sure-footed horse.
It was a safe road too, as most bandits preferred to go after the remote villages rich with farms and resources. They were less likely to attack such an open and well-traveled area such as this. The surrounding mountains and the mines within them were where most of Eira’s riches lay, anyway. For generations, the people of Eira had traded these precious minerals to bigger, more advanced societies of Aridia and Corseils in exchange for basic necessities such as fabric, fresh produce and flowers, among other precious everyday items. It was a balanced tradition that had given Eira a purpose for decades.
Niamh felt safe nestled in these mountains around her. Their gentle white slopes and jagged gray peaks only served to remind her how fortified and secure her small country was. A safety blanket against the world.
As the scenery changed from craggy peaks and deep valleys with treacherous rivers at the bottom, to rolling hills and deciduous trees, the air became warmer, more humid. Narrow, switching-back paths became a wide and well-maintained road. The snow became shallower, wetter, and some areas had none at all. Her destination sat directly on the border between Eira and Aridia, and so the land around it respected the normal four seasons the rest of the world enjoyed.
The hard needles of evergreens gave way to the soft crunch of oak and birch trees as Niamh came closer to the border. The heavy coat she wore was promptly exchanged for a lighter cape, and her horse snorted as they entered the dense forest ahead. The light changed from the cold winter sun to a lovely green-gold, filtering through the canopy above. They were almost there.
Niamh neared the location where the dwelling sat, and she constantly had to check herself to remind herself where it was. Knowing the Wizard of the Wood, he might change the location just slightly out of spite or paranoia, but it was never more than a mile or two. It was surrounded by thick trees, barely seen through the branches. Even thicker than the trees was the magical barrier around the perimeter; no one was allowed in that was not invited.
Which is why she was surprised to see the old man had company.
As she rounded the corner, the owner of an unfamiliar voice came into view. He was a tall young man with blond hair falling in front of his features. He was bending over throwing some recently cut wood onto a huge pile accumulating near the entry to the hut. The old man she was seeking reclined in a makeshift chair to the side, shouting orders and critiquing the younger man on his work. His raspy, high pitched voice carried across the yard. The young man’s facial expression, when she finally did glimpse his face, made her stifle a giggle as he was obviously holding back his aggravation.
