Storm's Clouds, page 3
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
“Yes, I understand.” She gripped his fingers with her other hand, trying to pry them from her wrist. “Please stop. Your nails are hurting me.”
Bowen released his grip. “Then you would do well to remember why you are here. Did you find anything else? Have you been keeping a log?”
“Keeping a log for what?” Olwen rubbed her wrist, feeling the blood flow return to her fingers.
“Who she sees! What her schedule is!” Bowen’s voice came in a low hiss. “Have you forgotten why you are here? What schedule does she keep? Who does she confide in? Your lord patron and the entire Arche-Fae Council need to know of any corrupting influence. That’s why you are here!”
“I’d have left a message in the box if there was anything to report.”
“You are to leave a message every morning, and another every evening, whether there’s anything to report or not. Remember whom you owe your position to. Know your station. You are still just a commoner with no family or title. Are your elderly parents not well cared for? Has not your lord patron looked after them in their sickness?”
“Yes, yes of course,” Olwen protested.
“I wouldn’t want you to lose your position. Who knows what would happen to your aged parents with no one to look after them.”
Bowen turned to go. Olwen closed the door behind him, listening for the satisfying sound of it latching shut. She leaned her shoulder against the door, pressing her fingers against her temples. How had it come to this? How had she been brought so low? So vulnerable. Alone. She felt the sense of despair pressing at her eyes.
But no, she didn’t have time to think on it. She had to pull herself together. Focus on the present. Standing, straightening her apron, she forced herself into motion again. Cleaning up the morning’s breakfast.
* * *
The mounted tribesmen had set their horses at a steady trot. They were nearly thirty in number, armed with spears and sword, bows and arrows – heading east along the trade route that wound through the forest and hills east of the Apyahu Mountains. Most had dispensed with their fur-lined jackets. Round shields, decorated with a running, black horse emblem, were slung across their backs. They were lightly armed, relying on speed and mobility to give them an advantage over any adversary. Their trailing members led additional back animals, laden with the trophies and spoils they had already gathered: rich fabrics; spices; and sacks of gold and silver coins to enrich their master’s wealth.
Most travelers gave them a wide birth. The less interesting merchant caravans they sometimes let pass. Sometimes. They had no use for farm implements or food goods. The more wealthily attired were always invited to donate. Two or three mounted guards usually proved no match for the arrows and mounted charges of their horsemen. But today they were not interested in adding spoils. They had a schedule to keep. There was a village on their map which they were meant to reach before nightfall. A message they were sent to deliver. They had already been delayed when they had encountered a pair of wagons heading west, earlier this morning. Those merchants had wisely cleared the road for the horsemen to pass. Pity they had not been better armed. It had not even been good sport picking them off.
Which was why they were so surprised to see a lone swordsman dressed in black, standing at a river crossing where the road opened onto a riverbank. “Hail, horsemen. Might you be the riders from the city of Ikzhan I have heard about?” The swordsman was dressed in a dark cloak and tunic, a three-pronged lightning bolt stitched in silver thread across his chest. He wore a sword at his side and had a knapsack at his feet – but no other weapon to be seen.
The horsemen slowed and fanned out along the riverbank – surrounding the strange, lone swordsman. The lead horseman walked his horse towards him. The horse-back rider was a broad, mountain of a man with a long, black mustache. “I am Chuluun. We are from Ikzhan. What are you doing here?”
“I am called Garth. I have heard of riders from Ikzhan, sent in search of mercenaries and tribute. Would that be you?”
Chuluun noted with satisfaction how his riders had arrayed themselves in a perfect semicircle around the strange, dark-clad man. If this odd man should pose any threat, they would be ready, spears in hand. “We are sent to bring word. The Great Batukhan is seeking mercenaries willing to fight for a share in the spoils. And we offer each town or village a choice: to contribute a third of their able-bodied men to join our crusade, or to wish they had. You are looking to join, perhaps?”
“I noticed there was a town on this road, just ahead and around the bend in the river. You were going there next?”
Chuluun smiled, a missing tooth adding to the menace of his grin. “They will be the next to pay tribute.”
Garth kept his eyes on Chuluun – all too aware he was surrounded, patiently waiting for their circle of riders to draw itself in a little tighter. “There’s a lot of territory east of the Apyahu Mountains for twenty-nine men to cover.”
“We are one of twenty-two groups sent to collect tribute. You still have not answered my question. Do you wish to join?” Chuluun showed his teeth as he spoke, his lips curling into nearly a snarl.
Garth smiled grimly. “Twenty-two? Quite a number. I shall be busy indeed.”
* * *
The chambers of the Fae Council were unusually loud for what was ordinarily a rather sedate group. Lord Terrwyn was seated at one end of the long table, his wine-red tunic stretched just a little too tight. He was banging his gavel as Elise entered, struggling to call the assembly to order.
“Gentlefae, we can all be about our business sooner if we can just come to order,” Lord Terrwyn’s baritone voice boomed, as he tapped his gavel twice.
Elise took her seat behind her father’s chair, at the opposite end of the council chamber. She sat back, watching the various council members banter, sensing their emotional state. She couldn’t read their minds, although there were those who suspected she could. But she could pick up on their emotional energy easily enough.
“I demand to know what was found!” said Lord Heddwyn, coming to his feet. His bushy grey eyebrows were bristling. He was clad in a stately grey vest trimmed in green, his silver buttons and belt buckle polished and shining, highlighting his silver-grey eyes. Elise knew where his interests would lie. Anything which involved ancient and rare artifacts was sure to command his attention.
“In due time,” King Elyan replied as he entered the council room. The fae king was dressed in a beige tunic emblazoned with the red royal crest – the heads of two horses facing in opposing directions, back-to-back. The various, noisy conversations throughout the council chamber wound down as he passed by. Whatever else they might say, the white-haired king still commanded the grudging respect of the Fae Council. “In due time, good lords. Lord Terrwyn is right. We should begin the meeting.”
Lord Terrwyn banged his gavel again, twice. “The Council of the Arche-Fae shall now come to order.” The remaining lords took their seats. “Is there a motion to accept the minutes from the previous Council meeting?”
“Minutes? We have real news and we’re talking about minutes?” Lord Bleddyn was less agreeable than usual, Elise decided – if that was possible. It seemed to Elise that Bleddyn was always puffing his chest out, inflated by his own sense of self-importance. He always sat next to Lord Terrwyn, as far from her and King Elyan as the table allowed. It made it harder for her to read his emotional state. She liked to think he was uncomfortable being seated anywhere near her.
“I move to accept the minutes from the previous meeting,” said Lord Lestin. Ah yes, Lord Lestin. Always eager to follow the direction of the wind.
“I second the motion,” responded Lord Arwel. Young and impatient, Elise noted. The only head sporting darker hair in a room full of grey or white haired noblefae. He was probably ruing the day his father had abdicated his responsibilities and set him on the council in his place. Perhaps it could work in her favor for a change.
“The motion to accept the minutes from the previous Council meeting has been properly moved and seconded,” Lord Terrwyn continued. “All in favor say, ‘Aye.’”
A drone of dull “Ayes” circled the room.
“All opposed say ‘Nay.’” Lord Terrwyn paused. “The motion passes.”
“Now what is this news we’ve all been hearing?” demanded Lord Maidoc. Lynette raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was rare for Maidoc to speak so boldly. His eyes always reminded her of the tired eyes of a basset hound.
“Yes, I’d like a full accounting,” added Lord Heddwyn, coming to his feet again. Even standing, the bent old lord was surprisingly short – even for a fae. “Whatever are these artifacts we’ve heard rumor of? Where are they now?”
King Elyan leaned forward in his chair. “If it may please the council, Princess Elise is prepared to provide a summary for what has transpired.”
“I move to grant the Princess Elise thirty minutes to explain to the council the truth of the rumors about the recovered artifact,” Lord Heddwyn replied.
“I second the motion,” added Lord Arwel. “Let’s get this over with.”
“All in favor say, ‘Aye,’” Lord Terrwyn responded.
All of the Lords raised their hand and replied with “Aye.”
“All opposed say, ‘Nay.’” Lord Terrwyn paused again. “The motion to grant Princess Elise thirty minutes to speak to the Council passes.”
Elise arose and stepped forward to the conference table, standing at her father’s side. Her steps were measured, confident. Her gaze and voice rehearsed and direct. She knew she had to both look and act the part of a royal, and she did like the shimmering green dress Olwen had picked out. But it was her delivery which would be important today – not how long Olwen had fretted braiding her hair. And her delivery, she was certain, would be flawless. “As we all know, we have been searching for a rumored artifact, reportedly retrieved by the wizard Gnotrix from the ruins of Xythox’s empire more than two centuries past.”
“We know that well enough,” Lord Arwel replied impatiently. “What is the truth of these rumors?”
Elise continued, unperturbed. “This past week, an expedition to investigate one of the sites visited by Gnotrix before his disappearance – a mining complex in the Faedeid Mountains – discovered a secret vault where Gnotrix had deposited this rumored artifact.”
“Do we have it? Is it here?” Lord Heddwyn responded eagerly.
Elise bent to the floor, retrieving a wooden box from beneath her father’s chair, and setting it on the table. She allowed herself a small, inner smirk. She had placed the box there earlier, concealing it with a simple camouflage charm. She wondered how many of them now realized they had been sitting in the same room with the relic all along. “The artifact has been placed here, inside, and has been guarded since its arrival at the royal vaults.” She unlatched the box, lifting the lid to reveal a metal ring a hands-breadth across – a ring within a ring, the inner and outer circle tied together by an interlocking mesh. She tilted the box so they could better see, careful not to touch it herself.
Lord Heddwyn exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the hand-sized treasure. “Do we know what it does? Will it be available for our lore-masters to study?”
Lord Arwel chimed in: “Will all of our antiquities experts be able to examine it?”
“We do not yet know what it does, or how it works,” Elise replied. “But all of your respective antiquities experts may inspect the artifact within the safety of the royal vault.”
“Why should the Royal Guard be the one to safeguard the artifact?” Lord Lestin demanded.
“There can be no safer place to store it,” Elise calmly replied.
King Elyan rose to his feet. “The safety of the Feyfell is my responsibility. Each of your respective representatives is welcome to inspect the artifact. But it stays in the royal vault, under guard, until we understand what it is.”
There were a few whispered words exchanged between a couple of the Lords, but no one rose to object. “We just want to ensure we all have access to it,” Lord Heddwyn observed, his eyes never leaving the metal ring.
* * *
There was a knock at the door. Lynette arose from her desk where she had been studying, glancing out across the balcony to where Glynis had her books spread about. A subtle shake of her head told Lynette she hadn’t been expecting anyone either.
Lynette opened the door to find Eirlon standing outside. “Oh,” she said. “I hadn’t expected to see you. Is everything alright?”
Eirlon was dressed in a smart-fitting, dark green vest with shiny brass buttons, wearing dark breeches and black boots, his hat in hand. “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Lynette replied, leading him in and returning to her seat at the desk.
Glynis was gathering her books, carrying them clutched against her chest. “I wouldn’t want to be in the way,” she said.
“No Glynis, you don’t have to,” Lynette replied.
“It’s alright. I could use a little walk before my first class.” Glynis closed the door behind her, as Eirlon climbed into a seat across from Lynette.
“I wanted to say I was sorry about how things turned out,” Eirlon said. “For putting you and Baxter in danger. I hadn’t imagined they would be so close on our heels.”
Lynette was uncertain how to absorb Eirlon’s apology. She was still getting used to being in the flow of classes again – struggling with herbology and healing and trying to improve on her halting abilities in animal speech. She had been trying to avoid dwelling on their little excursion from the week before. “I don’t like being lied to, Eirlon.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t tell me the truth, either. You never told me, never told any of us, how you suspected Gnotrix’s vault might be buried in those caverns. Nor did you reveal the real reason you invited me: to release the wizard’s lock spell on the vault.”
“I know. I’m sorry for that. I’m just so used to not being able to trust anyone, least of all with the whereabouts of things so valuable, so potentially dangerous. I became so fixed on the idea of not letting the mole, whomever it is who’s leaking information from the Feyfell, find out, that I neglected to include you and Captain Iolyn in my deliberations. It shan’t happen again.”
“Me, Iolyn and Baxter,” Lynette added.
“Yes, I’m sorry for that. I won’t exclude the three of you in the future.”
Lynette contemplated his words. She appreciated Eirlon’s sense of caution but didn’t want to feel used. “Do you know anything more about what the relic is? What it does?”
Eirlon smiled ruefully. “Do you really want me to tell you?”
“No, I guess not. I was just wondering. Is it dangerous?”
“We don’t know, not entirely.” Eirlon leaned back in the chair. This was where he was most at home – discussing legends, lore and lost artifacts. “Wizards like Xythox or Gnotrix often wrote down many of their secrets in code, expecting only their most trusted proteges would be able to decipher them. It’s not as simple as reading the pages of a book. You must look for hidden phrases and meanings. Xythox’s original notebooks were all in bad shape. I’ve been having difficulty restoring them. Most of what we know comes from what Gnotrix transcribed. He left a lot out.”
“You can restore things?”
“I’m not a lore-master for nothing,” Eirlon replied. “Rare texts and forgotten languages are my specialty. Not everyone is a master of elemental magic, like you are my dear.”
The breeze from the open balcony drifted into the room, carrying the scents of the spring blossoms and the singing of birds. From somewhere outside, someone had begun playing a flute, its melody drifting across the landscape. It was odd to be talking about dark and dangerous things when the world outside was so alive and peaceful.
“So, we’re good then, Miss Lynette?”
“I guess so. But next time, if there ever is a next time, no secrets. Okay?”
“Agreed.”
* * *
“My, but it’s a beautiful trinket.” Aneurin exclaimed as Elise lifted the nested rings carefully from the wooden box, laying them onto a satin cloth she had spread across the table. She hadn’t been thinking when she had lifted the rings, and the cool touch of the metal on her fingers made her shudder. She stepped away, allowing Aneurin space to inspect the object.
The elderly fae sage was bent over the relic, peering closely at it through his wire-framed spectacles. The ring of wispy grey hairs that surrounded his bald head was practically standing on end in excitement.
“What do you think it does?” asked Dylan. Dylan was the younger of the two, and although not yet entirely bald, his thinning hair was no less grey. He was scribbling down notes as Aneurin delicately lifted and inspected the rings.
Elise backed herself to the edge of the room, looking on from a distance. She had felt uncomfortable leaving the ring alone in the hands of the lore-masters and sages whom the various lords intended to send. Lord Heddwyn and Lord Arwel had been the first to assign their respective representatives to inspect and report on the relic. Aneurin opened a vial, his hand shaking as he tipped it and released a single drop of pale, yellow liquid onto the rings. The droplet glowed, flaring brightly before it vaporized as it struck the object. A thin column of smoke was the only indication of where the droplet had fallen. “Look at that Dylan! It really is magic!”
Elise was beginning to conclude her fears over the sages had been unfounded. She rubbed her fingers. The feeling of the metal rings against her skin was more unsettling than she had expected.
“How would you describe it Dylan?” Aneurin asked. “Would you say the object was round, or ring shaped?”
“Round, definitely very round!” Dylan replied.
Elise leaned over to Captain Iolyn, who had also come to observe and satisfy himself regarding the security arrangements. “We will have a guard in place at all times?” she asked quietly.
