Storm's Clouds, page 4
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
Iolyn nodded. “The ring will never be out of the guard’s sight. One yank of the chord on the wall, and a dozen guards will be down here.”
“What about at night?” she asked. “There will be special provisions?”
Iolyn smiled, knowingly. “I’ve already arranged for it. Double provisions. The guard on duty will be a ceremonial addition.”
“Good,” Elise replied. “Not that I like having it pawed over, but it’s unavoidable.”
“Elise.”
Elise turned her head back towards the table. The voice had seemed both close, yet distant. Like someone speaking through a drainpipe from the floors above.
“There’s no need to worry, your ladyship,” Iolyn continued, apparently oblivious to the strange voice. “I know how to keep things subtle.”
“Elise. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Elise glanced around. Aneurin and Dylan were continuing their floundering inspections and note-taking. Captain Iolyn was watching the two sages, growing increasingly bored. Could no one else hear it?
“We’ve been watching you Elise. We know who you are. Do you know? Do you know the many gates?”
A chill went down her spine. The rings were speaking to her.
“Four were taken. Two were found.”
“Is there anything else you require?” Iolyn asked.
“You are one.”
Elise’s eyes darted about the room. No one else was there. No one else could hear the voices. “That will be all, Captain. Thank you.” She had to leave this place. She couldn’t be near the rings for long. Couldn’t chance to know what they would say to her. What they would try to make her do.
“Do you think we should see how it reacts to a candle flame?” Dylan asked.
“Excellent idea, Master Dylan.” Aneurin bent over to his bag to search for a candle.
Elise hastily exited the room. She needn’t fear the sages might activate the portal.
“Ah, I found a candle!” Aneurin exclaimed.
She was more afraid she would.
* * *
“I’m just not getting it,” Lynette slumped back in her chair, her textbook spread out on her desk in front of her.
“Anything dealing with plant life takes patience,” Glynis told her. “Maybe you just need a different perspective.”
Glynis was seated in the chair next to her. This was the third time she had tried to walk Lynette through the spell. Their balcony door was cracked open, allowing the cool air to filter in. The air was no longer quite so humid. The summer months had come and gone, and the perfumed aromas of the late-summer heather were mingled with the honey-sweet scent of alyssum blossoms.
“I just don’t understand this spell. Making the shoots grow greener? What is it all about? How do I even know what green it’s supposed to be?”
“Think of it as less of a spell, and more of a charm. You’re not trying to enforce your will on the plant, you’re convincing the plant to do so on its own. The shrub will know how green it should be. What do you think the purpose of this charm, of all horticulture charms might be?”
“I don’t know. To produce more greens? More fruit? More nuts? Or maybe for medicinal purposes?”
“Fae magic is not about producing more things for our consumption. It’s about living in harmony with nature. The plants provide food for us and other animals, yes, but we are also obligated to preserve, nurture and respect them. It’s why the sprites, the little tree spirits you see throughout the kingdom and the academy, do errands on our behalf. It’s a conversation, a partnership. Not a master and slave relationship.”
Lynette listened to her roommate’s explanation, reminding herself again of how different the fae manner was from everything she had been used to. Glynis had always been so helpful, so patient with her frustrations and endless questions.
There was a knock at the door. Lynette stood. “Coming,” she said, wondering who it could be.
She opened the door to reveal the Princess Elise standing there, her violet dress stunning even in the muted light of the hall. On her head was a tiara studded with tiny white gems. “Hello Lynette,” she said. “May I have a word with you?”
“Oh, were we supposed to meet?” Lynette was suddenly mortified to think she might have forgotten a meeting with the princess.
“Oh no. I was just speaking with your instructors, and thought I’d stop by.”
Glynis had arisen and was gathering her notebooks.
“You don’t have to leave, Glynis” Elise said, as she stepped into the room. “It’s nothing you can’t hear. How is your little darrow tree growing?”
“She’s starting to get sleepier, your highness. With winter coming.” Glynis tried awkwardly to curtsy.
“That’s wonderful. They’ll do that, this time of year.” Elise turned towards Lynette, who wondered how the princess’ hair could always be so perfectly in place. A double row of braids looped across each side of her head, complementing her fae ears, before combining at the back.
“I was speaking with your teachers, Lynette, and while I understand you’re still a second-year student, we’ve concluded you’ve already exceeded what your instructors in the elemental arts can teach you.”
“Oh,” Lynette replied, wondering if this meant she’d have to leave the Academy.
“We’ve decided we should continue your lessons in the elemental arts, in private.”
“In private?”
“Yes. You would continue to attend all of your other classes, as you have been doing, but I would be tutoring you three days a week in elemental magic.”
Lynette was caught completely off-guard, her blank stare highlighting her discomposure. She had never expected the fae princess, of all people, to become her tutor.
“Would it be okay with you?” Elise asked.
“Yes, yes it would,” Lynette replied.
“Good. Report to the royal manor, at the veranda at ten tomorrow. I’ll notify the sentries to expect you.”
Elise opened the door to leave. “Good to see you again, Glynis,” she said. “Your darrow tree is looking beautiful. Such full foliage. She’s well cared for. See you tomorrow, Lynette.” She exited, shutting the door behind her.
“I never expected anything like that,” Lynette said, after the door had shut.
“Well, you are the most gifted student they’ve had in the elemental arts in over two centuries. It’s common for a graduate of the Academy, if they’re truly talented, to be taken in by a master in their area of expertise. Becoming a true master can take decades, sometimes centuries.” Glynis stood, staring out towards the balcony.
“What is it?” asked Lynette.
“Oh, my darrow tree is being all cheeky over the princess’ compliment. You’d better not let the other trees hear you calling her the queen!” Glynis called out. “She’s still only a princess, you know.”
* * *
Sima found solid footing for his pole, pushing it off against the lake’s bottom in the shallow waters below. His flat-bottomed boat skimmed across the surface of Mara Lake, making only the slightest of ripples in the darkness of night. He had oars, but they would make more noise – in a place where he preferred to make as little as possible. Here, on the western edges of the lake, where the fens with their tall reeds transitioned into the lake shore, the water was shallow, and the oars were not always needed.
Sima lived in a small home, built on stilts not far from the southern shore of the lake. His accent gave him away as a man of Bateria. How this solitary man came to live on the lake shore only he could have said. The scar which traced across his face and upper lip underscored the untold tales which had brought him there. Whatever his name might have been before, in these parts he was known only as Sima – “scar.” The lake man who fished these waters and occasionally traded with the men or goblins who dared to pass beneath the shadow of the cursed mountain.
On this night, however, Sima was plying his boat north, following the shallows of the western lake shore, looking to make a deal of a different kind. Before him, on the floor of his small boat, glittered the mud encrusted items he was looking to barter or exchange: silver plates and spoons; ornate daggers; jewel encrusted diadems. Treasures from a bygone era and cities long vanished. There was more than fish to be recovered from the waters of Mara Lake – if you knew where to look and were daring enough to go looking for them. And Sima had a few repeat customers who would be interested in his finds. Customers who didn’t want to be found in the bright light of day.
The little boat skimmed silently across the dark water. Occasionally, Sima could spot a goblin or ogre staring out at him as he swept by, their eyes reflecting the moonlight as pale-yellow orbs. He made sure to keep out of range of any bows or javelins they might have. His business was not with them. The further north he traveled along the fetid fens, the fewer living things he saw. Only the chorus of insects and frogs, or the occasional splash of a fish in the waters. He knew he also had to be wary of snakes – but it was still safer to follow the lake shore than to venture across the depths of the lake in a small boat at night.
Looking ahead, to the north, Sima could clearly make out the shoulders of the cursed mountain. Even from this distance, he could see how the trees and bushes dotting the shore were tormented and twisted by the malcontents who inhabited these wastelands. Only the bravest or most foolhardy ventured into these parts. Or the most greedy, Sima reminded himself.
On the southeast face of the cursed mountain, was a particularly broad chasm that opened into the face of the rocky slope. Sima knew it well, having lived along the lake shore for many years now. From this distance, he could make it out as a darker patch of black in the night. Dark and ominous, the chasm was avoided by even the most daring of ogres who inhabited these lands – yawning wide like the maw of some great, sleeping giant. Having seen it in the daylight, Sima knew how the strangled remnants of trees which surrounded the opening were not merely twisted and abused, like so many others across the mountain slope. Only these had been burned as well, leaving behind the charcoaled remnants of trunks and branches. If life struggled to find a foothold on the slopes of the cursed mountain, it lost its struggle here.
The dark maw on the southeastern face was a place Sima knew was to be avoided – even by the odious denizens of these wastes. It was therefore a surprise to him on this dark night to see flashes of light emanating from that same chasm.
Sima slowed his progress, allowing the boat to be carried forward by its own momentum, gradually coming to a stop as he watched to see if what he had glimpsed was real, or only imagined. There it was again: orange-yellow flame belching forth from the maw of the mountain. Then movement. A shape, large and pale, slinking from the bowels of the earth. It turned back to roar its defiance back down the chasm from whence it had come, stretching its great, bat-like wings. The noise echoed across the lake shore, sending unseen creatures to flight among the fens and waters. Even from this distance, Sima could tell the beast must have been massive – large enough to carry a horse and rider between its forearms, or to rend the most fearsome ogre with a single slash of its claws. Its wingspan stretched out like the branches of a great tree. And then - fire poured forth from its mouth, a stream of angry flames which illuminated the night.
Sima collapsed to his knees. He had witnessed many things on the shores of this lake. Some strange, some menacing, but never anything like this. In all his years, he had never dreamed he might lay eyes on an actual, living dragon – the most feared and fabled of all beasts.
The creature’s hide was a pale white, rendering it readily visible in the moonlight. Its great eyes were white orbs, its wings stretching wide as if to fan the flames it had belched forth. The beast roared again into the maw of the cavern, stretched its wings, and in a single rush was launched skyward. Its beating wings carried it up, over the treetops, and across the landscape to the west. Sima watched its wing strokes carry it higher, further, until it disappeared westward, into the distance.
Sima remained there many minutes, his knees against the hull of his boat, his pole in his hands, listening to the sounds of the night insects. His own breathing seemed strangely loud in that moment. Ogres he knew to avoid. Goblins and men, he could bribe or bargain with, or even slit their throats as they slept. But this . . . this was something far too great for a thief and scavenger. The thought of the dragon’s fire, descending on his unprotected flesh, lingered in his mind. The mental image of his own skin and fat, burning or melting beneath the dragon’s fiery breath.
He rose to his feet and turned his flat-bottomed boat back – heading south. Whatever business he might have could wait for another night.
Chapter 2 - Diverted
Garth set his knapsack on the ground, unfastening its flap and drawing out some dried rations. The biscuits were hard, but the taste was not unpleasant. Around him, the forest was alive with the chirping of birds, gathering themselves together for the upcoming migration south. Squirrels scampered up and about the branches, collecting nuts for the winter. The leaves had only just begun to change, with the first trees beginning to turn gold. In a few more weeks, the entire forest would be ablaze in color. The air had already turned cooler, leaving behind the oppressive heat of the summer months. Overhead, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the playful laughter of a mountain brook could be heard nearby.
From these foothills, the ice-clad peaks of the Eastern Faedeid Mountains could be seen to the north. Garth sat back against a large rock, the silver, three-pronged lightning bolt emblazoned on his dark tunic glittering in the mid-day sun. He forced himself to relax and suppress his impatience. He needed information, and it was sometimes better to wait, and allow events to unfold. Allow things to come to him. Today was one of those days. He knew how to be patient when need be. Centuries patient – he reminded himself ruefully.
He had nearly finished the travel rations when he heard, or rather sensed, a presence moving towards him. He had to resist the urge to turn and speak to her directly. She needed to come to him, or he would risk having her disappear altogether.
At length, he saw a slim, almost stick-like figure moving into his line of sight. A young fae woman, or so she appeared. Creeping slowly, cautiously, into his field of view. She was curious. Trying to have a better look at the strange traveler. Visitors seldom traveled through these parts. Least of all human visitors.
“A pleasant day to you,” he said in a calm voice. “It’s a beautiful spot you have here, near the brook.”
She stepped slowly into view. He had to be careful to do nothing that might threaten or alarm her.
“You live here?” he asked, cocking his head as he looked in her direction. He already knew the answer, but he needed her talking.
She nodded.
“It’s a lovely spot. What brings you out on such a pleasant day?”
She stayed well out of reach, eying him warily. She was clad in a gossamer gown, shimmering with shades of green and brown. Her silver-white hair framed her sun-browned face and dark, wide eyes – accentuated by her pointed, fae ears. “I thought I saw a shadow pass a moment ago.”
Garth nodded. “Not all shadows are to be feared. Have you seen other things pass through these parts recently? Things which don’t belong here?”
“You mean like you?”
Garth smiled. At least she still had some humor about her. “Maybe. But different. Something with a sulfurous scent.”
He watched her shiver. “Three days ago. At night. It flew overhead.”
“You saw it? What did it look like?”
“It was pale, white. It flew high above, on bat-like wings. I could catch its scent on the wind. Like a forest burning. I wanted to hide.”
Garth nodded. “Which way did it go?”
“West, across the mountains.”
“Could you tell how big it was?”
She shook her head, still staying well out of reach of the mysterious stranger. “No. It was big. But I couldn’t tell how big.”
Garth found himself hesitant to leave. Who knew how often she had visitors in these remote parts? From across the mountain peaks, he heard a rumble. The sounds of thunder in the distance – although the sky overhead was clear and blue. He listened to the rhythm of the thunder as it echoed. “Does it thunder like that often here?” he asked.
She shrugged. “There is always thunder from across the mountains. It has been this way for as long as I can remember.”
Garth smiled. Yes, at least there were some things in these parts which had not changed. He cinched his knapsack shut again and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry if I can’t stay to keep you company.” He hefted the knapsack onto his shoulder. “I know it must be lonely out here. That’s your tree over there?” he added, nodding towards an unusually large tree, its green leaves tipped in silver.
She nodded.
“She’s a beautiful one. I saw her from a distance.”
She took a step backwards. “The forest is full in these hills. It’s not easy to spot a dryad’s tree from afar.”
“I’m sure not many come this way,” Garth continued, his brow furrowed. He could almost feel the loneliness she radiated. The solitude of a dryad, without kin or fae of any kind. “There used to be a fae village, down that way,” he said, gesturing in the direction in which the stream led. “It looks like it’s been gone for a century or more.”
She nodded again. “There was an ogre raid. Most hid, but some fae were caught in their snare and killed. The veil of the Feyfell is incomplete and erratic here. The remaining fae moved west.”
“Leaving you alone.”
She nodded. “How do you know?”
Garth stared into the distance and sighed. “I remember when the fae village was full of life. We had stopped there after a particularly long patrol. You came out to the village to greet us. You would have been a young dryad then, newly bonded to your darrow tree.” He looked at her, an intense sadness in his eyes. “Aderyn was your name, if I remember right.”
She stared back at him, at the three-pronged lightning bolt stitched into his tunic, noticing for the first time the sword at his hip: a silver, blue-eyed dragon carved into its hilt. “Gwythyr?” she said at last. “But you were fae. How?”
