Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (14 page)

I’m greeted by a blade at my throat. As soon as he recognizes me, the admiral takes his sword away and pulls me inside.

“Tib,” he lets out a sigh of relief. “My apologies. Come in, quickly.”

“It’s okay, Saesa,” I say, and the Admiral peers out at her. His eyes drift to Loren, who’s just starting to stir.

“Who is that?” he asks with an unusually stern tone.

“His name’s Loren,” I say.

“He’s a Mage. Do you trust him?” the Admiral asks.

“Who is it, darling?” Nessa asks, coming out from the sitting room. In the doorway, Lilen and Emmie poke their heads out to see.

“Tib!” Nessa gasps. “Saesa! Thank goodness! We were so worried. Don’t linger in the doorway. Come in, quickly!”

“Not the Mage,” the Admiral says as Saesa starts to drag Loren over the threshold.

“Oh, but Tristan, he’s just a boy,” Nessa says, rushing to help Saesa. “He’s been hurt. What happened?”

“I punched him,” Saesa says, wincing. “It’s a long story.” Nessa clicks her tongue in disapproval.

“Lilen,” Nessa says, “come look. Do you recognize him?”

“Close the door,” the Admiral orders again, shaking his head in defeat. Everyone knows it’s useless to argue with Nessa where stray children are concerned. Zeze slips in as I shut the door. Inside, the others crowd around Loren.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Lilen says. “He’s not from the Academy.”

“He’s an islander,” I explain. “From Stepstone. He was delivering something for the Prince, to protect him.”

“Prince Eron?” the Admiral asks darkly.

“No, his son,” I reply. “He brought something for Amei so the young prince would be safe.”

“Well, if he is an ally of the princess, then he’s certainly welcome,” Nessa says decisively. “Settle him upstairs in the spare room. Put a sleep on him, Lilen, for now. Just to be safe.”

The admiral takes Loren from Saesa and carries him upstairs, and Lilen follows behind looking smug. When they reach the top, Nessa turns and throws her arms around the both of us. I know better than to squirm away. I just let her hug me.

“We were so worried,” she says.

“Can’t breathe,” Saesa gasps.

“Why are you soaking wet?” Nessa asks, holding her at arm’s length. She draws her in for a hug again. “Never mind. I’m just glad you’re safe. When you didn’t come home, we feared the worst. Raefe insisted on going to look for you. Then the decree went out and Tristan refused to let anyone else leave the house.”

“Decree?” I ask.

“His Majesty has issued a decree,” Nessa explains as the admiral and Lilen come back down the stairs. Emmie clings to her waist and Ruben stands with his arms crossed, listening. “That any citizen loyal to the throne should seek shelter until the threat has been assessed. Anyone found wandering streets will be considered suspicious, and held for questioning. All business within the kingdom has been halted.”

“For how long?” Saesa asks. She tries to extricate herself from Nessa, but it’s no use. She’s got us both in a tight hug, as though she’s afraid she’ll lose us again if she lets go.

“As long as it takes, I imagine, to find whoever was responsible for the attack on the High Court,” Admiral Ganvent says.

I think of the man in blue robes peering through the tall windows, then standing on the platform with the bag holding Eron’s bloody head. I remember the black fairies with their scaly skin and skin-like wings. How they all vanished. I shake my head.

“They can’t keep the city closed up that way,” I say. “It could take weeks to find that Sorcerer. Months. It could take forever.” I think of the empty market streets. The people walled up in their houses. What the man in the Conclave said about Cerion. “The city will die if people are made to stay inside. People will starve.” Saesa and I exchange worried looks.

Emmie looks up from Nessa’s skirts, her eyes brimming with tears. Ruben leans to her. Puts his arms around her.

“It’s all right, Emmie,” he whispers. “Don’t be scared.”

“Oh, Emmie,” Nessa offers soothingly, “come, let’s find a game to play.”

She gives us one last squeeze and then ushers Emmie into the parlor. When they’re out of sight, Saesa looks from me to the admiral.

“Raefe’s out there looking for me,” she says with concern.

“I know where this is going,” Ganvent says. “There’s too much of a risk. Raefe can hold his own. Even if he’s brought in, he’s innocent. They’ll escort him here. He’ll be fine.” The firmness of his tone leaves little room for discussion. “Go upstairs and dry off, Saesa.”

“Surely you could go looking for him,” I say to the admiral. “Couldn’t you?”

“And directly disobey explicit orders from His Majesty?” he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. My place is here, keeping the rest of my family safe. Don’t you get any ideas either, Tib.”

Saesa stomps upstairs, glancing once over her shoulder at me. I know that look. I nod to the admiral and trail behind her, taking the steps two at a time.

We duck into my room, where Zeze is curled on my pillow. She opens one eye as I shut the door, then closes it and goes back to her nap.

“Tib,” Saesa says pleadingly, her voice thick with tears.

“Tell them I’m napping,” I say, and go to the window.

“What? No, you can’t!”

“That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?” I ask as I shove the shutters open. “Raefe’s out there somewhere. I’ll find him and bring him back here. Don’t worry. If I see any guards I can hide.”

“Actually, I…” she trails off. Whatever she was going to say, apparently she decides against it. “All right. I’ll cover for you.” She crosses to me. Kisses my cheek. “Be careful,” she whispers.

On the bed, Zeze stretches. She pads across the mattress to me.

“Stay here with Saesa, Zeze,” I say as I climb out onto the trellis. “Watch out for each other. I’ll be back soon.”

I climb down and press myself to the wall outside the kitchen door to listen to the street beyond. I’ve never heard the city so quiet. I can even hear the distant crash of ocean waves far below the sea wall.

I try to think of where Raefe might have gone to look for Saesa. The clear choice is obvious. I keep to the shadows and make my way through alley. Pick my way cautiously across the city. East, and then north, toward His Majesty’s Elite’s guild hall.

A couple of streets over from the hall, in the alley behind a baker’s shop, my ears pick up a sound. A whimpering. A shuffle, very slight, just before the street. I turn my head quickly and peer in the direction of it. There’s a crate there, and a pile of burlap sacks. I creep closer and sense it before I see it.

Someone’s hiding in the sacks. Crying. Sounds like a girl. I move even closer. She’s covered almost all the way with the sacks, except for a tuft of white-blonde hair sticking out. She hears me approach and she goes quiet.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispers as I reach her. I crouch down. Pull the sack away. Her face is bruised. Her eyes swollen with tears.

“Celli?” I whisper in disbelief. “What’s going on? What happened? Where have you been? Are you all right?”

“They were chasing me, but I lost them. I hid here, but now I can’t leave. If I do, they’ll find me. They’ll hurt me again, Tib,” she whispers, and the fear in her eyes is plain.

I don’t hear the man creeping up behind me. I don’t notice the shadow he casts over me until it’s too late to react. Celli claps her hands over her mouth, covering her scream. Something strikes me hard on the side of the head, and I black out.

Azi

“The Queen? Right now?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes. She’ll be able to tell me about the Dusk now. I mean us, of course,” Flitt says hopefully. Her light twinkles brightly as she lifts from my shoulder and grows to my size again. The mirror fades away. “Are you ready?” she asks, grinning. “You look perfect. Come on.”

As she pulls me along through the thick grass, I’m taken by the beauty of this place. All the colors are vastly more brilliant here than they are in Cerion. Even the gray mossy tree trunks and the earth under our feet radiate with a sparkling, perfect beauty. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t been to Kythshire in some time, but it feels different to me. Calmer but also more powerful.

“It’s less wild, somehow,” I say to Flitt as we make our way through the grass.

“Less wild than what?” Her wings glitter in the sun as she drifts ahead of me.

“Than it used to be,” I say. “Before whenever I came to Kythshire, I could feel the constant pull of magic. It seemed to always be testing me, changing my emotions. It’s quieter now,” I sigh. “I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s me that’s changed. Maybe I know to expect it now, so it isn’t so difficult to keep it at bay.”

Flitt raises a pink-tinted eyebrow. She shakes her head and giggles softly.

“What?” I ask.

“Azi,” she grins, “it feels different from Kythshire because it isn’t Kythshire at all.” With a gentle tug she pulls me into the air with her until we’re able to see above the grass. “See?”

I gasp at the landscape that sprawls before us. The grass is a simple meadow dotted with delicate flowers of red, orange, white, and purple. Their sweet fragrance is carried past me on the breeze in a swirl of petals that brush my cheeks. Blue and yellow songbirds dart playfully in and out of the grass. Beyond them a towering forest stretches high overhead, with ancient trees that watch over us with silent curiosity.

“There,” Flitt points in the opposite direction, where the sun is just cresting over the horizon. Squinting into it, I can just make out an enormous white flower bud like a spire against the bright sphere, its petals twisted tightly closed. “Come on, we’re so close!” She tugs me again and I drift along behind her with the tips of my toes brushing the tall grass.

“It’s stunning, Flitt. Where are we, if not Kythshire?” I ask.

“Someplace else,” she answers vaguely as she flies faster into the rising sun. “That’s the Palace of the Dawn.”

When she says it, it occurs to me that the sun is bright overhead, yet it looks like it’s rising against the horizon. It’s an odd realization. “There are two suns,” I say, trying hard to follow the rules of the game we still seem to be playing by not actually asking a question. I can tell she notices by the way she looks back at me and grins.

“At the Palace, it’s always Dawn. Even after the sun goes down everywhere else. The start of the light, where the Queen keeps her throne,” she says. “It’s a safe place where all fae can find solace. Oh, it’s even lovelier than I remember. Have you ever seen anything so perfect?”

The petals fall open ever so slowly to welcome us as we approach, and a golden path of glittering pebbles leads our way.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I whisper as she sets us down on the path. “But why not just appear inside?”

“Ha!” Her laughter echoes through the blades of grass. Towering overhead, giant mushrooms of yellow, orange, and red line the golden path. Upon each of them stands a fairy sentry in full battle gear. Some wield spears, others swords, and still others bows. Their sharp eyes watch us sternly as we stand at the edge of the path. “That would be rich! ‘Just pop in,’ she says. No invitation, no tests. Just appear in front of the Queen! Hello, Your Majesty! Can you imagine?” she looks up at the sentries and laughs. When they don’t react, she rubs her neck sheepishly and looks at me. “Heh,” she chuckles. “Guess I lost the game. I answered a question with a question. It was a good one, though. Nice and long,” she glances at the guards again.

“It was,” I agree with a reassuring smile.

“Well,” Flitt says, her tone that of forced cheerfulness, “see you on the other side, then. Be careful!” Before I can stop her, she vanishes.

“Very funny, Flitt!” I say, crossing my arms. Above me, the first two sentries shift slightly. “Flitt?” I wait a little while, expecting her to appear again, laughing at her little joke. When she doesn’t, I look up at the mushroom sentry to my right.

“Excuse me,” I call to him, “do you happen to know where my friend went?”

He turns his head very deliberately and looks down his nose at me. His polished armor glares in the sunlight. His eyes, dark and wide, seem to bore through me, straight into my heart.

“She must follow her own path,” he declares, “And you, yours.”

I peer ahead at the trail of golden pebbles and up at the sentries. There are at least a dozen of them on each side. For some reason, their presence reminds me of Iren, the Guardian of the North in Kythshire. I understand immediately what that means. If I tried to walk this path without their permission, the results could be deadly for me.

“Azaeli Hammerfel,” the sentries announce in unison with a resounding, eerie echo. “The Temperate, Pure of Heart, Reviver of Iren, The Great Protector, Cerion’s Ambassador to Kythshire.”

As always, I feel my cheeks go warm at the recitation of my titles. I bow my head as the echoing voices fade, slightly embarrassed. These titles were given to me by Crocus in Kythshire two years ago, and I find them a little pretentious.

I look up, ready to move past the titles and get onto the path, but the sentries keep going.

“Knight of His Majesty’s Elite, Champion of Princess Margary of Cerion, Ally of Valenor of the Dreaming, Vanquisher of the Prince, The Betrothed of Rian Eldinae: Oathkeeper, Windsaver, Arcane Guardian, Steward of the Wellspring. The Mentalist. The Paladin.”

“No,” I say, “I…those last ones, they aren’t—”

“Do you deny that you are Azaeli Hammerfel, Knight of Cerion?” They interrupt. The two closest to me turn to face me.

“Yes! I mean no, I don’t deny that’s who I am, but those titles aren’t mine. The Mentalist, The Paladin, Vanquisher of the Prince.”

“They have been bestowed upon you in this place,” they explain, and turn to face each other again.

I close my eyes and try to calm myself. My hands are shaking. Titles are important to the fae. I don’t accept them lightly. I didn’t vanquish Eron. I’m not a paladin, nor can I call my meager skills of looking into people’s minds full-fledged Mentalism. I think of Flitt and her insistence that I embrace that side of me. I wish she was here to guide me. Thinking of her reminds me of the game. The sentries are still once more, and I realize it’s my turn to ask a question. I think for a moment and formulate a good one.

“Please, good sentries, will you grant me passage down this path, so that I can join my companion and present myself to the queen?” I venture.

The rest of the sentries turn to face me. They stomp their feet in unison and stand at attention.

“To prove your worth, you must first pass through the Three,” the two before me announce. The others join in. “The Gauntlet. The Challenge. The Gateway. State your consent, and we shall begin.”

“I agree,” I nod. As soon as the words leave my lips, the sentries charge me. A score of them at least, wielding spears or swords. They make a line in front of me and form a wall of wings and armor that stretches several fairies high. The higher ones draw bows, notch gleaming arrows, and aim them at me.

My instincts kick in. I clap my visor over my face and draw my sword. They offer a bow, as is the custom in duels, and I respond with the same. As soon as I straighten, it begins. The first line rushes in as arrows glance off of my armor from above with the unnerving thud of stone on stone.

It feels like a dream. The sentries bear down on me. They surround me on all sides. I start out cautious, but when they don’t hold back, I understand quickly this is a serious duel. A matter of survival. I don’t have time to wish for Rian’s wards or Flitt’s light or Mya’s song. I understand the test. I’m meant to prove my mettle alone, without the aid of those who usually stand beside me.

The two before me are shield-bearing. They arc their elegant long swords with grace and power. I’ve trained for this. I know the most effective counters and attacks. Still, their strange fighting style makes it difficult to fall into a rhythm.

These aren’t the fairies from children’s stories. These fae are fierce warriors, steadfast in their duties. More of them close in on me, and I position myself with my back to a mushroom for cover.

They encroach on me with a wild hunger. I see it in their eyes. This is no test to them. They won’t relent. They’ll finish me. A shower of arrows rains down on me. One of them flies straight into my visor, glancing my temple. Swords and spears flash, and I count six in melee with me as I press back against the mushroom.

More arrows shoot toward me, but none meet their mark. The blade of my great sword catches on a spear. I twist it up and fling it away, disarming that opponent. I have no time to celebrate the small victory. Blood from my temple drips into my right eye, obscuring my vision. The fairies close in. Their small weapons give them even more of an advantage. My own sword is heavy and difficult to maneuver in such a closed space. The mushroom serves to protect my back, but it also prevents me from using my attacks to my full advantage.

While I do my best to hold my position, a hint of a thought creeps into my mind. I have other abilities I could use to make them stop. I could easily force them to give me passage. I push the thought away as the thin blade of a rapier pierces into my shoulder beneath my pauldron. They aren’t using magic. Mentalism would give me an unfair advantage. It’d be uneven.

More uneven than this?
I think as I finally defeat one of the sentries with a longsword. It’s a short victory. His companion heals him completely, and he comes at me again with even more enthusiasm.

My shoulder is bleeding. I can feel it sticky and warm under my armor. I swing my sword again, but I’m too distracted by my thoughts and I miss the parry.

“Wait,” I say breathlessly, “is the object of this duel that I’m meant to defeat all of you?”

I’m answered by laughter and another shower of arrows.

“Of course not. That would be nigh impossible. You must simply reach the other side,” the second sentry says as he slams me with his shield.

“She didn’t know? That would explain why she hasn’t been moving much!” one of the archers giggles. She’s dressed in glittering strips of grass that only barely cover her for modesty.

“I was starting to wonder if she wasn’t a little thick,” chuckles a blue-haired one. She notches an arrow and aims it at me, one eye closed.

“My friend Windy says she is,” another one chimes in. She’s twice as tall as the other two and looks as though her skinny limbs have been pulled and stretched. “She said,” she whispers something to the others, and they float higher in fits of giggles.

A blow to my knees jars me back to the fight. I swing my sword hard and slice through three of my closest attackers. They hardly seem bothered by the wounds. My blade leaves a thin trail of red blood behind, but the gashes it leaves on their skin close as quickly as they open. I growl in frustration.

As much as I hate to admit it, I know I have to run from this fight. I’m outnumbered and outmatched. If the object of this battle is to get to the end of the path, I’m not going to get there by fighting my way through. Again, I consider using my Mentalism, and the idea thrills me. I feel the rush of it, the pull which is so much stronger in this place that’s already so full of magic. I don’t let it take hold of me, though. Instead, I simply stop fighting.

“I concede,” I say. I drive the point of my sword into the earth in front of me and raise my hands to the group of them.

“Maybe she’s not stupid after all,” one of the archers whispers. I don’t spare them a glance. I keep my attention on the first two sentries, who lower their swords looking slightly disappointed. For a moment I fear that they won’t accept my yield, but the score of other guards drift back to their mushrooms to stand at attention, and the archers settle back into the leaves above them.

“Very well. We accept your offering,” the first sentry to address me nods to the second, who pulls my sword from the earth. The other steps to me and pulls the arrow from my visor. My temple and shoulder tingle with a soft, refreshing sensation as he heals me. “You are a formidable fighter, and your concession has demonstrated that you are wise enough for self-preservation. Walk the path, Azaeli. The Challenge awaits you.”

“Thank you,” I say with relief. I turn to the second sentry and hold my hand out for my sword. He looks at me with a bemused expression.

“Yes?” he asks, and it dawns on me. Your offering, he’d said. I look at my sword with longing. It has been with me since my sixteenth birthday. We’ve been through so much together. It isn’t just a weapon. It’s a part of me. Who am I, without it?

I look from one to the next of them, and my heart starts to race again. They won’t give it back to me freely, I’m sure of that. I could force them to with my magic, or I could grapple it away and run. I’m fair in a fist fight…I shake my head.
What is the matter with you
? I ask myself, and memories of the ways that weapon has lead me into distress flood into my memory. I hold too much attachment to it. It’s an object, just an object. The thought gives me a pang of guilt. It feels like a betrayal to Cerion, to my father. Still, I’ve given that weapon too much importance, and it’s gotten me in trouble time and again.