The Tainted Crown: The First Book of Caledan (Books of Caledan 1)
Author: Cowley, Meg
Date: 2014-07-29
Keywords: fantasy fiction
Publisher: Meg Cowley

Contents

The Tainted Crown: The First Book of Caledan

Books of Caledan Free Goodies

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Map of Caledan

Zaki

Soren

Zaki

Behan

Edmund

Soren

Demara

Behan

Edmund

Eve

Edmund

Soren

Zaki

Eve

Edmund

Eve

Soren

Zaki

Eve

Soren

Eve

Soren

Zaki

Demara

Eve

Soren

Edmund

Eve

Soren

Soren

Zaki

Dane

Eve

Soren

Eve

Soren

Eve

Soren

Luke

Eve

Soren

Eve

Soren

Eve

Soren

Demara

Soren

Eve

Soren

Zaki

Soren

Eve

Soren

Thanks for reading

Books of Caledan Free Goodies

The Brooding Crown: The Second Book of Caledan

Soren

Zaki

Eve

About the author

The Tainted Crown

The First Book of Caledan

Meg Cowley

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Second edition

© 2015 Meg Cowley

Cover design © 2014 Meg Cowley

All characters, places and events are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored or distributed in any form, without prior written permission of the publisher.

www.megcowley.co.uk

For Stuart

Amor meus amplior quam verba est

Thanks to Hazel, Thaleia, Tori, John, Dave, Andy, and everyone else who helped to make The Tainted Crown the best it could be and encouraged me along the way.

Thanks to Rachel Aaron, Joanna Penn and Joel Friedlander for their inspiration and guidance on productivity, indie publishing and print formatting.

Zaki

Zaki struck Naisa from behind without mercy, flinching at the sickening crunch of metal upon bone. She dropped to the floor with an exclamation of surprise and pain cut short. Breathing heavily as he raised the candelabra for another blow, Zaki stood over her, but he stayed his hand. She lay stunned, her legs trapped and tangled in dress folds as bright blood oozed from her head.

“It’s true,” she tried to say, but her mouth would not obey her and he heard only a moan. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her hair and mingling with her blood. Zaki lowered the candelabra and it fell from his hand with a dull thump onto the carpet as he watched her.

“It had to be this way, sister.” This is your own fault Naisa. You rushed me to this. I would have bought a clean death for you.

He couldn’t be sure whether he spoke to himself, to her, or to nobody. Naisa moaned again. It was fainter this time. In a few minutes, she had stilled. He leaned closer. No breath. No pulse.

Zaki kicked the candelabra out of his path and strode from the room, pausing to close the door on his way out. He need not have bothered. Naisa’s rooms were devoid of servants and guards, as he had arranged. Whilst Pandora city bustled outside, his men were silencing the rest of the castle with every pace he took.

“Long live King Zaki,” he murmured to himself, savouring the sound of it.

~

Standing upon the dais that evening, Zaki surveyed the crowd of battle-stained men before him.

“You may report,” Zaki commanded, trying not to gag at the stench of sweat and worse things. “Sir Loren, begin.” Zaki drummed his fingers on his folded arms with impatience and nerves, hoping for good news.

“The west guard folded, Your Royal Highness. The south guard are ours and the east guard caused us great losses before we subdued them,” Sir Loren recited.

“Their losses?”

“Heavy. At least half. A quarter more captured. The rest surrendered.”

“Good. Imprison them all. Those who prove loyal may return to service. Our losses?”

“Not so heavy as theirs. We had the element of surprise and more men than they.”

“Good. Next?” He spoke to each lord in turn, his smile growing. Pandora was his already; his main enemies were mostly dead and only pockets of resistance remained within the castle. For the most part it seemed, the civilians remained oblivious to the chaos there.

“What of the traitor? Where is Soren?” Zaki asked last of all. The hall fell silent. “Where is he? One of you must have found him by now,” he insisted. No answer came. “Damn it! The boy has killed our queen and you have not yet seized him?” he shouted.

Few looked back with knowing faces; but then few were trusted with the truth.

Lord Argyle spoke. “My son informs me that His Roya- the traitor may be in the royal wood.”

“Then, Lord Argyle, I suggest you and your son gather some men and go and search there for him,” Zaki said through gritted teeth. Do these dolts have no ingenuity? “Reynard, join them.” Zaki named a man he knew he could trust to accompany them. “As for the rest of you, search harder! Hunt him down! I care not if he lives or dies; find him!”

The hall teemed with bodies scattering at his command as his retinue fell into place behind him with a snap of his fingers. “We’ll search the castle again. I’m not about to pin everything on Argyle’s word. Do we have the girl?”

“Aye, sir,” a man replied.

“Keep her out of the way.”

Soren

“Seize him!” The three men raced towards Prince Soren with weapons drawn and battle cries ringing in their throats.

Soren froze beneath the portcullis. He struggled to draw his blade. The assailants were almost upon him when a fierce cry announced the presence of another. They turned, for a fatal moment of distraction.

“Prince Soren!” the mounted figure’s voice echoed through his helmet as he charged towards the fray.

Soren moved despite his confusion. His mount plunged forward. Soren slashed the first man’s side as his horse kicked, stunning the second. Before the third could react, the stranger had dispatched him, stabbing the second who lay dazed on the floor, just as Soren cut down the first. The stranger removed his helm to reveal the sweaty, battle-stained face of the queen’s chief advisor.

“Sir Edmund!” exclaimed Soren, keeping his dripping sword ready. His horse pranced, nostrils flaring and mouth frothing. “These men wear the mark of House Varan – what’s the meaning of this? Whoa Miri. Calm, girl.” He tried to soothe the agitated mare beneath him with shaking hands as his heart pounded.

“We must leave. Now,” said Edmund. The prince did not move. “Do you trust me?” Edmund pressed, leaning forward in his saddle.

Soren nodded.

“Then do as I say. Ride with me now!" Edmund urged his horse into a canter through the gate.

“What’s happened? What of my family?” called the boy after the man. Edmund did not reply save to press his stallion harder. Soren dug his heels into Miri to keep apace and asked again, with no success.

“Why do you return so early from the hunt? Where are your guard?” Edmund asked the prince grimly as they rode through the secluded grounds.

“A boar gored Sir Hark’s son, so we abandoned the hunt to see him safely home. My men took him to the healing houses.” Soren would have grimaced at the memory, yet the sight of his friend with half his thigh hanging loose paled into insignificance.

Instead of the boy’s agonised face, the man he had just killed sprang into his mind, his eyes full of pain, hate, and determination as he dropped to the ground, life fading. I just killed a man… but he was trying to kill me. Both concepts were incomprehensible to Soren.

“Well thank the heavens you arrived not a moment sooner or later,” replied Edmund, distracting Soren. “Fate delivered you to my hands today."

Through the landscaped trees, the perimeter wall of the castle grounds came into view. Here, the wall that eventually joined Pandora’s great city walls was a mere ten feet tall and four feet thick, defended more by the precipice beyond it than its own strength.

Edmund jumped down from his horse with an agility belying his age – Soren had never seen the fifty-year-old move with such speed. To Soren’s astonishment, Edmund scrabbled at the ivy that grew in vast quantities along the wall, sweeping it aside and ripping it from the wall in bunches. Soren wondered if he had been right to trust Edmund without question.Before the thought could materialise, Edmund turned to him with a frantic expression.

“Come help! We must find the door.” Edmund wandered along the wall as he searched through the ivy. Soren frowned to himself. Brushing aside his bafflement, dismounted to help.

“Aha!”

Metal rattled, wood clunked and the rusty lock screeched as Edmund threw his weight backwards to pull the heavy wooden door open.

“Follow me.” Edmund made to lead his horse by the bridle through the wall. As he moved, Soren seized his forearm.

“I just killed a man!” Soren exclaimed. “A man wearing colours loyal to the throne, yet trying to harm me. Why?”

“I will explain, but I cannot now. Please come with me; it is not safe for you here. I will beg you if I must,” Edmund implored.

Soren released him, surprised at the fervour from the usually taciturn man. “What of my family?”

“I will explain.” Edmund beckoned him again as Soren faced him, uncertain. “Trust me.”

Soren considered the unwavering faith his mother placed in Edmund. He was swayed by that, yet it was with a sinking heart and growing unease that Soren followed Edmund through the gate.

It was a perilous climb down the cliffs in the fading light: impossible but for the narrow ledge that guided men and horses down. Soren was distracted from the blood – someone else’s – that speckled the hem of his fine jacket by Miri, who had to be coaxed, pushed and shoved almost all the way down. The horses skittered on the narrow track, taking fright every time their passage dislodged small scatterings of stones that cascaded down the precipice to their side.

Every time the horses balked, Soren’s heart leapt into his mouth, fearing that he would be pushed off the path, but before the sun had fully set they reached the ground. Edmund wasted no time in mounting, warning Soren to take care on the uneven ground. Soren mumbled with dull acquiescence. The descent had been excruciatingly slow and he was tiring after his intense day.

“At least we have time, for tonight, to travel slowly,” Edmund said. “No one will seek us here.” Over the drumming hooves, Soren did not hear.

Two leagues to the north lay the dark bulk of woodlands that Edmund made for. As the cooler shade of the tree canopy enveloped them, their shadowy figures melted into the forest, the thick cover claustrophobic in contrast to the open, rolling knolls they had just left. Soren halted.

Framed by the trees on the fringes of the forest was the vast expanse of water, silver in the moonlight, to Soren’s right, the sweeping plains to his left. In between lay the great hill upon which the city of Pandora stood, a huge bulk in the darkness covered with pinpricks of light. Nothing seemed amiss. The night was tranquil. Soren followed Edmund to be swallowed by the forest.

They rode until Soren was lost in the dark. The older man had been silent for hours and rode so fast that Soren was forced to push Miri to her limits, despite his worry that she would stumble and lame herself on a stray root or rock. Soren was too exhausted to question Edmund’s urgency. Instead, when they stopped in a hollow at the base of a rocky outcrop, he dumped Miri’s saddle and bags onto the floor, turned her loose, and slumped against a tree, snoring.

~

Midmorning sunlight streamed into the small clearing where they had slept. It was late spring, the fifth month of the year, and the sound of animal and insect life could be heard in all directions. This place was far from any of the man-made roads that linked the hubs of civilisation together – on any other day, a tranquil haven.

Soren awoke, disorientated and groaning at the stiffness of his body. He was surprised to find Edmund deep in concentration attending a small, smokeless fire. Soren took half a breath, about to question why Edmund had joined his hunting trip, when he recalled the previous day’s events.

Edmund turned at the sound of his movement and met his measured glare.

“Your Majesty.” Edmund addressed him formally.

Soren opened his mouth to reply, pausing as he registered what Edmund had called him. “Your Majesty?” Soren questioned, unsettled by the apprehension he saw in Edmund’s eyes. “I’m ‘Your Royal Highness’, no more,” he said, however he knew Edmund would not have said it mistakenly. “Explain yourself.”

“It pains me to inform you thus.” Edmund gestured at their surroundings. He stalled, mouth gaping as though he could not find the words. “Your mother has passed away, God rest her soul.”

“Impossible,” Soren said. Yet, he knew the strange events of the night before would not have been without dire cause. Soren tried to frown, but his face had frozen. “I saw her yesterday - she was well.”

“I saw her… body… with my own eyes.” Edmund rubbed his hand across his face, dragging tears away from his eyes.

Soren could not move; his head held a thousand questions and yet emptiness.

“You want to know what happened,” Edmund said, “but you do not know how to begin asking. Am I correct, sire?”

Soren nodded, still not believing him.

“Then I will start where I must – at the beginning,” said the older man. “Forgive me, I do not wish to cause you pain, but I will not lie to you. Your uncle Zaki has been moving in shaded circles. I am sure you have noticed his repeated attempts to disrupt your grandfather’s peace treaty with the southern countries. Your mother thought little of it, believing him simply to be disagreeable at times, however to my mind he is too sly.

“I set a watch upon him although your mother disagreed with my actions, believing not a bad word against him. Only my long and trusted relationship in her council led her to accept my wishes. I am thankful that even though for her in the end it was all for nothing, you are saved for the kingdom.”

Edmund paused for breath, whilst Soren stared at him, silent. “We watched him for many cycles of the moon: his comings and goings, his visits and visitors. All for nought, it seemed, until one day he met with an esquire of his wife’s father. King Harad has ever sought to add us to his growing kingdoms, even since your mother pledged Zaki to Demara. She intended it as a sign of our allegiance and equality but not of our submission.

“Nevertheless, Harad realises how close he is to Caledan’s throne and he is an ambitious man: well matched to Zaki it would seem. The esquire left behind some correspondence, which your uncle failed to dispose of quickly enough by his own hand and our eyes within his household procured this for me at great personal danger. I could not believe my eyes, reading of the king’s wishes to subvert Caledan so that Zaki may gain the throne and cause Caledan’s royal bloodline to fall into Harad’s lineage.

“Harad means to send men under his banners immediately after Zaki gains the throne to ensure success, though no details of how Zaki would achieve this were laid out. I took this straight to your mother, presuming as always her swift action would curtail his treacherous plan. To my surprise, her denial was total; she could not comprehend the depths of his treachery. Who would believe their own brother capable of such a thing?”

“And what then?” the young man questioned in a low voice, hardly daring to ask as he averted his eyes. “When was this? I heard nothing. I understood that uncle held the old views that women should not inherit, if only to further his own prospects but surely he wasn’t so evil as to act upon it?” Soren shook his head in a daze.

“My apologies sire,” Edmund said. “This occurred yesterday. I had to act with utmost haste and took the letter straight to your mother, as I could not be sure Zaki would not miss it.

“She commanded me to leave her. I rallied the high council, warning them that we would most likely need to swiftly secure the throne now events had progressed apace. I presumed she would ask for your council, or others. I did not realise you were absent until much later.

“After that, things blur. I called the Royal Guard to arms in secret, in case there was need of their help, but I believe Zaki had huge support from some of the council members and their retinues. As your mother summoned him to her chambers that afternoon, I presume to reassure herself this could not possibly be true, it was clear he had done the same with his own men. They rose too quickly for it to be otherwise. He must have decided that then was the time to act.

“I hastened back to your mother’s chambers, begging her to let me sit in on the meet, to protect her, but she would hear no word of it with her guards and attendants already about her. She sent me away and all I could do was urge the head of the guard to join me to protect her. I did not realise she would call him to her, alone. By the time we returned, it was too late. Her chambers were empty and Zaki was gone.”

“And my mother?” Soren breathed with dread. “Tell me,” he said when Edmund met his gaze with a horror Soren had never before seen there.

Edmund licked his lips nervously before he continued. “She was already dead,” Edmund said. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Soren stared at him, feeling numb. “How?” he forced himself to ask.

“A blow to the head.”

She was clubbed to death like a badger. Soren could not comprehend it. She sprang into his mind’s eye, smiling at him as he had seen her last before his departure on the ill-fated hunting trip.

“There was no time to care for her,” Edmund said, as Soren listened with a morbid fascination, still unable to connect Edmund’s words to his mother. “Caledan, perhaps now more than ever in recent years, stands on a knife-edge. I could not find either you or your sister; alas I feared the worst.

“Your sister, dear sweet Irumae, was already gone when I reached her chambers. It was clear that there had been a struggle, however the fact there was no body or blood heartens me. We must pray that she is safe. With you alive and free, Caledan has hope.”

Edmund looked up, although he did not meet Soren’s eye. Instead his eyes glazed over, unseeing, seeming to speak to himself. “So many others have passed. The fighting in the great hall was violence and brutality, as I have never seen the men of our Kingdom commit. What should have been friend sat with friend feasting and laughing was foe against foe cutting down man after man in a great gash of blood. This was a trap, waiting to spring into action. Every traitorous man knew his orders. I saw council member after council member loyal to the crown mobbed and cut down, whatever the cost in lives, so that their voices were silenced.

“I can only guess at the outcomes that this may have on Caledan. I cannot imagine what plans Zaki must have to explain this to his advantage.”

“Can I go back?” Soren broke the long silence. He still could not accept Edmund’s words, yet the man’s emotional recount had unsettled him, adding to the feeling of unease he had awoken with. He wouldn’t lie. Not about this. But he doesn’t seem insane, either.

Edmund shook his head. “I cannot guarantee your safety. As the heir to the throne, Zaki will seek you out. I fear what he will do if you return.”

If it is true, there will be a funeral, Soren thought, unable to connect that concept with his mother, but I may not go. “What of my sister?” he asked Edmund. The older man paused, shifting his posture. Soren’s eyes narrowed; Edmund seemed evasive, and with good cause.

“I do not know her whereabouts, or her wellbeing,” Edmund admitted. “We cannot go back for her. We must journey away from here.”

“To where? If I can’t return to Pandora, then where can I go where I will be safe? And how can you ask me to leave Irumae if there is a chance we could help her?” Soren replied, indignant. “If things are as you say, surely there is no one keeping her safe – she is just a child!”

“We cannot help her, however perhaps there are others who can. We should journey to your kin in Arlyn.”

“To what end? Karn is old and his forces thin. If we are to be safe and have some chance of a haven we should go to a monastery and claim sanctuary. Not even Zaki would touch us there and they may know where my sister is.”

Edmund remained quiet for a moment, his mouth twisting in disapproval. “No one is to say what Zaki is or is not capable of; he is not a normal man. Besides, why would you hide away? We should fight, sire! We should wait and we should recover at Arlyn under Lord Karn’s protection, and then we should fight Zaki,” Edmund insisted, pounding a clenched fist on the ground beside him.

“The Kingdom should not have to suffer for this!” Edmund continued. “You have seen the means he has used to claim the throne, turning against his own kin and committing the vilest of sins. What hope does anyone in the Kingdom have that he will be a benevolent and great ruler like his forebears? What right minded person will accept his rule as fair and just?”

“Edmund, my uncle has shown his cunning. What proof is there of our claim?” Soren challenged the older man, just as inflamed. “He is bound to have created some tale to explain this all away and remove any blame from his own shoulders. What possible evidence can we provide to stand up in any just court of law – if such a thing would be allowed – that will see him cast down? Well?”

At this, Edmund’s eyes hardened. “I have the letter.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled and bloodied parchment, complete with the broken seal of King Harad.

“How is this possible?” Soren asked.

“It was in your mother’s possession when I left her. I knelt to check if she had any breath or heartbeat in her and saw it under her dresser. I recognised the seal. I knew it would be the only evidence I would have time to retrieve, so I took it. Nevertheless, the claim to the throne and for justice lies on you. Sire.” He held out the letter to Soren, bowing his head.

The prince stepped forward to take it, looking at the folded piece of parchment in his hands as he traced a finger over crusted patches. The parchment was crisp and bright in contrast to the terrible crimson darkness that stained it. “Is this...?” He dared not ask the question.

“It is hers,” Edmund replied. They sat in silence as the life of the wood thrummed around them in the morning sun, each wrapped in their thoughts.

Soren held the letter in his lap, fixated upon the patches of blood - his mother’s. He ignored the radiant sun imprinted on the golden wax seal and gave a cursory glance to the spiky black ink that penned the fateful message. Still unable to conceive the events, which felt altogether too bizarre to begin to accept, he cleared his throat. Edmund glanced up from his own reverie.

“So,” Soren said. “We must have a plan. Are we safe enough here for the time being?”

“Yes. Zaki will realise our absence.” Edmund replied. “I do not think he will know we are together. First, he will search Pandora. He will seek you with all his power and we must move swiftly if we are to survive. I do not think his intentions will be kind. I believe we should go south, to Arlyn,” he insisted once more. “Your father’s kin could be your best protection. I fear Zaki may send his men there but a surer ally we may not find.”

“My path lies north,” argued Soren. “The ceremonial crown is held at the northern monastery. If I am to claim sanctuary I must go there. The last monarch must lay in the capital for seven days of mourning and the heir to the throne must also observe this tradition, before going to claim the crown with his or her own hands. The true test of kingship is whether he or she can obtain the crown,” Soren recited as he had done many times before, almost in a monotone. “Zaki sees himself as the heir – will he remain in Pandora for a week?” he asked Edmund, frowning.

“I believe so. He must be seen to act properly. His men however may not,” Edmund said. “Are you certain of your path? I must go to Arlyn to seek Lord Karn’s advice and ask him to send an envoy to the Eldarkind on your behalf to seek their counsel. Are you sure you cannot come with me and we will journey north after? We could even journey to Ednor and seek sanctuary with the Eldarkind themselves. Zaki would not be able to reach you there.”

“I’m sure,” said Soren. “We must act quickly, as you say. If I have to leave Irumae, we have seven days at best if Zaki remains in Pandora. If we wait too long we may not be safe to travel and I might not find her.

“I think you’re right to seek the help of the Eldarkind, however I doubt they will act. They might shelter us but I can’t go to them. If Zaki learns I am there, he could trap me and then I would have no way to help Irumae. I must go to the northern monastery and ask them to help me find my sister. If I can also claim the crown for myself there instead of Zaki, then maybe I could stop him too. Will you return to me afterwards?”

“Of course. I will accompany you on the north road and swing south from there to Arlyn. You will be safe there at least; the monks will shelter you and I am sure they can help you find Irumae,” said Edmund. “I fear there will be a great struggle, but I would not leave you save where I must. As I swore fealty to your mother, I now swear it to you.” He struggled to his feet with a grimace and came to kneel before Soren.

Soren regarded Edmund, who bowed before him with hands clasped over his sword, its point sunk into the soft ground. I have a one-man army. One old man. He touched Edmund’s thinning hair with his palm and accepted his oath. He could not think of himself as a king. If he had not felt so numb, he would not have known whether to laugh or cry.

Zaki

Zaki’s fingers drummed upon the desk as Lord Reynard made his reports. At last, Reynard’s voice trailed off and Zaki breathed a sigh of relief. The heat was almost unbearable; the windows had been opened, but the air was still and close and perspiration clogged his skin. “Are there any more to account for?” he asked, fanning himself with a parchment.

“No, sir. All bodies have been collected and most identified.” Reynard stepped forward with a list. “Here are those worthy of note.”

“Excellent. Draw up orders confiscating all their lands and assets in the name of the crown. I want their houses penniless and crushed.” Zaki scanned down the list, relieved by its length. His acting treasurer had already informed him that the accounts were not healthy enough to fund a potential civil war and this was a tidy way to bolster royal funds.

Reynard hesitated.

Zaki raised an eyebrow.

“We have not yet found trace of Sir Edmund Arransson, sir,” Reynard admitted.

“We must find him,” Zaki replied, fleetingly wondering if Edmund and Soren’s paths had joined. “Have notices drawn for him also. An earldom for his capture, dead or alive, and a traitor’s death to anyone who harbours him. Send them out with Soren’s banners on the morrow or sooner if they’re done. I want these in every village and town in Caledan. Send a detachment from the local company to Edmund’s estate; if he hides there I want him found.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Would that I could ride out myself.” Zaki rose, frustrated. “I despise being trapped here.”

“You know it to be necessary, sir.” Reynard sympathised. “There are only six days of mourning left before you may leave in good faith.”

“Six days too many.” Zaki scowled. “What a blasted tradition. At least my men may come and go as they please. You must travel in my stead; lead an advance guard to the northern monastery where the crown is held. I have doubts about the allegiance of the abbot. He was far too close to my sister and I want my crown secure. I will ride to meet you with reinforcements the very moment I may.”

Reynard bowed. “It would be my pleasure, sir.” He departed. Zaki barely had time to take a refreshing gulp of his iced tea before there came a knock on the door.

“The Lord Steward,” announced his manservant. Zaki swallowed a curse, forcing himself to smile sadly, as the lord steward of Pandora entered his office.

“How good to see you, Lord Steward Behan,” he greeted the older man with a show of deference.

“Your Royal Highness.” Behan bowed. “I am devastated by the loss of our fair queen and come to offer you my condolences.” He sniffed and dabbed his nose with a handkerchief as Zaki observed him, trying to determine his sincerity. I would not trust this man as far as I could throw him, he thought to himself.

“It is a terrible blow,” Zaki was forced to reply. “My thanks for your concerns. I seek now to find Prince Soren and bring him to justice for what he has done.”

“I find it so hard to believe that a prince so beloved by the people could commit such a heinous act.” Behan did not skirt the issue. “How sure are you that he committed it?”

“Oh, it is beyond doubt. The Queen’s own guards witnessed it. One survived to tell the tale, but he died of his wounds in the night.”

“How… unfortunate,” murmured Behan. Zaki had no doubt that Behan was instead thinking, how convenient.

“Others will tell you they saw Soren running from the citadel covered in blood,” Zaki said. “In the chaos, who can be sure? His allies have certainly been crushed.” His voice hardened. “And all those who support him have been declared traitor for their part in this plot, to die despairing that they have failed and that all their titles, lands and assets will be gifted to the crown in payment for their crimes.”

Behan paled. “As it should be,” he murmured. “I of course serve the crown and take no part in these matters,” he added swiftly. “What of Her Royal Highness princess Irumae?” he enquired. “Is she safe and well?”

“She is safe, though not well,” Zaki said with feigned sadness. “My dear niece is distraught at her mother’s death and brother’s treason.”

“She is the next in line to the throne, though,” Behan said.

Zaki was careful in his reaction. “She is, however she is in no fit state to assume the throne and will not hear of it. Why, she tried to sign it over to me!”

“And did you let her, sir?”

“Of course not,” Zaki hastened to add, choosing his words with care. “However, for the sake of the realm perhaps it would be an option to consider. Perhaps it is the frailty of her sex, but the girl seems to have lost her mind. Perhaps it is worth considering a return to the old ways of male inheritance.” He let the idea hang in the air.

“You would be the next in line to the throne if that came to pass.” Behan fiddled with the huge ring of his office that adorned his hand.

“I do not suggest this lightly,” said Zaki. “I only think of the security of Caledan, Lord Steward. Think of my father in law: King Harad swallows countries of weak leadership and other sharks circle beyond our borders. Caledan must remain strong. Leaving its fate in the hands of an unstable, untrained and untested girl could prove fatal.”

“I cannot disagree with your principles, sir,” Behan replied with utmost care, “but what of the succession? Legally, she is the heir to Caledan’s throne if Soren is to be declared traitor and abdicated in his absence.”

“I know not of the legalities,” Zaki said. One signature from Irumae countersigned by a law reader and Caledan is mine; it is too easy. “Perhaps there is a way.”

“I will consult the law readers with utmost haste to clarify this on your behalf if you wish, sir,” said the steward.

For your own ends, you mean, snake, thought Zaki. Instead he replied, “that would be most appreciated, Lord Steward. We must ensure Caledan remains strong.”

Behan bowed and left with speed. Zaki could not miss the consternation upon the steward’s face, well concealed as it was. He sat back in his chair, smiling at the discomfort he had caused and smug at outwitting the steward. Behan, notorious for having his finger in every pie in Pandora and many throughout Caledan, had not been expecting this, he was sure. It was satisfying to be so many steps ahead of everyone else in what felt like his own little game.

Behan

“Thank you for your promptness. Her condition has not improved in the past day, and I fear for her wellbeing,” Behan said. “I thought best to call upon you sir, to see if you could determine the source of her malady.” It was the third time he had called upon Irumae in the past hours, and each time she lay immobile and unconscious, though she breathed and there was a hint of colour upon her cheeks.

“Naturally,” the royal physician answered. “My colleagues and I shall examine her. If you would be so kind?” He gestured to the door.

“Of course.” Behan hurried to leave. His guard waited outside Irumae’s rooms, ready to warn him should anyone call. He had distracted Zaki’s men with false orders so that he could conduct the medical examination in secret, fearing that the princess had come to harm after his earlier conversation with Zaki. He expected such deviousness from Harad, but his underestimation of Zaki worried him. Who knows what he has planned.

It seemed an age before the physicians emerged. Behan, seated upon a couch rose eagerly. “Yes?”

The physician shook his head. “We can find no physical issues, no marks or abnormalities upon her body. We cannot examine the state of her mind, but the most likely explanation is that she is in a state of shock – understandably – and her body has shut itself down.”

“Will she recover?” asked Behan.

“We cannot be sure,” the physician answered, to the steward’s dismay.

“Do not forget, I require the greatest discretion in this matter,” Behan called after him as he departed.

Behan left too, hurrying to meet with the chief law reader to discuss his findings. He travelled through alleys to the back entrance of the courts even though they were a stone’s throw across the square.

“Lord Heligan.” Behan rushed into the office wringing his hands, despite the secretary’s protests.

“Lord Steward – such urgency?” Heligan questioned.

Behan shut the door behind him for privacy and detailed Heligan with the physician’s conclusions.

Heligan sat back with a frown. “That is troubling to hear,” he said.

“We must decide what is most appropriate, Heligan.” Behan paced about the room. “There is the option of installing a regent in Irumae’s stead, but I fear Zaki pushes for the throne. I worry Irumae has come to deliberate harm under his orders.” He described the girl’s condition.

“That worries me further,” Heligan said. “If the law is to be kept, a regent must first be installed to rule in place of the princess, unless she herself signs over the throne willingly to him.”

“He says that she attempted to, though given her condition I am unsure if that be true. Who would fill the regency?” Behan searched his knowledge of the royal family tree – only distant cousins existed. No competition for Zaki’s claim.

“It would be the closest relative of age, legally,” Heligan confirmed, “or a pre-appointed regent. Alas,” he continued, as Behan’s face lit up with fresh hope. “There is no such arrangement. Sir Edmund signed as regent in the case of Naisa’s untimely death, but just to rule until Soren came of age. There was no such safeguard in place for Irumae.”

“This means that Zaki is the regent, whether we will it or not,” Behan said, dismayed. Heligan dipped his head in confirmation. Behan slumped in a chair. They sat silently for a few moments in the cool shade that felt refreshing after the constricting atmosphere of the castle.

“Can he take the throne from her without her cooperation?” asked Behan. Unable to sit still, he resumed his pacing.

“I had thought to look into this already. There is a loophole,” Heligan admitted. “As Irumae’s closest living relative Soren could dictate her actions, however as he has been declared traitor, this duty could be seen to fall to Zaki. He could rightfully sign her out of the succession as her guardian and representative on the grounds of her ill health.”

“And sign it over to himself as next in line,” Behan said, so aghast he paused. “I believe if he knows of this, he will use this to his advantage. Can this be hidden from him?” he added softly, daring to be hopeful.

“The questions is should it be?” Heligan said. His words were quiet, almost apologetic as he stood to view the castle from his window.

“Of course!” Behan said. “The man is selfish and self-serving, with some very troubling ideas. His father in law also concerns me. I do not trust Harad would leave us alone if this were to pass. For Caledan’s sake, Zaki should not rule. Soren is our rightful king and showed good promise. I pray the boy is safe.”

“As do many, I am sure. Yet I am bound to tell Zaki – truthfully – what options there are if he asks it of me,” said Heligan, “as are my colleagues. If this were to be concealed from him and he were to discover this, whose heads do you think would be first on the block?”

“Our roles are chosen by a ballot of our guilds,” replied Behan, frowning.

“I would not presume that makes us safe though, Behan. He has already replaced half the council with his own men and strips hereditary nobles of their rank daily. I am sure there would be a way to replace us if he wished. Our offices could be lost to a candidate of his choosing and we could find worse fates awaiting ourselves.

“Would you throw away your position so needlessly? We would be better serving if we let the cards fall where they may and ride out this storm. We need not forsake Soren or Irumae by doing so.”

“So you say that we let this occur?” said Behan. “We let him stand for the regency, sign over the crown to himself and remain here, waiting and hoping that Soren returns to retake the throne?”

“I see no other choice. It will occur with or without us,” Heligan said, facing him. Vexed, he rubbed his forehead. “It is not an easy choice, nor a pleasant one, and it will be dangerous for the both of us. We must speak no more of this and be seen to fully submit to the new regime. I believe only this will ensure our own survival and ensure Soren has well placed allies, should he return.”

“And if Soren returns, there is a way to undo this madness?” Behan’s stomach fluttered in a frisson of nerves at Heligan’s words, but he trusted his friend enough to hear him out.

“There is always a loophole,” Heligan said with an uncharacteristically devious smile.

Edmund

Edmund tasked Soren with eating, so that he had the strength for their journey, whilst he made all signs of their presence vanish by putting out the tiny fire and scattering the ashes wide. Soren ate the food and drank the now cold tea, but Edmund suspected that the young man tasted none of it. It had tasted like ash in Edmund’s own mouth that morning. It was biscuits and meat strips, the crumbled and stale remnants of Soren’s hunting provisions; even if it had been the finest pastries and fruits he doubted he would have enjoyed it.

“We must move on,” Edmund prompted, who had retreated some distance into the wood.

He waited for Soren to answer, but the prince stood frozen. Soren’s face was a grimace, his eyes screwed as tight as his fists. Edmund’s face softened and he paced forward to embrace Soren, a gesture inappropriate at court that seemed natural here. Edmund was reminded of his own son Dane; several years older than Soren’s twenty, yet he felt a strange mix of longing and worry for him. It mingled with relief, knowing Dane was far from harm and Pandora’s chaos.

“We must move on,” Edmund repeated. He sealed away his own emotions as he had been trained to do, knowing that he needed to show strength in front of Soren for them to succeed. Before long, they were ready, and with last glances at the sky to mark the time and his compass to mark their position, he led them north on foot through the forest.

The greenery thinned as they passed, until the trees were so large and spaced out that both could mount their horses and ride. Their pace improved and the miles passed by to the soft drum of hooves on moss and grass, but it was slow passage compared to the open travel of the road, unseen miles to their east.

~

As the sun slid once more below the horizon, they emerged onto an outcrop above the forest. The view was stunning; a sea of green forests and rolling hills as far as the eye could see alight with hues of gold and ruby under the descending sun, but Edmund and Soren were both too preoccupied and weary to appreciate it. Numb with tiredness, they scrambled down the steep embankment. Almost parallel to the road they at last found Carrick, the village that Edmund had been seeking, tucked away in the trees.

Still avoiding the road, they pulled up their hoods. Soren was too recognisable and Edmund too well known in the area to chance an encounter. Edmund knew word of the previous day’s events would have passed through here first as high-speed riders flew everywhere to disperse news from the capital.

On foot, they skirted the village in the valley keeping some distance away. Small allotments and animal pens surrounded the dwellings and these spread far into the trees.

After the forest, which had a quieter tune, the sounds jarred Edmund’s nerves. He angled northwest until the village’s noise faded behind them. Ahead, under the darkening canopy a tiny, whitewashed farmhouse appeared. It was nothing much – one room downstairs and its achievement the fact it had a second floor at all – but Edmund smiled at the sight. He made straight for the barn where he unsaddled and unpacked his horse, bidding Soren to do the same.

“Shouldn’t we stay in the woods?” Soren said, misunderstanding. “Someone could find us here!” As if to increase his anxiety, a sudden gust of wind forced the barn door to slam shut. Moonlight flooded back in as Edmund heaved the door open, revealing an unsettled Soren grasping his sword hilt.

“We shall be staying in the farmhouse,” Edmund said. “Worry not. We are safe here, you have my word.”

The farm door was open; unlike in the cities, doors remained unlocked in the countryside. Edmund strolled in, with Soren following behind. The familiar scent of fresh baked honey bread that met his nose made him smile. A crash sounded from upstairs as he shut the door and footsteps thundered down the stairs. Edmund could have sworn that dust had shaken loose from the rafters as the occupant emerged.

Shock and surprise flitted across her face before she rushed forward to grab Edmund in a bone crushing embrace. When she stepped back however, she scowled, standing across the bottom of the stairs, arms firmly crossed. An ancient woman of short stature, she had an imposing nature and radiated self-assurance. Grey hair was pinned up, with a few stray flyaway strands and dark, quick eyes twinkled from a wrinkling face; she was a woman who took no nonsense.

“Why’s it taken you so long to visit?” She was indignant, but all the same stomped to the stove in one corner to heat a kettle of water. As she turned around, she caught sight of Soren and froze.

“This house is a pigsty and I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards!” she hissed at Edmund frantically. “Your Majesty Royal Highness.” She attempted a curtsy at Soren, agitated.

Edmund suppressed a bemused smile as Soren looked at him, nonplussed. “My apologies Aunt.” He paced forward, a few steps of his six-foot frame taking him to her and leaned down to grab his aunt in a bear hug that overwhelmed her. “It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.” His smile lessened as he stepped away. “You’ve heard the news?” he asked.

“Yes I have, and I didn’t believe a word of it for a second.” Her eyes kept darting to Soren. “Now you’re here you can set the record straight.” She gestured at table and chairs in the corner of the small room by a stove. A large wick burned in a table lamp, throwing bright, flickering light across them all.

“Would you like some stew?” she said, seeming worried about offending her royal guest.

Edmund laughed. “We don’t bite, aunt! Please, we’re famished.” This close, he could smell the tomatoes and meat and his mouth watered as he beheld the bubbling pot sat upon the hob. They set the saddlebags down in a corner, unfastening their cloaks and casting them off.

Dragging three chairs closer to the table they sunk into them with groans, as Edmund’s aunt joined them, setting two wooden bowls full of stew on the table before them, topped with a carved spoon, and a hunk of bread each smeared with yellow butter. She ignored the spare chair, leaning on the mantelpiece instead.

"I suppose proper introductions are in order,” said Edmund, though he could barely speak through mouthfuls of tender rabbit and vegetables. He could not remember when anything had tasted quite so good. Beside him, Soren ate in silence. "Aunt, this is Prince Soren, the rightful king of Caledan. Sire, this is my Aunt Bethel, who raised me after my parents passed away when I was ten summers old."

Bethel, being of lower social standing, formally inclined her head first to the prince, who responded likewise, before raising an eyebrow to Edmund, inviting him to continue.

Edmund kept his account brief and quiet, covertly regarding Soren, but the prince focused his attention on the bowl before him. Bethel’s eyes were sympathetic as she studied the young man. “I suspect Zaki's tale of events will bear little resemblance to my own, but I can assure you that I do not lie. What have you heard?"

"Certainly not that,” replied the tiny woman, looking troubled. "One of the dispatch riders passed today. It was quick; you know how they rush about. He began by announcing the passing of the queen, may she rest in peace, but he put all blame on you.” She watched for Soren’s reaction. His eyes widened, although he said nothing, so she continued.

"He claimed that you had murdered your mother – please forgive me for saying this, I'm repeating what was said – in order to usurp the throne. He battled against you to save her, but was too late, and in the chaos, you escaped. Your life is proclaimed as forfeit. Yours too Ed. There are rewards for your capture,” she said with consternation. Edmund did not have a chance to reply.

"What of my sister?" Soren interrupted. "Is she safe?"

Bethel shook her head. "I’m so sorry, I don’t know. The rider just mentioned that Zaki is now managing affairs. You can go and see at the sign he left – it doesn’t say much more than that."

Edmund and Soren tried to absorb Bethel’s words. Edmund addressed the prince, both of their meals forgotten.

“Most this close to Pandora will notice something is afoot. After all, your mother, and you in turn were popular, Soren. You will be well regarded here, far more than your uncle who has done nothing to aid Caledan’s people.

“However,” Edmund paused. “I think we should tread with great care. Those further afield cannot be assumed to act in our favour and we may encounter those who would betray us at great expense to the country for their own personal gains. I think either way, for now, we have to recoup our energy. A wash, a meal and a good nights’ rest are in order.” He glanced at Bethel with a question in his eyes.

She huffed at him and rolled her eyes. “Well of course I’ll keep you tonight, as if it needs to be said. You’re still my little boy Ed, no matter how far you’ve risen in other people’s eyes. I only worry that you won’t be safe here. I’ve got the two rooms spare under the eaves still, you can have those.”

The kettle whistled at last. Bethel ushered them up the staircase to two small rooms under the thatched roof and heavy beams that held it up. As they each entered a room Bethel bustled downstairs in a businesslike manner, returning as they had just dropped their packs with a mug of tea each.

She smiled, and bade them goodnight. Before they could thank her for her kindness, she returned downstairs as though nothing had happened.

Edmund and Soren entered their adjacent rooms. It was a strange feeling for Edmund, stepping into his old room for the first time in several decades – almost like stepping back to his childhood. The room felt unchanged in his absence, though bare of his personal effects.

He breathed in the scent of Bethel’s homemade candle burning on the small dresser, feeling wistful for the simplicity of his youth. For the first moment since before discovering the letter’s existence, he felt as though he were safe, though he knew it would only be for a short time.

Through the wall, he heard muffled sobs. He rose to go to Soren but checked himself and instead sat on the low bed, his head bowed. He joined Soren’s grief with his own silent tears. The queen he loved was dead and the country he served on the brink of disaster. It was long after the small candle had spluttered out and the tea had cooled that he wiped the crusted tears from his face and slept.

Soren

Soren struggled to stand under the low, sloping ceiling of the tiny, white-walled room. A shuttered window revealed the forest and the candle-lit room contained a bedside table, an inviting bed and a wooden chair. He placed his pack and cloak on the chair and slumped fully clothed onto the mattress, drink forgotten as he stared at the flame.

Tiredness and the beginnings of acceptance took over. He bit down on his arm as sobs forced their way out muffled by the layers of fabric in his mouth. He cried as he had never cried before – for his mother, for his father killed in battle almost ten years before, for his missing sister, and for his own misfortune. Exhausted beyond measure, he slept and the flow of tears subsided.

The glow of early morning light and muted hubbub of the forest and farm awakening filtered through the shutter, waking Soren from a deep, dreamless slumber. He stared at the thatch-covered beams. At first, he felt nothing, until anger and rebelliousness stirred – not an impulsive, heated rage, but a cold, unyielding, inexorable anger that detached him from the pain he had felt the night before. Grief had ruled him then, but now he vowed it would not escape again, until he had brought Zaki to justice and found Irumae. I must not fail. With grim pleasure, he promised revenge on his uncle.

~

Edmund had already broken fast by the time Soren had washed and dressed and he helped himself to seconds whilst Soren ate. It earned him a rap on the knuckles from Bethel who sternly ordered him to keep his hands to himself and let Soren eat first. Bethel’s homely nature gave Soren a warm feeling; not even dining on the finest foods had he felt so comfortable in the palace. He relaxed, but the anger sat in his stomach as he ate.

“Off already, Ed?” Bethel asked, an eyebrow raised as Edmund retrieved their packs from upstairs. “Surely you need more rest?”

“We do,” he admitted, shrugging, “I suspect Zaki’s men will come here searching for us in a while.” He trailed off, looking at his aunt in concern.

“I can take care of myself,” she said lightly, waving a wooden spoon at him. Soren saw that the worry in Edmund’s eyes did not fade. “Well, I’m sorry it must be so. When this is over, you must promise to come and visit me. You’re welcome too of course, Your Royal Highness,” she added, peering around Edmund at Soren. She seemed hesitant around him when reminded of his status, but otherwise driven by habit or instinct to mother him.

“Thank you,” Soren replied, wishing he could put his gratitude into words. He had already come to feel quite at home there. The rough, home-made furniture had far more character than his own and Bethel’s oddities – a half-knit sock on the table, a speckled chicken pecking around the open front door – gave the cottage a far more endearing personality too.

“You’re welcome any time you wish. I miss you, Ed. I don’t see enough of you or Dane,” Bethel said. “I didn’t want to ask last night. Is Dane well?”

Edmund spread his hands wide. “I have had no news from him of late, nor could I send word to him. He will be managing my lands in the south and should be safe there.” He smiled and Bethel seemed reassured, but Soren noticed how the smile did not quite reach his eyes.

Both embracing her – Soren for the unhesitant protection she had offered and danger she had placed herself in for them and Edmund for the long time they had spent apart – they promised to return. Her eyes filled with surprise as Soren stepped back. He left with sadness, wishing that he could linger in such a simple peaceful place, but there was no choice in his mind and he would not have stayed.

They continued to make swift progress following the road north and by nightfall had covered almost sixty miles. The two horses were exhausted after the ride, and nipped at the men’s sleeves as they were unsaddled and rubbed down with care.

A dell some distance from the road provided shelter, where they made use of the trees to tether the horses. They grazed as Edmund and Soren enjoyed a cold meal of meats and cheeses and bread, pressed on them by Bethel that morning. Again, they ate in silent companionship, neither feeling the need to talk, as dusk fell. It had been a quiet day, neither talking much during the ride, both listening for any sign of humanity.

Edmund rose in the gloom to retrieve a lamp from his pack. Though its range was not very large, the small clearing was soon bathed in a comforting gold light, which had a dappled, blurred effect from the lamp’s rough glass panels. Soren stared into the flame, watching the dancing flicker of light and taking in the sounds of the night in the woods around him.

Soren started as Edmund spoke. “Soren. I think we should talk further about our plans. Do you still wish to go to the northern monastery?”

Soren’s mouth tightened and his face was stern. “I do,” he replied.

Edmund smiled. “Do not mistake me for chiding you. I wish to make certain in my own mind that you are resolute in yours. The monastery is not far. After tomorrows ride, which is as far as we have come today, you will be within an hour or two’s ride of the monastery. Tomorrow night I suggest you ride for the monastery after we part. Breaking on the cross roads is far too great a risk.”

“I would rather arrive at the monastery in daylight to avoid ambush.” Soren frowned.

“I agree,” Edmund acquiesced, “however it is more important to distance yourself from the crossroad. I would ride as close as you dare to the monastery and then camp off the road, as we are now, overnight. Then, come the following dawn, you can ride to the monastery openly. There should be no danger there.”

“You will not come with me?” Soren asked.

Edmund shook his head. “I must seek help from Arlyn. The swifter I depart, the sooner I return. I may yet outrun Zaki himself and rejoin you in any case. You will come to no harm at the monastery – I would trust the abbot and his brothers with my life.”

Demara

Silence blanketed the room, broken by the delicate clinking of silver cutlery upon the finest porcelain tableware. Save for her lady and his manservant waiting inconspicuously outside the dining room, they were alone, yet it was no intimate dinner at opposite ends of the large table. The gilded ceiling towered above them and tall windows let light stream in. It still felt dark, cold and unwelcoming compared to her homeland, Roher.

“How fares your business, husband?” Demara attempted to strike up a conversation. Confined to her quarters for safety, she had heard little news that week, nor seen much of her husband. Tonight was the first night he had dined with her in weeks and yet he remained as silent and closed towards her as ever.

Zaki looked up, surprised that she had spoken. “It goes well enough,” he replied, terse. Meeting her glance, he laughed – a short, sharp bark – at the uncertainty in her eyes. ”You are safe, fear not, and I shall be king.”

Demara quietened again although her mind buzzed with questions. Does that mean I am to be queen? Does that mean I can never return to my home…? “Have you found…?” She dared not name Soren in case she awakened Zaki’s short temper.

“No,” he replied, his attention returned to his food.

“What of the princess?” she dared to ask, laying her hands across her belly. The luxurious silk slid beneath her fingers over the bulge of her stomach. She knew what it was to be a pawn of men – bound to the fate of their choosing – and she pitied the girl. She prayed yet again that her unborn child would be a son free from the same shackles as she.

He dumped his cutlery on the plate with a crash. “Good God, still your tongue from all these questions!” She met his gaze, although she made sure not to appear too brazen. His glance softened as he saw her hands. “I forget; your condition makes you weaker. Do not concern yourself with the girl.”

“I only pity that she—”

“Demara,” Zaki addressed her with a warning tone, “the girl is a danger to you and our son. Feel no pity for her. Whilst she lives, I may not be secure upon the throne.”

“So you will kill her?” Demara asked, her voice quiet. Surely, he would not…

“I have not yet decided her fate,” Zaki admitted. “It is her brother who concerns me more.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed back his chair. “I am done. I bid you good night. I will sleep alone tonight.” With that, he called for his servant and left her alone in the gloom.

Demara lay her cutlery down on her plate with the quietest chink, her appetite lost.

Behan

Zaki’s mood was buoyant. A grin stretched his face as he stood in the company of law readers, the lord steward and other witnesses from the royal court upon the dais. Banners bearing his sister’s crest bedecked the hall. Behan suspected they would soon be removed. He replaced the quill in the ink well; the drying ink shone brightly against the parchment before the Lord Heligan blotted it with utmost care and handed the document to one of his peers in exchange for the next.

“Witness ye all, on this the nineteenth day of the fifth month of this year the formal appointment of His Royal Highness Prince Zaki of Caledan as Regent Royale and Legal Guardian of Her Royal Highness Princess Irumae of Caledan until the day she comes of age,” Heligan said as his partner held up the deed for all to see the fresh signatures of Zaki, himself and the Lord Steward upon it.

The next document lay stretched out upon the ornate table. Behan kept his expression clear, though he wished he could burn every document prepared for that day.

“This document relinquishes the place of Her Royal Highness Princess Irumae in the royal succession on the grounds of her ill health,” Heligan said. “I call upon her guardian to sign this document on her behalf in her absence.”

“I shall sign for her,” replied Zaki, stepping forward to take up the pen again.

“I call upon the Lord Steward of Pandora to bear witness to this,” Heligan called.

“I shall bear witness to this,” Behan said. He forced down his reluctance and stepped forward to take up the gilded quill. Smile. Keep smiling. This can be undone. This will be undone. Please God let it be undone.

“I sign myself to confirm this matter has been conducted in a legal manner.” Heligan took his turn, refusing to meet Behan’s eye. “Witness ye all, on this the nineteenth day of the fifth month this year the formal renouncement of any claim to the throne of Caledan by Her Royal Highness Princess Irumae, now to be known as the Lady Irumae of Pandora.”

The third and final document now lay upon the table.

“This document acknowledges His Royal Highness Prince Zaki of Caledan as the Heir Apparent to the throne of Caledan, in the absence of His Royal Highness Prince Soren of Caledan following the death of Her Majesty Queen Naisa, first of her name, may she be at peace and with God.” Heligan paused for breath. “I call upon the Regent Royale to sign this document in place of any monarch or heir.”

“I shall sign as Regent Royale,” said Zaki, signing swiftly.

“I call upon the nominated Heir Apparent to sign in acceptance of these terms,” Heligan said, before Zaki released the quill.

“I shall sign as Heir Apparent,” said Zaki, signing again.

“I call upon the Lord Steward of Pandora to bear witness to this.” Heligan called Behan forward.

“I shall bear witness to this.” Behan signed the document, his face impassive.

“I sign myself to confirm this matter has been conducted in a legal manner.” Heligan completed the formalities. “Witness ye all, on this the nineteenth day of the fifth month this year the formal appointment of His Royal Highness Prince Zaki of Caledan as Heir Apparent to the throne of Caledan.”

Behan stepped forward. “Please make your way to the great hall for drinks to toast His Royal Highness Prince Zaki, the good health of the Lady Irumae and the memory of Her Majesty Queen Naisa.”

The crowd moved along, murmuring and he made to follow, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Behan turned to find Zaki grasping his forearm painfully. “Your Royal Highness?” he questioned. Did I not sound cheerful enough about you stealing Caledan’s throne?

“Leave,” Zaki commanded the few stragglers, who hurried to obey. He released Behan’s arm and the steward stepped back slightly. “Why did you have a medical examination conducted upon the girl?” He glared at the older man.

Behan swallowed, trying to compose himself. “The law readers advised it a necessary precaution prior to the signing of the regency and changes in succession, sir,” he improvised. That scheming physician ran straight to Zaki.

“Do not interfere with my niece.” Zaki’s eyes narrowed.

“I would not dream of it, sir,” Behan stammered.

“She will be moved for her own safety and wellbeing today. If I hear you have attempted to see her again, you will be severely punished. Do I make myself clear?”

“Certainly, sir. I meant no offence.”

“I am sure.” Zaki scowled. “In any case, I am soon to be King of Caledan. I want the entire city to know that Soren and Irumae have been retired from the succession and that I will ascend the throne. You are to organise my coronation as swiftly as possible after mourning ends. It is your duty to ensure this runs smoothly and you I will hold personally accountable for any hitches. Go.”

Behan bowed and departed as swiftly as possible, his heart hammering.

Edmund

Hooves drummed upon the road. Disorientated and half asleep, Edmund and Soren shrank into the earth, before rising to settle the horses. Miri and Arkan stood with heads turned towards the road and ears pricked. The noise passed. The forest fell quiet again before the sounds of bird and insect life crescendoed. Soren’s eyes mirrored Edmund’s own apprehension.

“We had best keep moving,” said Edmund. “Damn the thickness of foliage here that we must use the road. We have been lucky so far. I hope our good fortune continues.”

All was silent upon the road as Soren scouted ahead. Without further delay they mounted and rode on. The road was too busy for comfort, setting their nerves on edge. As the main thoroughfare from Pandora to the north of Caledan, it was frequented by many.

Each time others approached in the distance, they made off the road, deep into the trees and led the horses on foot until the danger had passed. Progress was slow, but as Edmund put it to Soren after a branch had slapped him in the face for the fourth time that morning whilst charging off the road, some progress was better than none.

The horses were tired and their pace slower. Despite this, they reached the crossroad an hour before dusk. They had been travelling for an hour on foot through the woods, to avoid approaching it in the open. Sure enough, when Edmund scouted ahead, sentries loitered outside the crossroads inn, laughing and idling about. The road lay in plain sight and they were well placed to spot the comings and goings of anyone who passed whether or not they took the care to look.

After some deliberation, Edmund decided to continue with Soren some distance further. “We are on the north side of the road now, as is the monastery. We will bear north, until it is safe for me to cross the road and bear south again,” he told Soren.

“It is unfortunate, though expected that Zaki has so many sentries in full view,” Edmund said. “Although he may not leave the capital himself for another four days, the army will now have fallen under his control and he will be sure to have his web of men as spread as far and wide as possible. We must be careful.”

An hour later under the cover of dusk, they parted.

“Good fortune, Soren,” Edmund said. He stepped forward to embrace Soren. “You will be fine,” he continued, almost to reassure himself, but he could not see any trouble now they were so close to safety. “Just follow the road north and you will find the monastery. Wait for me there. I will come for you as soon as I may. It should be three days ride to Arlyn and three back so look for me in a week.

“If Zaki arrives, I am not sure what to advise you. The abbot is the wisest man I know and he shall guide and guard you – of that, I have no doubts. However, if the need arises, you must flee. This is no time for bravery and heroics; you must remain alive for the good of the realm. I know it may not be the easiest decision, but this is my advice. It will not happen – but just in case.” I leave him in safer hands than my own behind those walls.

The prince opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and shook his head. “You are by far wiser than me and so I must trust that you would know best in this,” Soren said. “I will try and follow your advice, though it goes against my heart.”

Edmund smiled with relief. “Well here we are at the parting of the ways, then. We should delay no longer. Good luck and God keep you safe, Soren.”

“And God keep you.”

They inclined their heads to each other and led their horses in opposite directions. Edmund watched the prince’s back fade into the gloom and silently blessed him, hoping above all else that they would meet again – that he would make it to Arlyn and back alive, unharmed and unhindered.

Eve

“Come on, keep up!” Eve laughed over her shoulder. She pressed her legs into the flanks of her horse, who lengthened her stride. The mare danced around tree trunks and leapt over exposed roots with uncanny agility as the two stallions tried to keep pace.

They burst through the edge of the forest, which thinned abruptly to become open moorland bathed in bright sun. Eve reined in her horse before she lost herself in the heather, long grass and maze of rabbit holes and hidden hazards that could easily lame the mare. She admired the view whilst waiting for her guards to catch up.

“Eve, you must stop doing that!” The older guard scolded her as they drew up beside her. His younger counterpart reined in his horse behind.

Eve grinned at him with no contrition. “Sorry, Nyle. You know how I like to give Alia a free head. She’s so quick!” She dismounted and gave the horse a treat and a pat.

“Who’s that?” the younger man said. They turned as one to follow his pointing hand. The moor rolled away from them down into the valley, so they could see the road winding its way to Arlyn, the town nestled in the mountain foothills next to the glinting Arrow Lake. Despite the distance, the day was crisp and clear and they could see a dark-cloaked figure rushing towards the town.

“I’m not sure, Luke. Perhaps it’s a dispatch rider,” said Eve. “How long will it take us to return?”

“Not long,” Luke replied. He shaded his eyes against the sun to see the figure better. “We should certainly reach Arlyn before him if that’s your intention.”

“Let’s return,” said Eve, unable to hide her interest. She mounted and Alia sprang into motion, wheeling around to ride home.

“Wait for us!” Nyle cried fruitlessly as he waited for Luke. “For God’s sake,” he grumbled and urged his horse to follow her without waiting for his counterpart to regain his saddle.

She did not return using the wandering path up into the hills and back down to Arlyn keep but instead followed the fringe of the forest west for the swiftest return. Ground nesting birds exploded out of the undergrowth, protesting as she crashed past them.

The dark rider was lost to sight now behind another rolling hill. As they both drew closer and their paths converged on Arlyn, he came into view again. Arlyn’s old walls loomed before her and she turned up the hill to race alongside them, away from the main gate and the road that would take the stranger through the winding, cobbled streets of the town.

Nyle hailed her from a distance, but Eve did not slow. The two stallions did not have the same sure footing as her mare and she knew her companions were forced to turn aside. They would have to make for the main gate, which would buy her time to reach home, change her clothing and spy on the stranger from the stables before they returned.

Alia danced up the embankment, somehow finding footing on the steep grounds, until they were on the outcrop far above the wall. For a moment, Eve paused to catch the beautiful view of Arlyn. The town sloped away towards the glittering water; it was a sight that never failed to lift her heart. After a moment, she moved on. From there, she could enter the keep gardens and ride unseen to the stables.

An alarmed stable hand dived out of her path as she rode into the stable without dismounting. She leapt from Alia and dashed upstairs to the loft. The stable-boy shook his head as he led the mare to her stall. Eve was already in the loft, batting straw hastily off the crumpled dress she had discarded there hours before. Not bothering to take off her riding pants and boots, she forced the dress over her head and shook herself into it and gave herself a cursory glance to check it was not back to front before she climbed down.

She had changed just in time for Nyle and Luke’s return. Nyle opened his mouth indignantly and paused, thrown off guard by her change of attire. Luke stifled a chuckle as he dismounted. He grinned at her behind Nyle’s back whilst she smoothed her dress.

Before Nyle could chastise her, the dark-cloaked figure rode into the courtyard, hood down. “Sir Edmund!” she cried with surprise as she beheld the familiar face.

Edmund

Her bright voice startled Edmund. He twisted in his saddle to see Eve running towards him. Soiled boots hid beneath the folds of her skirt – ordinarily, he would have chuckled. Edmund dismounted and turned to greet her as the gates thudded shut behind him.

“Lady Eve.” He inclined his head as he appraised her. She had grown much since their last meeting, now slim and tall, although she still fell short of his height. Her features had sharpened from a child’s to a young woman’s and she had tamed her once flyaway golden hair into a long plait. She held none of the decorum and reserve he would expect from the heir of such an old house, but he appreciated her open affection.

"It’s been so long! I didn’t know you were coming. How are our cousins keeping? I can’t wait to hear your news! Sir Edmund?" Her smile faltered at his frown.

"I would appreciate immediate audience with your father, Lady. I apologise for the rudeness of my unannounced visit, however it is a matter of the utmost importance, and I cannot tarry."

Eve’s smile faded and she gestured for him to follow her. She hurried through the keep, down long passageways and up narrow staircases. Her long dress snatched at her ankles as she strove to stay ahead of Edmund's long strides. They approached a metal-studded, heavy wooden door, guarded by two armoured men. Eve rapped on the door and then heaved it open before the men could step in to assist or announce her presence.

Luxurious rugs covered the wooden floor, high windows gave views of the town and lake below and tapestries depicting the changing seasons of Arlyn covered the walls. Near the empty stone hearth was a desk, covered in parchment sheets and a variety of paraphernalia. From behind it, Lord Karn of Arlyn stood, his eyes surprised as he moved to greet Edmund.

"Sir Edmund? I received no word of your arrival, I fear you have caught me most unprepared. Is all well?" Lord Karn asked.

"No, Lord Karn, I bring tidings which I wish were not true.” Edmund paused. He glanced towards Eve. “Perhaps Eve, you might retire. I fear my news not fit for your ears.”

Eve departed with reluctance.

Edmund drew in a deep breath, and met Karn's gaze. "Naisa has been murdered,” he said. A muffled cry emanated from the other side of the door. Edmund lowered his voice further before continuing.

“Zaki has usurped the throne. I do not know the full details myself, it was all I could do to escape myself and bring you tidings, but seven nights past Zaki's murmurings of malcontent turned from nothing more than words to a full-blown overtaking of the capital. Pandora has fallen,” Edmund continued. Tears prickled his eyes as Karn sagged against his desk, white faced. “Soren escaped alongside me and I mean to follow him as soon as I may. The princess is unaccounted for.” The implications hung in the air.

“I had heard murmurings of this some days hence from passing traders. I dismissed such ridiculous claims as nothing more than fear mongering.” Karn shook his head in confusion. “I cannot understand that her own brother would do such a thing. If we have not heard these tidings from the despatch riders, then perhaps he seeks to hide it from us. I am at a loss as to what to say. Come, you must rest with us a while,” he insisted.

Edmund shook his head. “I cannot in good conscience do so, Karn. Soren will have already claimed sanctuary in the northern monastery. I left the prince on his way there, but I cannot disclose our business to you. I do not like to keep it from you – suffice to say it is vital to ensure Soren’s success in restoring peace, I assure you.”

“Worry not, I know what you speak of.” Karn bowed his head. “My brother spoke of the crown to me after he wed Naisa, though perhaps he ought not to. I believe you are correct in pursuing it, but Soren will need help. Is there any way I may be of assistance?”

“No,” Edmund replied. “The risk of sheltering me is enough. I apologise for bringing this burden but you needed to know the truth and I will confess I desired your advice. I would say to make your forces ready but do nothing. Zaki knows where your loyalties lie; at the first sign of a sword, he will crush you. All I would ask of you is to send an envoy to the Eldarkind. Mayhap they will help us again in what is to come as they helped us in our youth. Their freedoms could be at stake too. I doubt Zaki will tolerate them.”

“Indeed.” Karn rubbed his forehead. “It would do you well to rest up a while, but at the very least you must spend the night. I insist,” he said as Edmund protested. “You cannot gallivant around the country with no rest; we are all older than when we did such things rashly.”

He smiled with fondness at Edmund, all sense of formality now gone between them and stood up to embrace him. “It’s good to see you, old friend. I wish it were under happier tidings. If you do not mind, I will need to set things in motion now, but Eve will see to it that you are comfortable and you shall join us for dinner.”

Edmund bowed his head. “Certainly, friend. I am truly sorry to be the one bringing such news.”

He found Eve outside wan faced and sat against the wall hugging her legs. Karn drew her up and held her close.

“You heard us?” he said softly. It was barely a question. She nodded into his chest. “Be brave then for our family, my little dove. We can grieve for your aunt later. There is still hope for your cousins.” He stepped backwards to smile at her. “Come, show Edmund to the large guest room.”

Eve led Edmund through corridors in silence with downcast eyes to a pleasant room overlooking the grounds, where she bade him farewell. Edmund watched her go. A new pity emerged for her as he realised her already small family had shrunk again. A servant soon appeared to prepare a bath and lay fresh clothes on an ornately carved four-poster bed that was draped in rich green fabrics. After days of sleeping rough, for Edmund, this kind of forest was a far sweeter resting place for him. Following a brisk wash, he dressed himself, only to fall asleep on the comfortable bed.

~

Edmund woke with a start as the door opened and a maid slipped inside. He watched as she bobbed her head towards him without a word, lit the small glass lamps around the room and left. Before long, a manservant came to guide him to where Karn and Eve awaited.

They sat in the dining room, both gazing over the town, which could be seen through the gallery of windows as pinpricks of light scattered through the dusk gloom. Karn gave a simple grace before all three tucked into their meal.

In honour of Edmund’s visit, Karn ordered a whole piglet with roasted vegetables, potatoes and gravy. Edmund partook eagerly and the meal was so rich his tongue tingled with every mouthful. His food had run out the day before and he could barely make himself eat with decorum. Yet he could not fail to notice that his companions were slow to eat and picked at their food.

“How is Dane?” Karn asked.

Edmund shook his head. “I know not. Soren and I fled quickly. I was unable to send a message, though I have since thought that a blessing. He is at our estate and distanced from events in Pandora. I am sure that he will be questioned. I hope that innocence and ignorance will be his shield. Still, I worry for him.”

Karn attempted to reassure him, but Edmund could not be comforted.

Wine goblets in hand – contents watered down for Eve – they began to discuss the unavoidable subject.

“I am sure, as she is heir to the house of Arrow that I may speak in front of Eve?” Edmund asked Karn, who sat at the opposite end of the table.

Karn nodded. His eyes flicked to his daughter who sat unusually quietly between them. “She is of an age where I am teaching her management of the county; I suppose she must know,” he said with reluctance.

“You know that Soren seeks the crown of the dragon kings at the northern monastery so that he may take the throne instead of Zaki?” Karn inclined his head. “Zaki will also pursue it when the mourning period ends today.

“I confess, I am unsure how well it is protected. We must ensure Zaki does not claim the crown whilst avoiding open provocations. He now commands the army. They will follow him without question as is their duty.”

“I agree, yet how to act?” said Karn. “I must stay here, yet I have no other generals to command. This county is not a large one and we have been at peace for many years. We need the Eldarkind’s council, but I have no one I could trust with a task so important and I cannot send you with your other duties.”

“What of me, father?” asked Eve unexpectedly. She leaned forwards. “I am your heir, I am worthy of your trust surely? Send me.”

“Eve, you are my daughter and so young. How could I send you out into the world at only seventeen, knowing of its dangers?” Karn said.

“Father you said it yourself. You’re preparing me for the role. The need is great and whether you like it or not, eventually I’ll have no choice but to go into the world. If you trust no one else, trust me.” Eve sat back in the deepening gloom. Her face was in shadow and Edmund could not fathom her mood.

“This is too grave a matter for me to decide with a head clouded by wine,” said her father indecisively. He massaged his forehead with one hand and abandoned his wine cup out of easy reach.

Edmund stirred. As he caught Eve’s gaze, he saw her hopeful, wide eyes. “What of this, Karn?” he proposed. “I must needs leave tomorrow. No,” he said and raised a hand as Karn began to protest. “I must. I thank you for your offer of hospitality, but I cannot avoid my duty to the prince. I will be travelling the North road. I could accompany Eve almost the entire way to Ednor if you would entrust her into my care.” He let the suggestion hang.

“Tomorrow.” Karn’s tone had a darkness to it and the word sounded like a curse. Silence held until he spoke again. “Could you not ask for counsel from Ednor on our behalf?” His doubtful tone betrayed the answer he expected.

“It would delay my return to Soren by too long or I would not hesitate to do so,” Edmund said.

“I have a personal guard to accompany me the rest of the way,” Eve said.

“Assigning you a personal guard in the safety of Arlyn and sending them with you into the wilderness on a dangerous errand are two very different things, Eve,” her father replied.

“So why did you assign them at all if they are so unnecessary?”

“You know very well why. How else are you supposed to be trained in arms and kept safe on your little wanderings into the forest which are not so secret as you seem to think!” her father grumbled with a glare at her. Eve flushed red and hunched in her tall backed chair. “Remember, I employ them to keep you safe. Trust them and remember they report to me.”

“You expect me to trust them yet you will not do so,” she muttered, her tone rebellious. “Why should I trust them when they spy on me!”

“There is more to this than trusting your guards,” Karn said. Edmund thought his tone guarded.

“As always! You will not let me go to Ednor, no matter how many times I ask you. Why?”

“It is for the best,” Karn replied in an even tone.

“Argh! I hate it when you say that!” Eve pushed back her chair with a mighty shove and stormed out.

Edmund regarded Karn with questioning eyebrows. His friend had once more returned his forehead to his palm, head bowed. “You will have to let her go to Ednor someday,” Edmund dared venture.

“I know!” Karn snapped. “I’m sorry. I know,” he said more calmly. “I hoped this day would not come. I do not know how much longer I can stop her from travelling there. Sooner or later she will ignore what I say and go regardless.” He shrugged helplessly.

“What are you afraid of, though?”

Karn shook his head. “Many things. That she won’t reach Ednor safely, that she will, what she will find there, what she will think of me as a result, what she will do when she returns, if she will return.” He fell into silence and worried his forehead with his hand again.

“She will know you meant well,” Edmund said.

“Eve is young and she is my daughter; her blood runs hot. She will be angry, I know, and I fear her rashness.”

“She is your daughter and in time she will come to understand,” Edmund insisted. “Perhaps allowing her to go will help her to reconcile sooner, rather than letting it come to her running away.”

They fell into a companionable silence as the lamps burned lower around them, until Edmund’s head swam. He pushed back his chair, with a yawn.

“I must retire, please excuse me.” Edmund thanked Karn for his hospitality. His words were waved away with the familiarity of old friends. He paused with his hand on the door handle. Karn looked expectantly at him.

“I leave tomorrow morning,” Edmund repeated. “I know that it is not ideal, but you know that you can trust me to protect Eve and my offer stands to do so. For her sake and for ours consider it. We may need the Eldarkind’s help more than we can imagine.” He waited for a reply, however none came. He excused himself to bed, hoping that Karn would heed his words.

Soren

In the days since Edmund had ridden south for Arlyn, Soren had sought haven at the northern monastery as they had agreed. However, the sentries who stood around the entire perimeter foiled him: their presence forcing him to skulk deep in the woodlands to conceal himself. It was not unguarded as Edmund had expected, however the guards were not monks and Soren did not want to trust them.

After three nights spent sleeping fitfully under bushes and in concealed hollows, he felt exhausted and aching. Worse still, his remaining food had run out the previous morning, but at the very least, he could find fresh water in the form of small becks running down through the hills. His stomach rumbled angrily as he wet his lips and sat up to consider his position once more.

Situated in the middle of the forest, perimeter walls, two men tall and one man wide, surrounded a peaceful inner space cleared of trees to accommodate the range of buildings, gardens and farm space. The monastery itself was several stories high, perched on the top of a small rise within the walls. Defenders could repel attackers from the ledge which ran on the inside of the crenellated wall and indeed in millennia gone past had done so against the marauders of the north.

One small gate in the north, east and west walls, and one main fortified gate in the south wall were the only points of entry into the complex. The prince’s mind had been over this countless times in the past several days, but at no point had he found a weakness or unguarded gate.

His mind wandered. Today was the seventh day since his mother had been murdered. Today was the last day Zaki would have to wait before coming for the crown himself. Today was the day when he, Soren, should be performing the burial and ascension rights for her. Instead, it would be the hands of her murderer tending to her body. He shuddered at the thought. Zaki would pay for taking that right of final farewell away from him, but he knew that none of the actions of the past week could be undone or forgotten.

Soren recalled how the crowds had gathered for his father’s funeral. He could barely remember that day; a few fleeting childhood memories with little understanding of what was happening. A wild moment of wondering how he could ever bring himself to cope with all that had happened consumed him, before he composed himself once more.

Soren roused himself to begin the daily struggle and prayed he could find a way into the monastery. Without food, he was not sure how long he could continue. He saddled up his horse and once more began to lead him through the trees until he stood within sight of the complex.

It was early morning and the sentries on the northern corner were still huddled in their sleeping tents, or sat outside eating. He checked his sword sat loose in its sheath – easy to draw should he need it. His bow, too difficult and slow to use in the dense vegetation, lay unstrung in his saddlebags.

Circling north, he spotted the lone soldier guarding the gate, who had drawn the short straw and would be lucky to break fast today. There lay no way past the man’s line of sight and out of desperation, Soren decided to take a more direct approach.

He tethered his horse just out of sight. Sauntering out of the trees, he walked confidently forward and saluted the man, who saluted back, confused. Soren sprung into action. He leapt forward and gave the sentry a blinding crack on the side of his helmed head with his sheathed sword.

The man dropped without a sound. Soren scanned around to make sure no one else had heard, and then dragged the man’s prone form the ten feet or so to the tree line. Using the man’s own neck chief, he ripped it down the middle of its length to form two long thin strips; one, he bound the man’s hands with, the other, his mouth and pushed the man out of sight beneath some bushes.

Foliage rustled behind him. Soren spun round, hand on sword, to see a second man standing still, evaluating the situation as he emerged from the trees a short distance away. Soren cursed. A second sentry; he should have realised. He wheeled around to face the man and charged towards him, drawing his sword. He did not cry out; to draw further attention would be fatal, but Soren knew that he had to eliminate the man.

Dizzy and tired, his first blow skittered off his foe’s sword with a clash that made his ears wince. He heard shouts, coming from many directions and parried a shot, arm painfully jarred by his far stronger opponent’s powerful slashes.

As his foe drew back to land another strike the man grunted strangely. Time slowed for Soren as he watched an arrow pierce the man's side, another his arm and a final one his neck, each sprouting from him in quick succession as they slipped between his leather armour plates and chain mail.

Caught off balance the man stumbled and fell, snapping the arrow shafts clean off as he crashed upon them. Soren froze, mid-parry. His despair turned to confusion as the man gurgled and convulsed, whilst his lifeblood slipped away. Hands grabbed Soren from behind and he shouted. He twisted as he lost his balance. These were no soldiers he saw; they were monks.

The north gate lay open. Brown-robed men poured out, various weapons in hand, surrounded him and drew him into the protective sanctuary of the monastery. Under the wall he went, through the gate, passed from one monk to the next, half carried, half dragged.

“My horse!” he managed to cry before he lost sight of the forest altogether and was rushed towards the centre of the grounds. Behind him, the gate boomed shut amidst much shouting. He barely had time to take in his surroundings and could not see much through the group of men about him; a flash of smooth turf, flower gardens bulging out of turf beds, vegetable patches and various outbuildings passed by as they closed in on the large building ahead.

Monks were busy everywhere, all clad in swords and metal helmets with padded armour plates strung from their shoulders and tied around the waist. They stopped to stare as Soren was rushed through the grounds.

Soren attempted to explain who he was and the reason for his presence. The monk beside him did not break his silence or make eye contact and Soren began to doubt himself. The man showed no surprise at his news; Soren had a sudden icy flash of panic and wondered whether he had arrived at his sanctuary or delivered himself into Zaki’s hands.

When he faltered, those behind him forced him to increase his pace again. Just when Soren’s worry was at its peak, they reached the stone building, which towered three stories above them and the monk turned and bowed to the prince. Before Soren could respond, they dispersed as quickly as a flock of birds taking flight back to their duty on the walls. Soren twisted around to watch them leave, bewildered.

As he turned back to the steps, he started. A man stood before him. Soren knew he had not been there seconds before and he had not heard his arrival. He was thickset, of huge build and seemed coiled with tension. Soren wondered if this was the abbot, but the man did not at all match the peaceful aged figure Soren had imagined in his mind’s eye.

The man regarded him through imperturbable eyes, muscled arms folded across his torso. Soren looked back, uncertain.

“Sire,” the man said. He sunk into a bow and turned away. “Please follow me.”

That he was not in chains reassured Soren. He still felt trepidation as the door’s shadow engulfed him. Blinded by the transition from bright sunlight to gloom he paused. Aas his eyes became accustomed he was loathe to hurry after the strong man, who set a quick pace.

He marvelled as he passed through the high doorway of carved stone, into a room with white, plastered, vaulted ceilings and intricate windows with patterns and coloured glass, into a smaller chamber, then a corridor and then a small cloister, with a covered walkway around its perimeter. It had none of the gilded grandeur of Pandora’s castle or cathedral, but emanating from it was a different beauty. The stones were carved, some quite intricately; as Soren peered closer, he saw where they had weathered away, worn smooth by a thousand years of rain and wind.

Disorientated, Soren tried to find his bearings but the neat masonry of the colonnade rose too high to see over. It was only once he focused on the peaceful cloister that he realised his silent companion had entered the smoothly turfed space and was watching him so intently he was almost glaring. Soren swallowed self-consciously as the man beckoned.

The small figure sitting bowed in its centre raised his head as they approached and rose to his feet. He was the most wizened man that Soren had ever seen, with a beard so long it tucked into his belt, yet not a hair on his head.

He presented himself to Soren with a deep bow, which the prince returned and the old man’s lively blue eyes appraised him. The monk who had guided him bowed until his head touched the ground.

“Thank you, Hador,” the old man murmured. Hador rose to his feet without a word and left them.

“Your Royal Highness, it is an honour that you join us and yet a sadness that you do so now.” The old man spoke with a voice much stronger and richer than Soren had expected. “I am most sorry to hear of your losses. We support your cause and place ourselves and our resources at your disposal. We hope that we may aid you in your fight for justice for yourself and for Caledan.”

“My thanks, Abbot,” Soren replied. He bowed again, knowing now that the man before him was whom he sought. He wanted to say more, but could not.

The abbot smiled and beckoned him closer. They strolled around the cloister as Soren explained the past week’s events at the abbot’s bidding in as much detail as he could bear. At several points he halted, closing his eyes and breathing slow and deep to suppress the emotions that rose with recalling what had passed. At no point did the old man interrupt him. He waited each time Soren paused, a vision of calm, until the young man had finished.

“I thank you for telling me your tale. I imagine it is a difficult thing for you to discuss,” the abbot said.

Soren tried his best to meet the abbot’s gaze but the old man’s eyes were unnervingly piercing.

“We must hope that Edmund has reached Arlyn safely. You may already have noticed our visitors,” the abbot’s tone remained light, although Soren caught the sarcasm, “who Zaki has sent to retrieve the crown. Alas though, we no longer have what you seek. The crown of the dragon kings is gone.” He raised a hand to quiet Soren, who exclaimed at his words. “All in good time. Come inside for a meal and I will explain what has passed here in the last week.”

Soren acquiesced and followed the abbot to a large dining hall. Long, wooden trestle tables lay out across the high room, which was flooded by light filtering through the lead paned windows. Monks – the abbot’s brown-robed brothers – wandered in and out to eat and then depart, some in silence and others talking in low voices that created an echoing murmur. All stopped to bow their head to the abbot and some paused just a little longer to stare at Soren, who stared back, intrigued.

The abbot requested a meal from the kitchen and soon a steaming plate of gravy-covered meat, vegetables and dumplings was in front of the prince, reigniting his appetite. He ate – as politely and slowly as he could – whilst the abbot spoke.

“On the eve of your mother’s passing,” the abbot said, “I dreamt that a great shadow fell over the land. A monstrous blue dragon flew down from the sky. I knew what the omen of his arrival was. His name is Brithilca and he is the guardian of Caledan.”

Soren paused. His fork hovered in the air. He had not heard the name of Brithilca since his childhood but remembered how avidly he had followed the legend of the dragon guardian and gazed up at the throne of the dragon kings.

Legend said that Brithilca’s body rested deep below the citadel, but others spoke of how the dragon throne was the petrified remains of Brithilca himself, twisted around the royal seat. Indeed, the dragon consisted of a material completely unknown to man; neither stone nor metal of any known kind, yet having properties of both – and magical ones beside.

Although Soren had not witnessed these abilities with his own eyes, he had read every existing account. For instance, it was known that when the ruler of Caledan died, the petrified dragon moved to envelop the throne in a protective shield under its wings. When the new monarch was presented to the throne, the dragon could choose whether to accept them as a worthy leader. If it deemed the human worthy, the dragon opened its wings to allow them to seat the throne and receive the crown of the dragon kings upon their head.

However, if the candidate was deemed unworthy – as had happened three times in the throne’s history – the throne remained out of reach under the sweeping, impenetrable cloak of the dragon’s wings. This was considered to be a poor omen and in all three occurrences the subsequent reigns were short and unhappy.

On one of these occasions, the unlucky soul had insisted upon being crowned without Brithilca’s blessing. Baran the Unfortunate’s reign was the shortest on record, lasting merely a few minutes, as he tried to force the wings apart with various tools and implements. The dragon did indeed move, but only to roar in his face and bathe him with dragon fire, a talent previously unknown in its repertoire of abilities.

People journeyed from far and wide to see the fabled dragon throne and hope to see it move or twitch, however they were rarely rewarded as Soren knew from experience. He had himself spent countless hours sitting before the immobile form. “Brithilca is very good at sitting still,” his amused mother had told him. Soren did not have time to dwell on memories, for the abbot continued to speak.

“It is the greatest secret in the country that we were and remain allied with the dragons and Eldarkind. Not many people even know of their existence, but you will have learnt of them in your history studies. In the great wars millennia ago, a pact was created between dragons, man and Eldarkind to create a lasting peace and guardianship for the wellbeing of the world. You know of this, yes?”

Soren nodded, and the abbot proceeded.

“The spirit of Brithilca has guarded the royal family and by extension the wellbeing of the kingdom ever since. In times of need, he is somehow able to warn of peril, signifying that once more the three races must be united to face whatever threat is looming, or risk the undoing of the pact, which would have devastating consequences for all.

“In my dreams Brithilca spoke to me of an impending doom on the land. He did not say what it might be, only that if not righted, terror and war would consume the world. He took the crown you seek, though I know not where, and flew away into the rising sun. When I awoke the following morning, I could not believe my eyes. The crown had truly disappeared, as if the dragon had strayed from my dreams to reality.”

Soren sat in wonder, food forgotten at the thought of Brithilca being very real. As a child he wished fervently that dragons were real, had even dreamt of his own dragon. They would go adventuring together, saving townships and slaying evil villains and he would be proclaimed the best prince that had ever lived in Caledan. Chilled, stiff and with a numb bottom from the hard floor of the throne room, he had often daydreamed that the dragon would come to life and whisk him away on wings. He almost smiled with nostalgia at the naivety of his childish wishes.

“Will Zaki know this?” Soren said.

“Of my dream? Certainly not. I have shared this with just yourself and Hador. However, I am certain he will know of all else we have spoken of.”

Soren considered the abbots words and his own knowledge. “Then he will come here seeking it. What of the throne itself? Will it accept him with or without the crown?”

“I have received word that the great dragon has not yet relinquished the throne, however that news is two days old and may not reflect the results of the coronation, if it has happened yet,” the abbot said. Soren raised his eyebrows, the question obvious upon his face. The abbot explained what had passed in Pandora since Soren’s flight. Anger stirred again in Soren’s belly as he realised the extent and detail of his uncle’s scheming, but the abbot’s news gave him hope that his sister – having been retired from the succession – still lived.

“I do not think the throne will accept him,” the abbot continued. “Not after the sins he has committed. Instead, as the one other candidate at present, I think you are meant to seek the crown and prove your worth as the rightful ruler of Caledan.”

“Where is it?” Soren asked, distracted.

To his surprise, the abbot chortled. “Well if it were that simple to find, where would be the challenge!” His eyes twinkled with sudden merriment. Soren fell quiet and did not respond. The abbot’s humorous expression faded as he saw the young man’s change of mood. “Kingship – it is not meant to be an easy thing,” he said gently.

Soren raised his hands wide in admission of his indecision and a sudden thought struck him. “You said that we were and remain allied with the Eldarkind... and the dragons,” he said. “Dragons still exist? Truly?” The abbot nodded and Soren’s mouth fell open.

The abbot filled the silence. “I think you know as well as I do that with the events of the past week, not all of the royal blood line can be trusted with such knowledge. The royals know more than most about the dragons, it is true, however only the abbot of this monastery and the ruling monarch knows everything we have to know about the dragons, the Eldarkind, the treaty, and all its implications.

“As you know, all rulers have to prove their worth before lifting the crown onto their heads. Only then can they be known to be fit for the sharing of this knowledge. Had you been crowned king in your own way, you would have found this out like your mother before you, and her father before her, and so on. As abbots and even as monks, we swear complete fealty to the crown, but as an abbot, we show responsibility and commitment above others and so we are trusted with this knowledge.”

“Does Zaki know this?” Soren interrupted with sudden concern.

“There is no reason that he should know of this,” replied the abbot. “I tell you this now, because of the three direct heirs of the bloodline, you are the one worthy of carrying on the crown. Zaki has proved his great failings as a ruler, need I say more. Of Irumae, we do not know, forgive me for saying this. Thus, that leaves you – your mother’s heir. I should not be telling you any of this, yet I believe it is the only option, if Zaki is not to get his hands on the crown, that you be best equipped with all the information we have. You have proved with your determination thus far that you are meant for something higher in this battle.”

“What of my sister?” Soren said, dragons momentarily forgotten. “How can I help her? I’m sure she is still alive and I cannot leave her to Zaki’s mercy!”

However, the abbot shook his head. “I can imagine how hard this is to hear from me, but Caledan must take priority before your sister. I know your heart tells you to go and and save her, yet I believe for her sake, we must look to help from another direction. You need to concern yourself with the rescue of the crown and feel no guilt or shame in that decision. What will be, will be and if she is meant to be saved, help will come to her by another means. My contacts within Pandora already search for her with all means available to them.”

“I can’t leave her,” whispered the prince. His eyes filled with tears as he scowled at the hopelessness of the situation. “I know how important this is, but I can’t leave her, she is all I have left.”

“You have us all, Soren. Might I suggest that whilst you concern yourself with the crown, we will continue trying to locate Irumae and to liberate her if possible. Our men will be arming themselves for war; as you can see they have already begun. We may be calm in times of peace and take up the sickle and the hoe but in times of war hell hath no fury like our warriors. They are trained in a thousand different ways of killing and are the most skilled of their kind in the land. I can spare some more men to search for your sister, but I cannot send too many for fear of arousing suspicion.”

“Please”, asked the prince, filling that one word with hope and desperation.

“I will see that it is done,” the old man replied. “Now, although I feel most rude, as you are our esteemed guest, I am afraid we do not have much time and rather than offer you a bath and relaxation, I must call a council of the elders. I would appreciate your attendance as there is must to discuss and decide.

“Zaki himself may not leave the capital until tomorrow, or, to be correct, tonight at the stroke of midnight, but I am sure when that moment strikes he will ride hard for here. He has already sent forces to tighten as a vice about us. They grow daily. He seeks to take the crown with no resistance or delay, to be sure. He will not be long. We have no time to dally.”

~

The council lasted nearly all day and the sun was low in the sky when the meeting concluded. Soren was used to attending councils but never ones so filled with talk of war. It unnerved him. For all his life, Caledan had been a safe and peaceful place, and yet now there was much talk of death and the sacrifices that must be made. He shivered, worried.

The gatherings were currently a daily occurrence at the monastery, he was informed. Since the abbot’s dream and crown’s disappearance, the elders of the monastery, led by the abbot, had convened to update each other on the progress of their assigned areas. Soren’s arrival had caused a stir; nevertheless the day’s more mundane updates were overshadowed by the knowledge of what was to come and the council split with heavy hearts.

Hador’s face was the only one Soren recognised. Others were introduced in quick succession – Soren forgot most of their names. Although all present showed deference to Soren, it was clear they had no need of him to arrange their affairs. Although they consulted him politely, he knew the gestures were empty. If anything, he thought his inexperience painfully obvious and was relieved to listen.

The eventual plan was that the monastery would be garrisoned by the several hundred monks living there. All well trained, only numbers concerned the council. In the confusion of the uprising, none could estimate Zaki’s support; some argued a few thousand men, some argued tens of thousands. In either case, the monks were outnumbered and it was decided that Soren should be escorted to safety by a party trained to the highest level.

Soren felt furious. He wanted to stay and fight; more than most he had a reason to. He pictured Zaki’s face across the grounds, locking eyes as his uncle became aware of him, and charging for him. The clash and squelch of his sword rending armour and flesh. Zaki’s dead eyes glazed over. The sweetness of that revenge.

Soren understood the abbot’s wish not to endanger his life, however he still felt irritated by what seemed like their lack of faith in him. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm down, and started, realising he had begun to daydream. The abbot led him to his study where they could speak in private.

The abbot’s study suited him. Tall bookcases surrounded three of the walls, below the high vaulted ceiling that Soren had noticed in every single room, no matter how grand or small. Volumes crammed upon every bookcase: some of monstrous size, others delicate and all of the finest quality.

A huge wooden desk, covered with flowing carvings stood in the centre of the room, with a high backed matching wooden chair behind it, and a smaller chair to its side piled high with sheaves of paper. There were books and similar bundles of paper on the floor next to the chair, resting on a rich rug that covered a simple stone flag floor. It somehow managed to be simultaneously grand and humble.

Dumping the papers on the floor, the abbot invited Soren to sit with a wave of his hand. Soren sat, as the abbot placed his elbows on the tables, hands together in a steeple in front of his face and casting a measured stare at the prince. After a long pause, Soren fidgeted, unsure what to say or whether to break the silence. The abbot stirred, and placed his hands clasped flat on the desk.

“I apologise,” said the abbot. “I was contemplating the best course of action. There are several options. We would do well to send envoys to the Eldarkind and the dragons each, but I suspect the dragons hold the crown and that is what you must follow. If it were not at stake, it would do you well to go to the Eldarkind. You are the highest envoy possible to send and it would be good for you to visit the home of your ancestors.

“Another time though I think, another time. Hopefully there will be time for this ‘another time’!” The abbot smiled at the prince, who smiled back uncertainly, caught off guard by the unexpected humour.

“We expect Sir Edmund two days from now at the earliest,” continued the abbot. “I believe he will not tarry at Arlyn. I shall send a scout to meet him en route tonight who can, if needed, lead him to your location.”

“I want to fight!” Soren said. The abbot held up a hand to silence him.

“With all due respect, you speak with the voice of the young. You cannot yet see paths that only become visible with the wisdom that age and experience brings. What if you fall in the battle? Caledan would be lost to Zaki. You have been well trained, but a stray arrow may slip between your armour, and in fact, any number of mishaps could befall you. It is of the utmost importance that you remain alive. Your existence may very well hold the key to the lives of Caledan’s population and of others around the world.

“If you were to die, it would change the course of history. Battle will come to you, but now is not your time to fight. Now is your time to follow a higher path. I do not think we can defeat Zaki, however if we can delay him and buy your freedom and success, then it is worth it. Please, trust to the wisdom of the council.”

Soren’s eyes dropped, ashamed of his outburst. With difficulty, he met the abbot’s piercing blue eyes, which still regarded him: unwavering and unfathomable. “I am sorry for my rudeness,” Soren apologised. “I see that I have much to learn about the world, and I understand that my first course of action will not always be the best. If you think it is best that I flee, although my heart loathes this feeling of cowardice, I will follow your advice and take to the mountains.”

“I am glad. You are already learning,” replied the abbot. “It relieves me to know you will be safe. I will send you with half a dozen of my best men into the hills, where you can look down upon our home and see what progresses. There are some caves where it will be more than comfortable to stay; we have them for times of retreat such as this. The rest of our men will stand and fight and that will give you the better chance of escape and success.

“I ask of you that no matter what you see, no matter which way the battle turns, that you do not return until it is over. I will post a scout to watch for Edmund and have him guided to your location. Once he arrives, if the fighting is not over, you must leave. Find the crown, prove you are the rightful king and restore peace and justice to the land. If your heart is true, you will not fail. Now promise me that you will not return to the battle!”

Soren hesitated, and then gave his agreement.

“I will hold you to your word.”

Soren shivered. The old man’s words had an irrevocable gravity to them. As Soren left to wash and dine before his departure, the abbot bade farewell to him.

“I fear we shall not meet again, Prince Soren. It has gladdened my heart that the babe I blessed those long years ago has grown into such a fine young man. I wish you all the luck in your struggle ahead and hope you have many happy years ahead of you.” The old man smiled.

“I will see you in a couple of days,” insisted the prince. His confident tone masked the shiver of premonition that the old man’s words had sent down his spine.

“I do not fear death,” replied the old man. “And I am ready to accept that that may be my fate over the coming days. Please accept my blessing for your journey, in case we do not meet again.”

Reluctantly the prince agreed. The abbot placed his palm on the prince’s forehead, anointed him with holy water and intoned a simple blessing. Bowing to each other, they murmured the traditional parting and the prince departed from his company.

“God be with you, sire.”

“God be with you, Abbot.”

Zaki

It was several days before the law reader, the steward and the heir apparent were brought together again, this time for the funeral of the Queen, who had lain in state for seven days. Zaki’s mood had not deflated; he felt elated since signing the last signature upon the papers.

The funeral was a grand affair, as it should have been, though muted with sadness with the entire city bedecked in black for the day. The square outside the cathedral was crowded in silent, black-clothed citizens. It was an awkward occasion; the grand Pandora cathedral held the nobility of Caledan within, yet there were significant and notable absences, Soren’s and Irumae’s most prominent of all.

As the next of kin, Zaki was involved in the proceedings, reluctantly playing the part of the grieving heir as he anointed Naisa’s body with holy water and incense and recited prayers over her form. Her hair had been meticulously cleaned so that not one trace of blood remained. He struggled not to smile.

Beside him in black and as quiet as ever stood Demara, her eyes downcast as they sat for the service on the cold stone pews. Zaki paid little attention and joined in to pray only when he noticed her hands clasp together beside him. Sooner than he thought, it was done and they returned to the palace for the parting feast.

The hall was full of sounds, light and aromas as all came together to celebrate the Queen’s memory, but the food tasted best of all in Zaki’s mouth as he savoured his success in manipulating himself on to the throne. He smiled at Demara, before excusing himself after a few courses to celebrate in private with his closest allies, leaving her isolated on the top table and ignored by all.

~

The noise of standing horses and men broke the silence. Filled with anticipation, Zaki sat tensely upon horseback with a detail of cavalry around him as he waited for the midnight bells to sound.

The first toll of the bell would signal midnight; the beginning of a new day and the end of the mourning period after Naisa’s funeral that day. Zaki would be free to leave Pandora and he had prepared for his journey so as not to waste a single moment.

Shuttered windows and closed storefronts watched him – the city slept.

The first sonorous toll rang out and he urged his horse into action. It thundered through the open east gate and his company surged after him.

It took less than a full day to reach the northern monastery, though he had outstripped most of his companions in his eagerness. It was made possible only by the constant supply of fresh mounts organised for him by Reynard and his own determination to obtain the crown of his ancestors. He did not pause to admire the sturdy build of the road, or the beauty of the forest, or the quaintness of the villages near the roadside. Inns flashed by as he rode with no desire to stop and sample their fares.

He was beyond tiredness as he came upon the encampment, filled with nervous energy as he shouted for Reynard, who ran from a tent.

“Your Royal Highness, I did not expect you so soon!” Reynard said. “I have much to tell you, sir.”

“Do you have the crown?”

“No sir, they will not release it to me.” Zaki smacked a tent post. “I do have fortuitous news, sir.” Reynard hastily continued. “There was an incident yesterday. We cannot be sure but it would appear that Soren has been given sanctuary within the monastery. We continue to surround it.”

Zaki turned to face him. His incredulity turned to glee. “Soren is trapped here? This is excellent news!” he crowed. “They have taken in a traitor. Their lives and worldly goods are forfeit. I can crush the both of them at once and ride home with the crown. Reynard, you have done well. Send all your forces to surround the place though the night. I want not even one rat to leave.”

Tomorrow is the day I prove myself king beyond doubt.

Eve

Eve felt reckless, emboldened by the wine as she stormed along the corridor to her chamber, heart thumping. Above the mild tingling of tipsiness, she felt the much more charged rush of anger, partly vented by slamming her door shut behind her. For a few moments she was motionless and leaned against it, but moved into her chamber, unable to still herself.

It was a month before midsummer and the weather warm and mild. No fire burnt in the grate, so her room lay pleasantly cool, illuminated by slow burning lamps. Dispelling some energy by pacing around the room, she turned again, unable to quell the raging inner monologue.

It will always be like this. I will always ask and he will always refuse. I could run away. The thought arose as it had many times before. “I’m old enough to take care of myself,” she contemplated aloud, distracted from her pacing.

“I know how to live off the forest and in any case, a horse could carry provisions for the journey. I can take a map from the library to show me how to find Ednor. I could even meet up with Edmund on route. No.” She paused to chew on a fingernail. “He might make me return.” It would have to be tonight.

Already halfway across her room to begin packing, she froze at the knock on her door. Her father opened it and peered in. His brows slanted in surprise when he beheld the bright room. She stood defensively as he entered, placing herself at the opposite side of the room as an awkward silence arose between them.

Eve kept her face impassive but the anger rose inside her once more at the unwittingly stalled attempt to break away. She waited, willing him to leave, yet her father seemed lost for words.

“I don’t want you to go to Ednor,” he said, with no hint of emotion. Eve narrowed her eyes at him. For the moment, she held her seething temper in check. “Will you obey me?” he asked after she did not reply. Once more, she did not answer him. He sighed.

“I could keep you here for all your life whether you liked it or not, Eve,” he said as if he had taken her silence for an answer, yet there was no trace of anger or spite in his voice and he seemed half hearted. “I could lock you in your room and never let you out.” Eve tensed. Her eyes darted to the door, which he blocked, and to the now shuttered windows. There would be no escape if he willed it otherwise.

“Peace.” He held up a hand. “I do not wish that. I will allow you to travel to Ednor.” Eve’s eyes widened, but she did not dare to speak. Her anger subsided – surprise replaced it and then distrust followed.

“Why?” she finally managed to say.

“I have need of the Eldarkind’s counsel and although it pains me, you are my heir as well as my daughter. I ask that you present yourself to Artora as befits your rank and return at once with her counsel. Will you do this for me?”

Eve acquiesced – still confused but unwilling to reject his offer.

“Well then. It’s done,” he said in resignation. “You will leave tomorrow with your guards and Edmund until your paths separate. I’ll leave you to pack.” He left without another word. Eve sat on her bed, bewildered.

~

Eve rose with the sun, having barely slept for the anticipation of finally being allowed to visit Ednor, the home of the Eldarkind. She had packed, unpacked and repacked several times, unable to settle. Last of all, it was with a strange feeling that she picked up her bow and training sword.

She held the sword in her hand and stretched it out before her to tilt it this way and that, and watch the colourful dawn light dance off the blade. It was a beautiful but deadly object; somehow she could not marry the two ideas.

Hollows lay dark under Edmund’s eyes as he joined them for breakfast. He seemed in better spirits than the day before, albeit quiet. Karn also seemed withdrawn. Eve itched with anticipation.

Finally, Karn broke the silence.

“I trust your preparations have been made?” he enquired.

“Yes father. Nyle and Luke are readying the horses and provisions now. Your pack will be brought down for you,” she added to Edmund.

“Well then,” Karn replied. “We should not delay. You shall both depart as soon as you are done here. I will meet you in the courtyard.” He stood up and strode out, his mouth down-turned as he walked away from them.

An hour later, they assembled in the courtyard. Nyle and Luke sat mounted a short distance away whilst Karn bade farewell to his daughter and great friend. Eve observed her guards out of the corner of her eye, with her father’s words from the night before clear in her memory. Luke was her senior by a couple of years and although Nyle was older by several times that gap, they still felt young enough to be of her generation; she had trusted them as her friends. Their betrayal stung.

"I wish you both well," Karn said. His face was creased with worry. "May God be with you. Ride safely my darling and I hope for your swift return. Edmund, I hope that you face no great perils on your travels and that we may see you soon."

Edmund strode forward and clasped Karn by the shoulders. "Goodbye my friend. We shall meet again."

Eve threw herself at her father. He hugged her tightly in return and after a long embrace they stepped apart, Eve just concealing her excitement as she took Alia’s reins from Nyle and swung herself up into the saddle. The four trotted out of the courtyard with a clatter. Eve waved at her father who stood on the steps of the keep with a hand raised in farewell.

~

As Eve turned away, her father’s face remained impassive; she could not see the pain concealed beneath. The dust raised by the horses’ hooves swirled in the mild breeze before settling as he lingered and he wondered if he would ever see his daughter again, hear her laughter and see her smile.

He recalled times when, just older than her, he had also left home – to war – laughing and smiling with many of his friends. They had all looked forward to conquest and victory – but few had returned how much sadness and loss was wrought those long years past.

Unbidden, Karn remembered Eve’s vibrant and beautiful mother; snatched so long ago to the void and his impassive expression wavered as the image of her face swam before his eyes. He clenched a fist and strode back into the keep, all the way to his office where, once alone, he let his stern mask fall away.

~

They left using Eve’s secret exit from Arlyn so none would know of their passing. Eve led them, riding more slowly than she had previously to allow her companions to keep pace with her. It took two careful hours before they met the North road and were able to give the horses a good run.

Edmund led, with Nyle at the rear. Eve gazed at Edmund’s unyielding back, proud and straight before them, her thoughts strangely lucid and impartial. She had cantered this fast many times before for great distances on hunts with her father and thus far the day felt ordinary.

She tried to grasp the enormity of the coming unknown. Scenarios flashed in her mind as a small frisson gnawed at the pit of her stomach, though of fear or excitement, she could not be sure. Trying to distract herself, she gazed around. A quick glance to her left at Luke calmed her, as he caught her gaze and smiled, not having noticed her discomfort. She was glad for the familiar company before recalling that she was annoyed with him.

~

Far from Arlyn, the forest-covered foothills of the mountain range soared to their left, whilst the tree cover ended many unseen miles to their right, giving way to vast expanses of moors, grasslands and marshland and beyond that further still, the great lake across which Pandora lay. Villages and lone inns lay here and there along the road, wherever larger streams ran down from the mountains, but they rode through the villages and past the inns without stopping.

The road itself was busy. Being the sole clear path travelling north and south through this forest, it saw most of the wheeled and foot traffic in the area. Edmund feared his recognition or their presence being noted – especially Eve’s, who would be recognised in the area near Arlyn – and pushed them on.

Just before dusk, they halted on an unremarkable stretch of road where a small beck trickled across the compacted earth on its journey down from the hills, trundling across the road and into the foliage on the other side. The road lay deserted in the deepening gloom.

The four dismounted and led the horses along the stream towards the mountains until the trees hid them well out of sight and hearing of the road. A small clearing, scarcely big enough for the four of them to lie down in, became their camp. Edmund insisted they lit no fire. Luke and Nyle, ignorant of the importance of their mission grumbled until Edmund lightly pointed out that he was a proclaimed traitor. Although disgruntled, they were forced to accept the decline in comfort.

Eve was glad Edmund had not mentioned her own task. In her brief to Luke and Nyle she had neglected to tell them of the visit to Ednor, which would be problematic once revealed. She had not lied, having said they must travel with Edmund on his return north; the relief outweighed the guilt about what she told herself was a slight deception.

After lighting a small lamp and unsaddling the horses, they set to spreading out blankets on the mossy ground, which was dry with the recent mild weather, setting one further away from the others for Eve. It was the best they could manage for decency, given the circumstances.

She preferred to bed down next to Alia in any case. The great bulk of the horse close by gave her a sense of protection. Bears seldom ventured down from the hills this far, but smaller predators lived within the woods. Eve could tell Alia remained alert and uneasy in the unfamiliar settings as she and the other horses remained standing to sleep.

Nyle picked up his blanket and moved still further away towards the road to take the first watch, and the three others settled down for the night, fully dressed, boots and all. Edmund extinguished the lamp and the camp descended into peaceful darkness, save for the occasional snorting of a horse and the rustle of a blanket.

It was an uncomfortable, but uneventful night. Luke awoke Eve the following morning by hesitantly shaking her shoulder, whilst blushing at the impropriety of his actions. He began to stammer an apology, but stopped in his tracks when she sat bolt upright.

“What time is it?” she exclaimed. Nyle and Edmund stopped packing to glance at her in surprise.

“It’s around the seventh hour, my lady,” replied Nyle.

“Then why am I only waking now? Why was I not woken to sit a watch?” she demanded, extricating her legs from the blanket with difficulty. She stood with her arms folded and a scowl upon her face.

“We did not wish to wake you, Lady Eve,” said Nyle with a raised eyebrow.

“Am I not a member of this party?” she stormed. “Am I not fit to share in the night watch? I am my father’s sole heir and raised as such. I am not some mollycoddled maiden in distress to be pandered to. Luke, Nyle, you have trained with me for some years, am I not as capable as you to defend myself?” She glared at them.

After a pause and a glance at Edmund, the two men nodded. Edmund stepped forward.

“Lady Eve,” he said. “I understand their dilemma. You are the daughter of their lord. They are bound to serve and protect you and your house and also to respect and to honour you. They would not presume to dare to ask you to share in their duties, no matter how capable they may deem you to be.” She relaxed and bit her lip, as Edmund looked at the two sheepish guards. A wry smile flitted across his face.

“I also doubt they are aware of the gravity of the situation.” Edmund alluded to Eve’s task and his own mission. “I presume these are also the self same reasons they did not ask me to participate in the watch either.

“So, gentlemen. We are on a venture of great importance. Your courtesy is appreciated, but unnecessary. I am more than willing to participate in the watch rota, and it is evident that the Lady Eve also wishes to contribute. It would be appreciated if all four of us could waive aside status and split the night watch in future. It will not serve you well today, Masters Nyle and Luke, to be fatigued in your duties.”

The two guards bowed. “Our apologies, Lady Eve, Sir Edmund,” Nyle said. “We shall be careful to include you in such duties henceforth.”

She agreed and saw the relief on their faces.

“It is forgiven,” she said. “And you must all call me Eve.” Lade Eve, she thought with derision. Here am I in pants and a shirt like a man, unwashed and dirty to boot; I could not be less like a lady.

She turned away to gather up her blanket and saddling gear without noticing her guards’ shocked expressions. They turned back to their own tasks, as Edmund stifled a chuckle behind her back.

Edmund

Edmund pondered as they rode. He had not expected to have any company, let alone the heir of one of his most trusted friends in his care. He was torn between accompanying her to Ednor, feeling bound to ensure her safety, and rushing back to Soren’s side.

He dreaded what state he would find the monastery in, certain that as he rode north, Zaki would also be doing the same. He felt helpless, knowing he could not possibly reach Soren before Zaki and had no power in what happened next. The lack of control did not ease the burden of this knowledge. Was I right to leave him? He questioned his decision.

Oblivious to his inner troubles, Eve and Luke rode behind him two horse’s width apart. Although they did not push the horses quite as hard as Edmund pushed Arkan in his race to Arlyn, they were almost half way to the monastery by mid afternoon. Blessedly, the road also quietened as settlements became less frequent.

Although the four ran with the horses for a time to give them some form of break, they had not stopped and ate their midday meal in the saddle to avoid delay. By late afternoon, Edmund was optimistic of making the river crossing, where one of the great tributaries feeding the Great Lake flowed down from the mountain, just past which, those who knew where to search, could find the forgotten road to Ednor.

It had once more been a solitary day in the saddle. The noise made it impractical to try to converse and there was little enough to be said. They were almost lulled into complacency and had just begun running with the horses once more to rest them, when up ahead a figure galloped into view still some distance away.

The road was long and straight at this point. There was no chance of avoiding him and Edmund was sure that he must have already seen them. Edmund swore harshly, cursing their misfortune as he tried to formulate a solution. He stopped the four of them and ordered them to mount. They obeyed instantly, and he turned in his saddle to address them.

“We are travelling north on trade purposes. Eve, you are my daughter. Luke, Nyle, you are our guards. Nyle, up front. Luke, fall behind. If we are discovered, Eve, stay back and let us capture or kill him without hesitation,” he ordered. He berated himself silently for his lapse in concentration.

Quick and efficient, they obeyed and they set off at a gentle trot after composing their faces into relaxed expressions although their hearts pounded in their chests as the rider drew closer.

The rider approached swiftly and in a matter of minutes had almost met them in the road. He travelled cloaked in dark brown, though a sword sat visibly at his side and his horse was laden with light provisions. From his appearance, they could not glean much more than that of his identity, as they glanced surreptitiously at him in passing. He reined in his horse to one side of the road to let them pass, examining them as he did so.

“Sir Edmund!” he exclaimed as they rode by. Edmund’s reaction was swift. He forced his horse to turn on the spot and he quickly had the rider surrounded by a trio of swords as Nyle and Luke followed suit. The man’s horse shied and the horrified man narrowly avoided being injured as his horse tried to backtrack.

“Peace!” he cried, dismayed and raised his hands away from his sword. “I come from the monastery! I have been sent by the abbot to warn you!”

“Warn me? Of what?” replied Edmund. He did not not lower his sword.

“Sirs, Lady, I think we should step off the road to discuss it. We do not know who else may be using it,” requested the man, as his horse reared again with its nostrils flaring. Edmund was cautious and still distrustful, but after some delay he agreed, sheathed his blade and they all dismounted to exit the road. They stopped when it could not be seen. Luke and Nyle with swords drawn and Eve stood to one side as Edmund faced the monk.

“You may speak freely,” said Edmund.

The monk took a deep breath. “My name is Jormund. I come from the monastery by order of the abbot. He gave me a seal to show you, so that you may know I am truthful in this.” He fumbled as he drew forth a ring hanging from a leather thong around his neck. He presented it to Edmund, who examined it – it was indeed the seal of the abbot in miniature – and invited for him to continue.

“I have both good and bad news for you. Prince Soren reached the monastery safely yesterday. We have given him sanctuary and he has informed our Abbot of the events in Pandora. However, forces loyal to Zaki have surrounded our complex. He is sure to have arrived today personally, but there are significant military numbers already surrounding the monastery. Edmund’s heart sank at his words. I sent him into danger, God forgive me.

“Our abbot’s plan was to smuggle the prince into the mountains with a small guard so that he is in no present danger if Zaki plans to assault our forces. I was sent to tell you this news and also to warn you to take extreme care if you plan to return, as we thought you would, and attempt to gain entrance.”

“This is bad news, though not all unexpected, Jormund,” Edmund replied, still troubled. “Thank you for seeking me. How were you able to come so far so swiftly? Moreover, how did Soren reach the monastery yesterday? I left him nearby some days ago.”

“I was informed that the prince was unable to immediately find a way into our sanctuary due to the hostile forces surrounding our walls. And of myself, I rode through the night to find you, as our abbot deemed this a high emergency,” said the monk.

“Then I thank you most deeply.” Edmund bowed his head. “It seems I must now decide what I must do. Eve, I had planned to escort you to Ednor or partly there, so that I may have no guilt on my conscience for abandoning you in the wild. However, I fear I must find Soren before it is too late. I hope that I may trust you to the care of Luke and Nyle and I hope you will forgive me for leaving you.”

“Let me accompany you!” said Eve suddenly. “I want to help my cousin!”

Edmund shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. He drew her aside, away from the curious monk and her confused guards who had plainly assumed they would be travelling together, before continuing in a low voice they could not hear.

“Your path lies towards the Eldarkind, and your father has tasked you with meeting them. You have agreed to this and your father is counting on you. You are duty bound to complete this and you may not get a chance to do so if you come with me. I do not wish to cause hostility, but I refuse to let you accompany me.”

Eve

Eve scowled behind his back but said nothing, knowing the argument would be futile. There is still time for me to change his mind. Her stubborn streak remained. In the past day she had begun to dread reaching Ednor. All the long years of anticipation and high expectations left her with a growing fear that it would not measure up to the place she had imagined. Worse still, she dreaded meeting her mother’s people, unsure whether they would accept her as she was not truly one of their own.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Eve said in a tone that brooked no argument and stalked off with her blanket and some food. Her companions hid smiles, though Jormund was baffled.

Although the monk was with them on good authority, Edmund had not informed him of Eve’s purpose and the monk seemed altogether at a loss of how to treat her. Behind Eve, the dim light of the solitary lamp illuminated the camp, before it fell into silence as the four men bedded down.

Throughout the night, the thunder of horses along the road and the screeching and rustling of nocturnal animals disturbed the forest. Awake and alone in the dark, Eve grew more unnerved every time sounds filtered across the landscape. The little light from the lamp behind her was small solace.

Her thoughts turned to home for comfort and repeatedly strayed to Luke. No matter how hard she tried to avoid it, she could not forget what her father had revealed. She felt unsure how to treat him. Whereas Nyle was several years her senior, she and Luke had grown up together as good friends, though distant of late; a fact not helped by her father’s admission.

She considered that she and Luke had been close, being schooled together and exploring the town and surrounding land with their other friends. She remembered the happiness they had all shared, yet recalling her naivety brought forth wistfulness.

It was only when her father withdrew her from that life to become the Lady of Arlyn that responsibility soon fell on them all. Play became training and although Luke took a role with the guardsmen, frequently training alongside Eve, things had not been the same since. Status and tradition steadily dismantled their close friendship until they never idly talked or ran wild in the woods as before.

Whether she would have wanted to remain friends was beyond his or her control, but she could not forget the sadness for the fading friendship. Her life was lonely, for all its privileges. She could not decide whether to remain angry with him for breaching her privacy. Unlike Nyle, she knew Luke well enough to know he would never do so with malice.

At the end of her watch as her eyes grew heavy, Eve awoke Edmund for the second shift. Her nerves remained on edge from the creatures of the night she had heard and so she carried her bedding between Nyle and Luke who slept a few metres apart, not wanting to feel exposed. She lay down to sleep as quietly as she could. As she did so, Nyle opened an eye and observed her guardedly.

~

Unseen to her in the shadows, Luke also awoke and as she laid down, his breath caught as he saw her so near to him, her hair glowing in the lamp’s illumination before she sank into the shadows beside him. His mouth dried and his heart leapt in his chest as she sighed, and sunk into slumber quickly after her long watch.

That night he rested poorly, and it was with great contemplation that he took the last watch of the night. His thoughts strayed repeatedly to the sight of her reclining so near to him, so unguarded and natural, and his throat constricted. Her unexpected close proximity that night and her constant informal presence over the previous days had stirred strange feelings within him and his head was a jumble of emotions.

~

“We are here,” Edmund said, to Eve’s confusion. She had not expected the path to Ednor to be so inconspicuous. Without further explanation, he dismounted and bade them all to follow him off the road.

They trekked westward and up a slight incline for a further half an hour until they came upon a clearing large enough for them to see the foothills. Covered in their mantle of evergreens and soaring high above them, they hid the true mountain range from view.

“It is here we part,” he said. He smiled at Eve, Luke and Nyle in turn before reaching into his saddlebag for the spare map he had brought. When he had opened it out on the ground, he pointed at their location on it. Nyle made to speak, but Edmund forestalled him to explain which path they should follow.

“Ednor and the land of the Eldarkind in the mountains can be accessed solely by this pass from this side of the mountains it would seem.” He focused his attention on Eve, who listened, entranced. “It is recorded that there used to be a road here, built by great civilisations long past and ruined before Caledonians and Eldarkind came to live here.

“The Eldarkind do not wish to mingle at large with our people anymore and so the trails were allowed to be overrun. To many, there is nothing in front of you but mountains and past that the wastes of the North, however some know better.

“I know that Eve has not described your purpose and destination to you,” Edmund said to Luke and Nyle. “I know you think the Eldarkind a race extinct in the long past, but they live as they ever did, hidden away in corners of the world.”

“How do you know that? Are we to chase fairy tales and dark powers?” Nyle interrupted.

“I know because I have journeyed there many times,” replied Edmund. Eve saw the look he gave Nyle; one that dared the younger man to challenge him. “One such centre of their dwellings can be found where the March Mountains join with the Helm Mountains.

“I ask you not to judge and to trust that this mission is of the utmost importance. You carry the safety of Caledan on your shoulders now. Heed not the petty legends of fiends and untrustworthy spell casters that they are portrayed to be in your fairy tales, for these bear no resemblance to the great and noble race that is the Eldarkind.”

Luke and Nyle exchanged a shocked glance as Edmund continued.

“As you journey up into the mountains and cross over the pass you will come into a great valley. At its longest point it is just shorter than the journey from Arlyn to here. It is there that the road is at last maintained once more and you will be able to follow the path to Ednor itself.

“From here, bear west. You will find yourself in a steep sided valley with a stream in the bottom that runs a rusty orange with the richness of iron ore in the hills. Keep to the north side of this stream and you will soon happen upon what appear to be the remains of the old road. Admittedly, it is more of a trail now, but still discernible. If you follow that, you will reach Ednor tomorrow.

“Any questions? Peace, Eve,” Edmund said at the unhappy expression upon Eve’s face. Unwilling to speak in front of Luke and Nyle, she drew Edmund aside.

“I feel as if I’m going in the opposite direction to where I should be, Edmund,” she said. “For so many years I’ve wanted to see the land where my mother was raised. My father has denied me this for reasons I still don’t understand, but now of all times I wish I could be journeying elsewhere.”

“It is a great thing, to wish for something for so long and be faced with finding out whether the reality meets your expectations,” Edmund replied. “However, we all have our path through time laid out before us, and sometimes it may take us away from where we wish or towards our fears and we must face that bravely.

“Even I fear my own journey,” he admitted, “but there is always a reason for everything you do. I know it is difficult but there is great value to you going to the Eldarkind, not least for your own enrichment and the fulfilment of your desire to meet your mother’s people, but also to act as an envoy for our entire race. It is you that must inform them of the plight of Caledan and ask for their aid.

“You have no less a responsibility on your shoulders than I do at this moment in time. Where I go to help Soren reclaim the throne for the good of Caledan, you go to help him do the same; your path takes you one way and mine takes me another. Yours is no less important.”

Pacified, Eve nodded. “I suppose I understand,” she acknowledged reluctantly. “I must put aside my fears in this.”

“So you promise you will go as an envoy to the Eldarkind and that under no circumstances will you follow me instead?” Edmund pressed her, leaning forward. After a short pause, Eve agreed, to Edmund’s relief and they turned back to Luke and Nyle.

“Good. Let us not delay, then.” Edmund picked up the map, folded it away and offered it to Eve. “I do not need it. Do you know anything about Ednor at all?”

Eve shook her head.

“Just that my mother was born there.” It was said before she realised Luke and Nyle would hear. She bit her lip, mentally kicking herself. Edmund seemed surprised that she knew nothing more, though he did not remark on it. Luke and Nyle had frozen with aghast faces at her accidental disclosure. Edmund did not notice their reaction.

“Very well. If I am correct, for I have not heard anything of them for some time, their current ruler should still be Queen Artora. Ask for her directly and speak with the greatest courtesy when you are in her or her advisers’ company. I wish I could instruct you in more length as to how to conduct yourself, as the Eldarkind have many specific ways of expressing courtesy and respect, but alas, you will have to do your best. I have faith in you.”

As Eve, Luke and Nyle led their horses west into the forest, Edmund made for the road with Jormund, who had kept his distance during the exchange, to continue on to the monastery.

Eve and her guards walked on, still leading the horses on foot through the woods that were too dense to allow them to ride. Because of this, they walked in single file; Nyle led Eve whilst Luke brought up the rear. Eve was glad, for it gave them no excuse or opportunity to talk and gave her time to gather her thoughts. What she could not see was the growing worry on Luke’s face and Nyle’s fuming countenance.

Eve puzzled over Edmund’s words. Her thoughts dwelt on why her father had never before permitted her to journey to Ednor. She recalled with a sigh the faint memory of her mother’s hand caressing her head, a smell of flowers and her long golden hair, which Eve had inherited, falling in a curtain as she bent to embrace Eve and tell her yet another fairytale from the land of the Eldarkind.

After her mother’s death when she was still a young girl, she had asked many times if she could journey there. It had seemed to her to be a land of magic and wonder, a place she had always yearned to visit to see the truth of the tales.

Her father – at first grief stricken and later distant – had always denied her this wish without explanation, to Eve’s great frustration. They had many an argument over it, but Karn was adamant in refusing her permission to visit, and in recent years, she had given up asking.

She wondered again why he had allowed her to go; whether it was because he had giving up resisting her wishes or because he had no other option. She realised though, that she should be grateful for getting the opportunity to visit, albeit in an unexpected way, and promised to herself to make the most of it despite her fears.

Eve was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice the unusual hardness in Nyle’s gaze as he glanced back every so often to check she and Luke were close behind, nor could she see Luke’s agitation behind her. It was not until they broke for lunch did she wonder at Luke’s hesitation of sitting near her and Nyle’s visible hostility.

She did not know how to break the silence. Certain her careless slip of the tongue was the reason for their bizarre behaviour towards her, she internally admonished herself for blurting out the secret of her heritage.

Though the Eldarkind had once been great, as they faded into the history of Caledan, the stories told of them grew more fanciful and false with each telling. Generations later, the noble Eldarkind had been mutated by folklore into untrustworthy, mischievous and even sometimes malevolent evil beings, who haunted the night and the deeps of the world. Mere mention of them was laced with prejudice and stereotypes so ingrained that Eve knew any association with them as if they were real beings would sow the seeds of mistrust.

Nyle broke the silence. “What are you?” he accused, his suspicious gaze boring into her. He stood with his arms folded, looking down at where she sat on a fallen tree trunk a few feet away, whilst Luke stood to one side, not looking at either of them.

“I am what I have always been,” replied Eve. She knew that here in the depth of the wilderness so far from help she would have to carefully choose her words, lest she provoke Nyle into open anger or worse. She did not know whether this could even turn Luke against her despite their many years of friendship; such were the implications.

“Nyle, you’re old enough to remember my mother when you were a child. Did you ever perceive her to be evil, to be the truth of the folk stories? And have I ever given you cause to believe that I’m anything other than normal?”

He mulled over his response. “No,” he said at last. It was easy to see he begrudged the word.

“I know I may look different from most people,” Eve said. “I have fair hair and light eyes, when most of our town are darker in both, and I know I take those characteristics from my mother, but you have both witnessed me grow up – Luke, you especially – and you both know me to be nothing other than my father’s daughter. I hide no evil in me.” She held her head high.

Nyle did not seem placated, but it was clear then he had nothing else to say. They ate in silence with awkwardness hanging in the air, and then pressed on. To make matters more uncomfortable, a steady rain had begun to fall and although by nightfall it had ceased they were damp and short tempered.

They had followed the stream high into the mountain pass, where the narrow valley brought premature gloom to their travel before the sunset. The deciduous forests where they had parted with Edmund had given way to coniferous woods that clung to steep, rocky valley sides.

The remains of a track were visible, parting the trees to either side, and for a few hours, they had been able to saddle up the horses and ride once more. The road clung to one side of the steep valley with a stomach-churning drop to their left, and the stream barely visible far below.

They came to a small bend high in the valley that offered some shelter and made camp under a rocky overhang. Whilst Luke and Eve unsaddled the horses and began to unpack the necessities for their evening meal, Nyle foraged further up the path for firewood so they could heat a food and water and have some warmth against the altitude-induced chill in the darkening air.

Eve absentmindedly went about her tasks, until a touch on her arm made her jolt in surprise as she finished grooming Alia. She twisted to find Luke standing close behind her, her forearm now in his grasp. This close, he was taller than she was by some inches and an imposing figure in the gloom.

He saw the gleam of fear in her eyes and released her arm, half holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. She did not move, but observed him warily; tense and ready to reach for a weapon if she needed.

“I’m sorry…” he said falteringly. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He fell silent and Eve waited, still tense for a minute as he tried to compose himself. “I know it’s perhaps not my place, but I wanted to ask whilst Nyle wasn’t here. We used to be close; why didn’t you tell me about your mother?”

“Because you would judge me like Nyle has – just like everyone else would!” she retorted. “What business is it of yours anyway? It is clear I cannot trust you, therefore it is no concern of yours at all!” she exclaimed.

She made to push past him but he grasped her arm once more. “Let go of me Lucan!” She wrenched her hand out of his grip and stormed off down the path feeling shaken by the experience and her heart still pounding.

~

Her use of his formal name felt like a physical blow and he froze, taken aback. “Eve!” he called after her. She did not respond and was soon out of sight around the bend in the track. “Damn it!” he swore, as Nyle returned with an arm full of wood.

“What’s up now? Where is she?” asked Nyle.

Luke scowled.

“What did you do, Luke?”

“Nothing!” Luke exclaimed. “Look, I need to find her. Will you light the fire whilst I go search for her? She can’t have gone far.”

Nyle nodded, the movement barely discernible. Luke spun around and ran down the track after Eve. He found her, some minutes later, a pale figure sat by the edge of the track on a large rock and he approached her slowly.

“Eve?”

~

She did not respond. He knelt in front of her. “Eve, I’m sorry for being so forward, please will you accept my apology?”

Her head bobbed up and down. Through her hair she saw his relieved smile.

“Please don’t take it the wrong way, I... We used to be so close. I know things are different now – you’re the heir to the county and I’m nobody, but I still miss how we used to talk. I miss my friend Evie,” he trailed off into silence.

“I’m sorry too Luke,” Eve replied. She rested a hand on his head briefly before withdrawing it to her lap once more. “You startled me just now, but that was no reason for me to speak so harshly. I can see the prejudice in Nyle’s eyes so clearly that I thought you might judge the worst of me too.”

“You always have the benefit of the doubt in my eyes, Eve,” he said. “I would never think poorly of you, or judge you, though I admit I’m surprised. I know things cannot return to the way they were, but I am always here for you. If you need someone, night or day, I’ll be there. You need never feel alone.”

“How can I talk to you or trust as I once did though, Luke?” Eve asked him, her eyes full of reproach. His expression changed to confusion. “You told my father of my every move. You betrayed my trust!”

“I did not mean it to be so!” he replied, distressed. “It was my job to guard you – your father made it very clear that if I did not do my duty then I would no longer have that position.”

“So you chose your job over our friendship and trust then.” She spoke more bluntly than she intended – his words had hurt her more than she first realised. Luke crumpled at her feet and tangled his hands in his hair. Her frustrations lifted somewhat as she saw his intense discomfort.

“I did not want to leave you,” he admitted, so quiet and pained that she barely heard him. “I’m sorry.” He spoke louder than before. His apology was simple but she heard the urgent sincerity in his voice.

Eve did not know how to reply, so instead she stood up and drew Luke up from where he knelt and clasped his hands in hers for the briefest moment. A small smile flitted across her face.

“Shall we?” she asked, motioning towards the camp. Her anger and fear had vanished; replaced with relief and the knowledge that she had not lost her dearest friend.

As they returned to the camp together in silence, she wondered at his choice of words. He didn’t want to leave me…?

Soren

With a heavy heart, Soren turned away, guided to his room by a young monk, who awaited him outside the abbot’s office. Soren tried to recall the detail of the abbot’s face as he was escorted without a word, yet he found that his mind grew hazy and he could not picture him in detail.

Soren shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Worry for Irumae still occupied his mind although he was gladdened to know the extent to which others were trying to find her. He tried to recall in great depth the face of his mother, his father, and his sister but his thoughts morbidly distorted into visions of his mother lying cold under stone, her spirit released to the sky and without a proper goodbye. His father was a maniacally grinning skeleton beside her; the image leapt unbidden into his mind’s eye.

A chasm opened in his heart and his chest ached. He slapped himself around the face to force the memories out. His face stung from the force of the blow as he busied himself washing roughly and trying not to think of anything at all.

After dressing in fresh travelling clothes of a dark cloth much simpler than those he had fled in, he exited his room and was led to the back of the kitchens, where a small door lay open to the gardens. Here on a table, a pack full of provisions awaited him, and he saw through the open door half a dozen monks similarly dressed and waiting in the dark with horses. He was glad to see Miri with them.

As the door closed with a snap behind him, they bowed and greeted him one by one. He replied, trying to remember all their names and be as gracious as possible given his somewhat humbler than normal appearance. He peered at their faces to try and familiarise himself, however in the dark, with the only light coming out of the kitchen window, it was impossible to tell them apart.

The only man he could identify was Hador. He appeared to be the leader of their group, for the others deferred to him.

“We have already disabled the enemy scouts outside the northern gate,” Hador said. Soren did not like to think what he meant by ‘disabled’. “We are to proceed in complete silence some distance north where we will follow one of the streams up to the hillside caves.

“The horses’ feet have been muffled, as have our weapons. I suggest you do the same to your sword just in case.” Hador gestured at Soren’s sword, strapped as ever to his side, the gesture almost invisible in the blackness. Hador tossed him a strip of fabric, which he bound around the sword.

“The abbot has forbidden our return until any hostile forces have departed, therefore we will stay at the caves for as long as is necessary. Now, it will take us the night to get there and we must be particularly careful in the dark. We may not use any lights as they will reveal our position. We shall rope together the horses and each man should take a bridle so none of us become separated. Let’s go.”

Roping together the horses, they set off to the northern gate; the same portal Soren had entered through just that morning. The gate was shut though unlocked and opened without a sound on its well-oiled hinges. Hador led out the silent line of men. They halted so the last man in the chain could close the gate before continuing. After a few paces, soft footsteps behind them and the tiniest grate of metal on metal, Soren knew the gate had been secured once more from within.

It was a fraught walk, and they made slow progress. Under cover of darkness, not knowing where any of the army’s scouts were, they dared not ride and instead led the horses through the dark, guided by the star and moonlight which fell between the clouds covering half of the sky. Reaching the tree cover a few feet from the walls, they continued downhill. Hador and the rest of the monks carried crossbow in their free hands; a brutal weapon, but an effective silencer.

Fortunately for them, or perhaps more for the enemy, they came across no scouts and soon reached the bottom of the hill on which the monastery sat. From there, they followed the stream bed at the up into the hills; it was wide and loud enough at this point to lead the horses up its middle and disguise any signs and sounds of their passage.

~

By dawn, they were no longer in the stream bed, instead wandering up small wild trails in the foothills, half hidden by grass and overcast by the tree canopy, until they reached a rock face which sheared through the tree tops above them some hours later. At last, Hador halted. They untied the horses and led them individually along the bottom of the cliff for some minutes until, in the rock face, a great split opened up.

Soren would not have noticed it had they not halted; by some trick of the eye, it was only visible by passing it and then looking back. A curtain of greenery that must have been purposefully grown concealed the entrance. Soren peered in. Once they had picketed the horses outside, Hador, bearing a lit candle, led him inside.

Light illuminated a narrow tunnel and then a huge space. The cavern had a rocky ceiling seven feet high sloping down towards the back to half the height of a man. A dozen straw mattresses lay piled with blankets and pillows, and chairs sat stacked next to a table. On the other wall a bookcase stood, three quarters full of dusty books. Noting that floor was hard packed earth, Soren was thankful for the mattresses.

The men dumped their packs by the table and began to ready the room, whilst Hador dictated the watch rotas. Soren finished plumping up the pillows and walked outside to escape from all the dust raised in the cave; the view made him gasp. Through what seemed like a miraculous coincidence, though he knew the location had been chosen for this very reason, a great gap in the foliage meant that he could see right down onto the monastery, miles below and to the south. It was the perfect position; from below, the cave could not be identified at all.

However, his wonder turned to dismay and he let out a cry which brought the others running. A swarm of silver flashes – armoured men – had almost surrounded the monastery, most concentrated at the main gate. The size of the force, which seemed to have sprung from nowhere overnight, stunned them into silence.

The sound of their presence did not carry over such a great distance but Soren could guess their intentions; only Zaki could control and flaunt such a large force. The seven men watched. Dismay was etched in each of their faces at the size of the horde, clearly regretting that they could not add to the number of defenders to protect their home.

Looking at what faced the monastery, Soren understood the abbot’s words just before they parted. I will be lucky to see him again. He shivered.

Zaki

Armoured men parted like water before him as Zaki rode up to the gates of the monastery. He had ordered his men’s silent formation before dawn, so that he could send a particular impression to the abbot. They stood in silent ranks, all staring forward and in full battle gear. Zaki himself felt impressed by their coordination.

The imposing wall loomed before him, broken by the closed, studded gate set into it. All seemed deserted until a voice called down from the battlements. “Who goes there?”

Reynard replied. “Here stands before you His Royal Highness Prince Zaki of Caledan, heir to the throne. Open your gates.”

“You come before us with a great host and so armed; what are your intentions?”

“We will speak with your abbot and no other,” Reynard replied. “Summon him now.”

“There is no need, Your Royal Highness,” another voice replied. “I am here.” The abbot peered over the wall. He disappeared.The gate opened before Zaki to reveal the abbot standing in his way. He was tiny in person – far smaller than Zaki remembered him. Older too, and fragile. He walked with a slight limp, Zaki noticed, and his face held years more wrinkles than Zaki recalled. The abbot was nothing more than a frail old man dressed in dowdy robes.

“I have come for the crown. Release it to me,” said Zaki. He did not see the need to mince words; that only wasted his time.

“I cannot do this for you sir,” said the abbot.

Zaki paused with a frown. “Give to me one good reason why I, the legally recognised heir to the throne, may not have the crown of my forbears.”

The abbot shuffled. “The crown is not here, sir.”

“What a pathetic lie. This is absurd, old man. I will not ask a third time. You refuse to give me what is mine by right?”

“I cannot give what I do not possess, sir,” the abbot replied.

“My men and I must search the entire monastery to find it, then,” said Zaki, irked by the man’s politeness and calm demeanour.

“I cannot allow you to do so, sir,” the abbot protested. “These are sacred grounds!”

“We will do this whether you will it or not.” Zaki leered down at him. “Let us in or we will enter by force.”

The abbot’s answer was a hand gesture to those behind him. He paced beneath the wall and through the gates. Zaki prepared to follow, but the gates shut in his face and were barred from within.

Zaki froze. It took a moment to understand what had happened and regain his composure. “You all witness this treason.” Zaki stood in his saddle to address the men about him.

Not a man moved, though the eyes of those closest flicked towards him. “I hereby call upon you to defend Caledan’s honour and retrieve the crown of our kings from the hands of these rebels! For Caledan!” he called.

“For Caledan!” replied his men, magnifying his words thousandfold.

“Attack,” he said to Reynard beside him. “Fire archers, battering rams, anything you like. Get me inside those walls, find that crown and kill the boy.”

Eve

Eve, Luke and Nyle drunk in the view open mouthed. A restless night followed the previous day’s turbulence and they had risen with dull heads and heavy eyes. After riding further, the valley had closed in around them and the trees gave way to a barren rocky landscape as the rain gave way to tentative sun. They had mounted a brow before them, expecting more rocky terrain. What they saw made them halt with incredulity.

There laid out before them was an enormous valley sinking thousands of feet below them and miles before them. It was so long that they could not see its far end in the haze. It seemed green and pleasant; forests and meadows as far as the eye could see and a huge lake glinting blue in the emerging sun as it faded into the distance.

To the north, Ednor lay amongst forested foothills. The mixed deciduous and coniferous forests of the valley gave way to evergreens that climbed up the mountains to the tree line, broken here and there by grassy meadows. In high summer the snow line lay far above this and Eve could see white upon the towering peaks of the Helm Mountains; glaciers grasped the mountains and dirty snow banks stubbornly stuck in crevices and hollows.

At this distance great detail was not visible, though Ednor’s buildings seemed made of the same light golden coloured stone as Arlyn, although here it appeared much paler. At Ednor’s highest point a large building dominated and Eve guessed this was where she was to go.

With a delighted laugh, she urged her horse forward to ride down into the valley as Luke and Nyle hurried to keep pace with her. Eve’s excitement increased as her fear receded, forgotten as she basked in the colourful and rich beauty that contrasted the rocky, barren and shaded path they had been following. Woods and smallholdings passed by as they rode. Trees, taller than any she had seen before, threw dappled light upon them as they rode across grassy knolls.

They reached the boundaries of Ednor just after midday and rode in without delay. Here in the secret valley, there was no need for sentries and armies, nor gates and walls. Eve was surprised to find this; even a peaceful town such as Arlyn still benefited from fortification and was under constant defence.

There was little separation between the forest and Ednor; the stone buildings complimented their surroundings, fitting within the forest inconspicuously. Eve could not decide whether it was a city or a town – or neither, for it conformed to no norms she had seen.

By comparison, Arlyn was barren and primitive and even the grandeur of Pandora could not match the muted grace of Ednor’s buildings, where each building was a masterpiece. Carvings and columns adorned each one, as if they were drawn from the ground instead of constructed.

Stone ivy chased over walls, up, and around impossibly delicate stone arbours that appeared to be woven together from giant threads. Each dwelling was generously spaced from its neighbours; the buildings seemed almost haphazard in placement, and no boundary markings separated property from property.

Everywhere there was greenery, flowers, and the sound of running water. Streams trickled down from the mountains and elegant fountains burbled. Music and birdsong and laughter emanated from unseen places all around. Perhaps even more beautiful than the city were its inhabitants the Eldarkind; golden haired, pale skinned and light eyed men, women and children went about their business with a sense of unsuppressed contentment, stopping to look with surprise at the unfamiliar girl who appeared to be one of their own, riding with two dark haired strangers.

Eve rode forward unaware, engrossed by the beauty of the place, barely paying heed to Luke and Nyle, who were uncomfortable with the attention as the Eldarkind murmured away in an unfamiliar tongue.

As they travelled, the ground rose and rocky outcrops thrust up from the forest floor. The valley constricted and though still wide, the tree spacing decreased, meadows opened up and buildings now perched artfully on the valley sides. Where at last the gentle rising slops of the valley gave way to the mountains proper, they found themselves at the highest point of Ednor. A tall wall arose in front of them, with wrought gates wide open.

They passed under the archway to a courtyard and gardens where before them they beheld the great dwelling they had seen from a distance. Although the gates were open, a single guard manned it, and he approached as they made to ride through.

“Halt and dismount, please!” he called, his voice accented. “On what business are you here?”

“I am Lady Eve of Arlyn.” Eve gracefully dismounted and gestured at Luke and Nyle to do the same. “I travel with my guards Luke and Nyle to seek the council of the Queen as soon as possible. I apologise for our unannounced arrival and I humbly beg for an audience.”

The guard smiled, and bowed. “Then it is my pleasure to welcome you to Ednor, Lady Eve. If you follow me, I shall have your horses stabled and rooms prepared for you to stay. I shall arrange for your audience as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” replied Eve, surprised at the welcome. Soon the horses were stabled, and the three were led to adjacent quarters in a grand building with high ceilings and tall windows, full of light, paintings, sculptures and flowing structures. Eve’s room had a view of the mountains behind Ednor. When she tore her attention away from it, she noticed a small ewer stood beside it and gratefully washed her face and hands.

Before she had an opportunity to enjoy her surroundings, let alone bathe or change, another of the Eldarkind returned to invite her to meet the queen. Eve regretfully turned her back on the bath and prepared to meet Artora dressed in several day old clothing and no doubt stinking to high heaven. She sighed and steeled herself, determined not to disappoint her father, as her guide stopped, knocked on a door and announced her presence.

She was ushered into an airy, light room where each wall was a different fantastical mural. The far wall held wide and tall windows, with panes of glass so fine and perfect they were invisible. Eve saw gardens filled with flowers and trees, beyond which the mountains rose.

What captured Eve’s gaze was the tall woman who rose at her entrance from a carved chair behind a vast desk. Golden hair streamed loosely across her shoulders and fell to her thighs, illuminated from behind by the light of the window.

She wore, to Eve’s surprise, no extravagant dress or crown or jewels as Eve had seen Queen Naisa wear at Pandora, but a fine fitted shirt and pants, skillfully tailored and embroidered. Despite her face being in shadow, Eve perceived high cheekbones, symmetrical features, and keen blue eyes that fixed upon her own. Eve froze in her penetrating gaze.

“It is good to have the daughter of Freya travel to our land.” The woman’s smile was warm, and the moment was broken. “You are most welcome, Eve of Arlyn.” She stepped across the room towards Eve as her eyebrows rose in surprise that the queen knew her mother’s name. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Artora. It is some time since I had word from Arlyn. How is your father?” The queen drew close to Eve, taller than her by a few inches and to Eve’s amazement bent to kiss both cheeks.

“Thank you for your kind welcome, Your Majesty,” replied Eve with a bow. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment for her poor state of appearance next to this impressive woman. “My father is well, thank you. However, I did not ride here for pleasure, though I have longed to for many years. I come bearing news.” She presented the parchment letter sealed with the stamp of Arlyn to the queen, who took it and moved back to the window, to read it in the light. Her brow furrowed as she read.

“Things are indeed dark if Karn seeks my council,” Artora murmured to herself. “You may call me Artora,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “We do not use titles and rank so formally in Ednor, as you will see.”

Thoughtfully she folded up the letter, and, balancing it on her palm, blew upon it. Eve gasped as the letter sailed lightly off the queen’s hand onto the desk several feet away, as if it were no lighter than a feather with a mind of its own.

“How did you do that?” she exclaimed involuntarily, open-mouthed.

“How did I do what?” Artora turned to regard her with bafflement.

“Th-the letter. It flew!” Eve stammered.

“Magic of course – why would you not know that? Don’t you know of magic?” Artora questioned upon seeing Eve’s blank face. As Eve shook her head, the queen’s brows furrowed with anger, and her eyes narrowed. “To think Freya’s daughter does not know of magic. What was Karn thinking!” she said to herself scathingly, before addressing Eve. “If magic had burst out of you unexpectedly, the consequences could have been dire!”

“Why would magic burst out of me?” Eve asked, with a sense of dread.

“Well your mother was one of the Eldarkind, so you will have inherited her powers.” The queen frowned, as if that were obvious. “Surely you must know – surely she told you.”

“My mother didn’t have any magic,” said Eve with more conviction than she felt.

Dismay filled the queen’s face. “You know nothing of your heritage, do you, Eve?” Eve shook her head again and feeling ashamed and confused. Her eyes dropped to the floor as her cheeks blushed once more. Artora sighed. “Your mother was one of the Eldarkind. She possessed magical abilities; we all do. She simply chose not to use her powers whilst she stayed in the mortal world and raised you, in order to keep you safe. I still thought that she must have told you of them.”

“To keep me safe,” Eve mouthed to herself soundlessly. She felt suddenly sad, sadder than she had felt for a long time, now realising how little she knew of a mother who had abandoned her true heritage, her own kind and even her magical powers and who had then been rewarded with an early death from a sickness no magic could cure. She felt an awareness of the sacrifices her mother had made that she had never before perceived.

Artora studied her sympathetically. “Would you like me to tell you about your mother?” she asked gently. Eve looked up, with tears in her eyes, and nodded. The queen gestured to a chair by her desk, inviting Eve to sit, and took her own grand seat once more. A servant slipped in to leave refreshments for them both and Artora herself poured tea for them. In the silence Eve felt as though she were a child once more; not the sophisticated ambassador she was supposed to be.

“I knew your mother better than you may think,” Artora said. “Freya was my second cousin on my father’s side, so in fact you would be my second cousin once removed.” Eve glanced up in surprise. “Yes, it is true!” Artora smiled at her and Eve mirrored her uncertainly, feeling a strange warmth within her at the thought of kinship. “So you may be married into royalty on your father’s side, but you are royalty on your mother’s.” Artora let out a small, rich laugh, before her smile tempered.

“Alas, I miss her. We were close when she and I were younger although I was several years her senior. Your mother became an envoy for us when she grew to adulthood, and I did not see much of her then; my duties kept me here.

“Oft we would send her to Pandora to confer with Queen Naisa. It was there she met your father. They fell in love and, well, that was the end of her travels. She longed for nothing more than to settle down with the man she loved and neither I nor anyone else could sway her mind.

“She came one last time to say goodbye, many years ago now, just before you were born. She swore not to reveal our presence to anyone save Karn – he in turn doing likewise – and she swore never to use her magic outside our borders. Perhaps that is why you never knew of our magic at all, though I did not intend that.”

“She told me stories,” said Eve suddenly. “She told me stories about the magical kingdom of the Eldarkind, the adventures of the Eldarkind, their history, their wonderful magical powers and how they would make all right in the world, how she was of the Eldarkind. I was only a child. I never thought those tales were true. I didn’t think it possible. And then she died,” she trailed off into silence.

“Yes,” said the queen heavily. “And then she died. I will never understand how that illness took her of all others and so quickly too. I wish there had been time to come to her; perhaps we could have healed her. I suppose what is past is past and we cannot change that. I am sorry though Eve, that you never knew more of your mother, or of us.”

There was a long silence as Eve contemplated what she had just heard, and Artora did not press her to speak. Finally, she met the queen’s eyes. “How much is there that I do not know?” she questioned.

“Eve, even I could learn of things from now until the end of time and I would not know all there is to know,” replied the queen. “Of the Eldarkind and magic, there is more than I can impart to you in a short while, but I shall personally teach you what I can in the time you are here, if you would find that amenable?”

“You would do that for me?” asked Eve, surprised.

“You are my kind, and moreover my kin, Eve and we always help those that we may, especially those of our own. Matters of politics and troubles in Caledan aside, would you like to stay for a while?” Artora invited.

“My father instructed me to return straight away,” replied Eve, “although I’m unwilling to be quite so hasty.” She trailed off into silence.

“Well regardless, you will not be departing immediately, so why not mull over it this afternoon,” proposed Artora. “Tonight you and your guards may dine with the household and I and perhaps you can give me your answer then.”

Eve agreed with a shy smile, and the queen smiled back. Artora stood to dismiss her. “Excellent,” she said. “Now, I understand that of course you will be tired after your journey. Please feel free to bathe in your chambers and prepare yourself for tonight. Although we do not dine formally, I shall be attending in a dress; it would please me to see you in one also. Did you bring one?”

“Yes,” said Eve. “I’m unsure if it is grand enough for your table but I shall wear it nonetheless. Where do I go?”

“Worry not; there is someone waiting outside to return you to your chamber, and I will send someone again tonight to show you to the dining room.”

Eve smiled at the queen in thanks and, after a last glance back at the beautiful woman who stood framed in the light of the windows once more, closed the door and let herself be led away.

She spent over an hour in a hot bath mulling over everything Artora had said. Upon returning to her chambers, Eve had felt an initial flash of anger at her father for hiding so much from her, however as she thought, she realised that perhaps he had believed it was for the best, given his promise to Artora. She was determined to speak to him about it the moment she had the chance. Not for the first time she wondered why he had let her come to Ednor. Again, she found no answer.

Her reflections turned to herself; Nyle’s accusing face from their confrontation the previous day swam into her mind and she dwelt upon thoughts of whom and what she was. A rap at the door made her jump. Luke’s voice called through it.

“Eve, are you there?” He waited for a few seconds. She did not reply. “Lady Eve?” After a pause, she heard footsteps receding, and then silence. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had no desire to talk to anyone; her head swam with all there was for her to consider. She resolved there was nothing more to think about that she could presently solve and closed her eyes, attempting to let the feeling of warmth wash over her. It was no use, however. Regardless of how hard she shut her eyes or attempted to blank her thoughts, her mind whispered to her. Who are you? It questioned insidiously, planting a growing fear within her.

Soren

The prince and the monks viewed the scene far below them with trepidation. It was Hador that broke the silence and chivvied them away. “Men, come. It will do us no good to worry over what is done. We have our orders and this is not our battle. I feel as each of you feels and I would run to defend our home, however our Abbot ordered us away for good reason.”

Three of the monks nodded. The other two stared at Soren with obvious dislike and he, catching their looks, understood why. He could see the longing in their eyes to go to the aid of their comrades and their home and their resentment at having to mind him like a baby.

He made no move to smile or frown at them but stared at them until they turned away and followed the others back into the cave. Hador noticed their animosity. “Take no heed of them,” he murmured to the prince as soon as the others were out of earshot.

“I understand their dislike of me. If I were in their position, I would feel the same. I did ask the Abbot to let me stay and fight, but his mind was made up.” Soren frowned.

“The abbot is aware of your importance,” replied the monk, still watching the monastery. “You are the heir to the throne, and thus the wellbeing of Caledan and its people rests in your hands. He does not wish to place you in any more danger than you are already in. It is to be our sacrifice for you that seeks to gain you the liberty to regain the crown for the good of Caledan.”

“I know this,” admitted the prince. “I’m still loathe to hide in the mountains when down there in plain sight is the man who murdered my mother. I have as much cause as any of you to want to fight him, and I feel guilt staying here. What if we could make the difference? What if the addition of your six men and I could change the fate of what lies ahead?”

“We are not to know what may or may not be,” Hador said. “It was clear the abbot was not willing to take that risk. As we keep the crown, it was inevitable that Zaki would come. It would have put you in more danger for him to know of your presence there.”

“What of the abbot?” asked Soren. “He said that he feared we would not meet again and it left me with the strangest shiver down my spine.”

Hador looked at him keenly. “He also said those words to me. I worry they may be true. Nevertheless, try to allay your fears. The abbot has had a long and full life and has no sadness or fear at his approaching end, whenever that may be.

“Moreover, he appreciates that this is as it must be; no one may live forever. Therefore, we must be as brave as he. Do not worry about the monastery and my brethren. He entrusted it to my care as his successor and he has trained me long and well for the task, though I do not presume to be as great a man as he.”

Soren reflected on this, pleasantly surprised. In the short time since they had met, Hador seemed a reasonable and just man, who was intelligent and efficient in what he did. “When are we to return?” he asked at last.

Hador did not reply for a time. “I have not decided that yet,” he admitted. “The abbot forbade us to return whilst foes are at our gates. I must remain heartless in refusing my own yearning to return, so that I may help secure our future hopes.” After a moment, he turned and strode away.

That day, the men busied themselves as much as they could gathering firewood, food and herbs. Hador set one man to watch for anyone approaching their camp and to monitor the scene below them. It was mid afternoon when the watchman’s cry brought everyone running. Moans of horror tore from their throats at the terrible sight. Murmurs broke out amongst them and frantic prayers were uttered.

The perimeter wall was intact, but they could see a huge battering ram beginning to attempt to break the main gate and a block of archers peppering the outbuildings with fire arrows. Wooden sheds and small thatched buildings here and there caught alight. Although the day was still with a light breeze, the recent dry weather meant that the wood and thatch was well aflame in minutes.

Men as small as ants from this great height, could be seen scurrying around within the monastery grounds, attempting to douse the fires and any other flammable materials within reach of the fire arrows. A line of longbow men strung out within the grounds, as the boom of the battering ram ascended to Soren and the monks.

The horrific sight captivated. They continued to watch, aghast, as fires spread and ranks of monks awaited the inevitable, until early evening when the crash of the battering ram ceased. Zaki’s soldiers swarmed through the broken gate, as monks rushed forwards in formation to meet them.

The fighting was confusing from this great height; no crests or banners could be seen, just a maelstrom of flashing armour accompanied by the faint sounds of battle. Fires here and there cast sickly orange glows across the grounds, as the fighting moved further into the compound. Each of the few hundred monks must have been outnumbered several to one at the very least. So vastly were they out manned, that not even the greatest skill could save them.

Soren could not imagine how twisted his uncle’s mind must be to order such a horrific attack on a religious centre and he thought with revulsion of the thousands of soldiers who were now mindlessly serving Zaki, carrying out his orders with not a thought for their own morals. He questioned right and wrong, wondering if such soldiers could be good men at heart, yet his own sense of morality was so strong that he could not see how anyone could carry out such a vile act, even if they were ordered to do so. It unnerved him to see such a great force intent on desecration.

As the red sun sank in the sky, Hador moved the men away. “We must rest,” he ordered half-heartedly. He set two men on the first watch and with everyone else retreated into the cave.

It was a long and lonely night through which no one rested, each too consumed by anxiety and fervent, muttered prayer to sleep. Just before dawn, Hador admitted there was no point trying to rest through that night, allowing them all to rise and watch the glowing embers of the buildings they had lived in, still stubbornly alight in places. They could still hear clashing and the deep rumble of falling masonry.

At last, Hador stirred. The sky was turning from deepest blue to bloody red at the horizon. “We are to return at once,” Hador said. They all realised that very little would remain when they returned, and in their heart of hearts, they knew the fight was lost. “Prepare the horses.”

~

Scenes of destruction met Soren’s eyes that afternoon. The sounds of battle had faded a few hours before and Zaki’s forces had left, although Hador had insisted that they scout the perimeter before venturing inside, to check if any soldiers had remained behind. The area was clear – but so was the horizon behind the walls.

As they entered the grounds through the gate in the still intact and untouched north wall, the monastery had been almost wholly razed to the ground. Debris piled higher than the haphazard half walls that remained here and and not one tower stood amongst mountains of broken and charred rock.

Shattered glass and lead panes littered the ground and the smell of burning and death was on the air as they approached where the fighting had been heaviest. The dead lay twisted and still on the ground, framed by blood.

The seven men reached what should have been the main door, and fell still. The amount of carnage was incomprehensible to them. They stood, unable to speak. It was clear there should be no survivors.

“Right, men!” Hador’s hoarse voice startled them all. He ordered them to search for survivors, leaving Soren, himself, and one other, Orman, to trawl through the wreckage about them.

The others did as they were bidden and rode to the four corners of the grounds, whilst Hador applied himself with Orman and Soren to search the messy wrecks of once proud buildings. It was grim and tiring work, but not without reward, for soon Soren found a man who still had a weak pulse.

They excavated him and Hador gently lifted his head to trickle some water down his throat from the flask proffered by Soren. The man moaned as they laid him on a square of grass – the remains of a courtyard. Hador ordered Orman to tend to the injured man.

Over the course of the afternoon, they found dozens of survivors clinging on to life. The task before them was daunting; they had a few hours to recover the living and offer them medical attention, sustenance and shelter before nightfall. Hador worked like a man possessed. He tasked four monks and Soren with bringing all the survivors to the same space of grass where the first man still lay, now bandaged and asleep under Orman’s watchful eyes.

One well remained unspoiled and Orman was able to draw up sufficient water from it to wash any wounds, which he then bandaged with cloth strips ripped from anything he could find. Hador worked with the horses to pull aside a particular pile of rubble, for reasons that Soren did not at all understand until the monk had finished. In the middle of the cracked flagstones, he had exposed laid a heavy slab set with a large metal ring.

Once more, he lashed ropes to the horses, tied the other end to the ring and urged them on. Slowly but surely the slab inched up until they were able to drag it away to expose a gaping hole in the ground, where stairs could be seen fading into inky blackness. Drooping with fatigue, Hador stopped the horses with a quick word and sunk into the hole. Soon after, a warm glow came from within and minutes later, he came bounding up the stairs, new life in his step contrasting the deep hollows beneath his eyes.

“The cellars are intact!” he said jubilantly. “What’s more, our brothers have saved the library and many of our greatest sacred items. They are all stored down there in the older rooms. Most importantly for now, they will shelter us during the night – there are tables and benches we can use for beds and the cold stores and larders are brimming with food and medicines!”

Hador leapt down into the hole to return moments later with a stretcher. Whilst the others continued working, Hador and Soren ferried injured men into the cellar vaults. When it became clear that there were no more survivors left, the other monks joined them.

Whilst one sat by the trapdoor on watch, the others created temporary beds on any surface they could find, made poultices, fetched water and provided drinks and food for any of their injured comrades who were conscious. In total, they had recovered forty-seven men from the grounds, but to their despair, the abbot could not be found.

~

Dusk was almost upon them when a cry from above froze them all. Hador and Soren rushed upstairs to see two silhouetted figures on horseback approaching, one oddly large and distorted. He felt mild relief that it was two people and not Zaki’s soldiers returning. With a sudden jolt, Soren realised it could be Edmund.

He shouted and waved to the figures and one raised a hand in return, yet they did not speed their horses up from a slow walk. A sense of foreboding crept over him as he waited for them to approach. At his side, Hador’s pallor was ashen.

The riders emerged through the low light, and the bulky figure became clearer. It was indeed Edmund, but there seemed to be something on the back of his horse – brown rags and then a flash of pale skin – Soren realised with horror it was a body. He dreaded to think who it was. He had an inkling that he hoped was wrong.

Hador dropped to his knees and bowed to the ground with tears erupting from his eyes as Soren watched Edmund and an unfamiliar monk dismount and reverently lower the limp form of the abbot to the ground.

Eve

Feeling deliciously clean, Eve prepared herself with care. That evening she sat at the top table on Artora’s left hand. It felt good to be washed and dressed well after the previous days and she grimaced at the memory of the state of her riding clothes. She was dressed in a simple though elegant long-sleeved, green dress, embroidered in gold. However seated beside Artora, she felt eclipsed by the queen’s effortless beauty and powerful presence.

A few others joined them, although the seat to Artora’s right stood empty. Eve wondered who sat there but dared not ask. Luke and Nyle were seated near the far end of the room, though Eve felt secretly glad to not have to talk to them at all let alone all evening.

“Tonight we welcome special guests.” Artora stood up to announce. “To Lady Eve of Arlyn, and her escorts, welcome.” Eve smiled self-consciously, as Artora picked up her delicate glass, raised it into the air and drank a sip from it.

Everyone rose as one to copy her; Eve, Luke and Nyle scrambled to join them. Pale golden liquid flowed hotly down Eve’s throat with an invigorating sensation.

“Oh!” she remarked in surprise.

Artora chuckled. “We make that ourselves, and rather strongly I must admit. It is rather heady to an unfamiliar tongue!”

The meal was served and Eve tucked in with gusto to a variety of meats and vegetables, savouring the rich and varied tastes and textures, which made the best of meals after dry and tasteless travelling foods.

Artora was a skillful host and enquired about her travels and her home, yet Eve was half-hearted in her involvement; she felt out of place and still undecided about what to do.

“You’re not enjoying this fully are you?” Artora murmured to her.

“I’m sorry! The food is lovely, everything is lovely,” stammered Eve. “But...”

“I understand, dear cousin.” Artora smiled. “I gave you much to think about today, and then even more besides. It is no wonder you are distracted. However, I could teach you a great many things to help you if you wish. Will you accompany me tomorrow morning? I shall instruct you on the art of magic and the history of the Eldarkind?”

Eve hesitated, so Artora persuasively continued.

“I understand some of the human perceptions of magic, Eve. It is not an evil thing, although it can be used for evil. It can also be used, as it is by us, as a great force of good. To have the skill of magic makes you neither a better nor worse person, until you choose how to use it. Do not be swayed by the perceptions of others, but choose yourself,” she cautioned. “I will send someone for you tomorrow morning.”

Conversation turned once more to lighter things, as those present sought the attention of the new arrivals, until the meal had run its course and was done. Artora dismissed the guests and led Eve, Luke and Nyle back to their quarters. Eve’s head swum from the strong drinks and the whirlwind of introductions and conversations.

“Luke, Nyle, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Ednor,” Artora said as they strolled down the corridors.

“Your Majesty,” acknowledged Nyle.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” murmured Luke.

The queen smiled.

“I apologise for not welcoming you both earlier. It is quite rare to have humans visit us here, so your presence is somewhat a novelty. However, I shall be unable to host you personally. I have business to tend to with the Lady Eve until she departs. Meanwhile, I grant you the freedom of Ednor. Do what you wish; we have many beautiful things to see and experience.”

“Your Majesty,” said Nyle, puzzled. “We have neither money nor the ability to speak in your tongue.”

“I shall send an escort with you wherever you roam to act as a translator. Your expenses may be charged to my household.”

Luke thanked her, his eyes wide.

Nyle bowed his head.

Eve perceived his frown, though she did not remark upon it.

The queen left them near their chambers and with a quick “good night,” Eve slipped into her own and locked the door for the night, as Luke turned to speak to her. Nyle strode into his own room, leaving Luke dithering in the corridor.

He knocked on the door.

Her voice called from within. “Who is it?”

“Luke. May we talk?” he asked, when she did not reply.

She paused – so long he probably thought her to be ignoring him – but the metal lock clicked open as she held the door ajar, peering out from behind it whilst she waited for him to speak. She had already unpinned her hair and it tumbled roughly over her shoulders.

“You looked beautiful tonight my lady,” he addressed her formally.

She coloured, unsure how to respond. “Thank you.” She hid behind a curtain of hair.

Luke cleared his throat. “How long are we to stay in Ednor?”

“I can’t answer,” Eve said. “There’s much to be done.”

Luke waited for her to expand upon her words. It was not forthcoming. “I see.” He filled the silence. “Well, in that case it’s late, so I’ll bid you good night.” He smiled at her.

“Good night,” she replied and hastily shut and bolted the door. That was odd, she thought to herself, but it was late and she felt too tired to think at all. Soon she was asleep as Ednor fell silent around her.

~

The following day, Eve sat once more in Artora’s office. She had been given fresh clothes; a simple white shift with a blue kirtle, whilst Artora was once more clothed in pants and a shirt to Eve’s admiration. She would have preferred similar attire, but the alternative was her stinking riding gear, which in any case had disappeared from her room the previous night.

“Thank you for joining me,” said Artora, who rose to greet her. “I see no point in wasting time, as we are both unsure as to how long you will remain here. Firstly then, I shall tell you the history of the Eldarkind.” She rested her forearms upon the back of her chair as she gazed over Eve’s head.

“The world was created millions of years ago, although we do not know how it came to be. I know you humans have your deities; we on the other hand, prefer to speculate,” Artora began.

“Upon the earth lived the elementals. There were many; fire and water, light and dark, air and earth, peace and war, love and hate, life and death all came together and thus the world was born. But, it was empty and barren. The elementals of fire put their warmth into the rocks so it would live and the elementals of water clothed its surface in waters so it would be nourished. The elementals of the earth put down soil so that things could grow and the elementals of air wrapped it all in sky so that the planet could breathe. Light and dark came together to create a daily dance of sun and moon and spun the world around the sun to give it the changing seasons. Yet the world was still empty and barren.

“And so the elementals fashioned living beings to inhabit the world. The water was lonely, and so of the water they created all the sea life, to swim through its depths and please it. The earth was silent, and so they filled it with plants so that it could resonate with their growth and life. The elementals combined all of their skills to make each of the species that inhabit the world in the air, on the earth, and in the water. However, each elemental wanted their special part to be represented best of all in the world and so they did not stop.

“Fire secretly created the dragons and gave his powers to them; they were fearsome gigantic creatures who could breathe and control fire. Water created leviathans of the deep, so large they could consume any ship that sails the seas today and she gave them the freedom of the oceans. Air created the greatest of the giant birds who could truly explore her skies with their wings and Earth made the insects and creatures that could burrow though his soil better than any other beings.

“Peace, War, Love and Hate, being of lesser power and substance than their counterparts, came together to make the human race who would share all their passions and, because of their gifts, it was this species that they made more intelligent than the others. The humans multiplied, learned to talk, trade, coexist and build societies. They worshipped the elementals that faded quickly in their short generations to myths rather than realities as they retreated from knowledge.

“Their love and hate was expressed in peace, but also in war. It was clear that the planet would not survive under their dominion and the elementals despaired. And so it was agreed that Death would bestow his powers upon all life to limit man’s dominion, or the rise and dominion of any other race subsequently. The elementals had given life to all the creatures across the entire world; Death gave them mortality so that their lives would be finite and in this he sacrificed himself utterly.

“The world became more balanced. Although the race of man still had the uppermost hand of all creatures, creatures coexisted after that in harmony.” Artora shifted. Her gaze flicked to Eve, who listened, entranced.

“And so the elementals diminished,” she continued, “to whence we know not. However, to be sure of the world’s future in their absence, for they did not want it to fail after so much of their efforts, they came together in their decline once more to create a single race that could guard over all. In this race, they poured all of their honed skills.

“They made it a fair race with lives near immortal – for death could no longer take them into the void as easily as he once had done – and magic flowing through their veins so that they had the power to care for the world. In this race, the elementals instilled goodness so that they would never be tempted to ruin the world with their powers. It was thus that the Eldarkind came to be; it is said in the image of the elementals and using their language. We cared for the world and its creatures and kept the balance between all things as we still do now.” At this, Eve’s mouth fell open.

“It has been tens of thousands of years now and our powers have slowly declined since the pact we made with the dragons thousands of years ago. We are no longer immortal as we once were. There is a sickness in the world growing with time that even we cannot heal and our long lives wane and our powers fade as they drain to try to remedy it. Our kind has dwindled to a former shadow of what it once was.

“Nevertheless, I suppose compared to man we have lives that are far longer; several spans at least and we retain more than enough magic. Petty human politics aside, that is the history of the world.” Artora observed Eve’s face as the young woman tried to comprehend her words.

“So elementals and dragons are real..?” she dared to ask, “And magic and mythical creatures?”

“Quite.”

“What is the pact that you spoke of?” asked Eve. “Is that the reason your magic is fading?”

“No, it is not the reason our magic is fading. The diminishing of our powers is partly due to time. It has been so very long and magic has a tendency to spread itself about. Alas, we cannot keep it to ourselves it would seem!” The queen smiled at some inner joke, but the light upon her face faded. “There is a growing darkness in the world, so black that even we cannot fathom it with our magic and it seems to be causing our powers to wane faster than should be the case. We have noted a much quicker decline in recent generations. It is a great worry in our minds.

“Of mythical creatures, they are quite real and nearer than you may think. As humans spread throughout the land and across the seas, the leviathans of the deep that had become lonely and dumb and angry over the eons were not their friends. Many hundreds of men would die when the sea monsters rose to claim a ship – such a waste of life – and ere long we knew we had to act.

“We banished the sea monsters to the deeps. There they live now. Perhaps it was not our finest action. We were intended to be impartial to all of the species but I fear our similarities with the humans, our weaker cousins, bred a sense of protectiveness that we could not ignore.

“In a similar fashion, the dragons infringed on the human lands. As the humans grew their settlements, they took for their own livestock the animals they still farm now – sheep, cows, fowl, deer and so on. The humans also prospered financially, mining precious ores from the land and becoming skilled in fashioning works of great art and value from them.

“The dragons coveted their wealth and tamed livestock that was effortless for them to hunt. Their coming was inevitable. Soon, the humans found to their cost that here was an enemy they could not slay. Dragons have very few weak points in their hardened scales and they are most determined.

“Again, we aided the humans. We tried to banish the dragons to their strongholds – fire mountains and hot deserts – as we had done with the sea beasts. Unlike the sea beasts however, the dragons were too clever and we were forced into a mutual agreement. They would leave the human territories if we would do the same.

“It was a difficult decision, but it seemed we had no option. The war was costly to both sides and even with our magic we could not presume to defeat creatures also made from the very flesh of the elementals, especially those as wily as the dragons. They knew that.

“The solution, before we both tore each other’s races to extinction was to accept. We did this with one caveat; if the world is threatened, we must come together to protect it. Caledan’s ruling line was created. The kings and queens were guarded with the magic of the Eldarkind and the power of the dragons, ready to awaken should the need arise. The Kingdom of Caledan was born and the Eldarkind and the dragons faded into legends and petty fairy tales though we are both as present and real as ever.”

“This is amazing,” said Eve in hushed tones. “To think all these years of hearing about all those legends and stories that really live on. I wonder if I will ever see a dragon.”

“Well, given the strife in the kingdom, which I will soon be forced to act upon as no doubt will they, there is every chance you will do,” remarked Artora, to Eve’s great excitement.

“Where are the dragons now?” Eve asked.

Soren

The long night stretched before them as, sleep deprived, Soren and his companions cared for the injured men. More slipped away into the void and as the dawn sun peered over the trees in a red haze, those tending to the sick wandered blank eyed and increasingly quiescent. Hador beckoned to Edmund and Soren and drew them away and above ground. Seated amongst the wreckage of the monastery, they said little.

Hador eventually spoke, his voice weary. “You must leave,” he said. “They or others may return to loot the place. You cannot be here if they do so.”

Soren and Edmund looked at each other. “Where are we to go?” mused Edmund.

“There’s something I did not tell you,” admitted Soren. He told Edmund of the abbot’s dream, whilst Hador listened in silence.

Edmund was pensive and the pause lengthened. “So we must search for dragons then,” he murmured wondrously. “What a pity he did not tell you where they are to be found.”

“I believe he gave me a clue, whether he meant to or not; I think we must look to the east for the crown,” Soren explained.

“I would agree with you,” said Hador. His words surprised Soren. “The abbot recounted his dream to me and I inferred much the same conclusion when I mulled it over. Seek the dragons and you may find the crown.”

Edmund pulled out his weather worn map of Caledan and the surrounding lands, laying it upon an almost flat-topped boulder. Almost in the centre lay Pandora and to the north their present location. He placed his finger upon that point and traced it eastwards, murmuring as he went.

“Where would we find them though? The forest stretches east from here – what of the Helm Mountains?” Edmund asked.

“I think not.” Hador shook his head. “We would know if there were dragons hereabouts. Think of the stories at the very least; of livestock and child stealing terrors of the night. We have no such tales here.”

Edmund continued his path across the map. “Then there are the open moors and wastes beneath the gap to the north and I think not much would choose to live there – too open, too bare. The Grey Mountains?”

Hador shook his head, though with less conviction. “Caledan’s people live on both sides of those peaks and there are no reports of dragons there; I do not think they would remain so hidden. Think of the uproar there would be if they resided there! Perhaps once upon a time they did, but now I think not.”

“Then there is just the sea,” said Edmund. He traced his finger up and down the coast and squinted at the tiny writing that labelled the sparse towns and villages there.

“What about Kotyir?” Hador said.

Edmund found the point on his map. Far to the east of them and to the north lay an unobtrusive archipelago of islands, historically named the Isles of Kotyir.

They were so unknown and unexplored that they were on the edge of the map as an afterthought; several tiny markings no bigger than a fingernail. Past them lay vast leagues of sea and beyond, the complete unknown.

“I know little of them,” Edmund confessed. His estates were in the south of Caledan and he had never visited the area, he explained.

“I may do,” said Hador with a frown. “My home town lays across the Grey Mountains, south of that region, though I know a little of them. Travellers from the north around those parts have a special name for those islands. They call them the Dragon Isles.” Soren exclaimed, but Hador raised a hand to quiet him.

“Do not jump to that conclusion,” Hador said, “for those are volcanic island that belch out fire and smoke and are dragons in themselves. Perhaps there is be more to that name than ever I thought. Certainly no one dwells or travels near them.”

“It is as good a lead as any we have as to where the crown may be.” Soren tried to gauge Edmund’s mood.

“You are not safe here, Soren,” Edmund said. “I fear this is the path we should take, although it will be long, arduous and dangerous.”

Within hours they rode east through the forest. Hador sent them on with blessings and provisions, and all those able to move came above ground to bid them farewell. Even those who had seemed so hostile to him in the days before seemed genuinely saddened to see him go, which puzzled Soren. He wondered whether it had been his efforts in helping their fallen that had caused their dislike to lessen.

Using little known tracks, Soren and Edmund travelled east and south through the vast forest. They spoke little and rhythmic drum of hooves lulled them into a tired stupor. Before long, the well-marked track disappeared and they rode through wide spaced trees in a light and airy part of the forest, keeping their bearing by the sun’s place. The mountains to the north fell away in the distance, until had they flown above the forest, the entire world would have seemed to be an ocean of trees.

~

It was the following evening, where, with a rapid decline in density, the forest gave way to the empty plains that stretched all the way from the frozen tundra beyond the Helm Mountains almost down to Pandora. They camped that night just within the forest. The abbot’s death had weighed on Soren’s guilt-ridden shoulders during their ride. He was not sure how to broach the subject with Edmund.

A distance grown between them in the silence of their ride, each man mulling over his troubled thoughts. As they sat in a small hollow in the forest, each with a back to a tree and the horses picketed nearby, dusk closed in around their still and silent forms.

“We must talk, Edmund,” stated the prince, his voice loud in the quiet forest.

Soren was almost invisible in the darkness, so Edmund quickly ignited a lamp with a flint and some dry tinder.

“Do not think I haven’t noticed your worry,” Edmund said. “Talk with me.”

“I cannot think what to say,” Soren said, with a shake of his head. He took a few moments to consider. Edmund did not press him to break the silence. “I watched the monastery being destroyed on Zaki’s orders and it made me stop and think; how many people have to die because of others?

“I suppose I began to question whether what I’m doing is right,” Soren said in a low voice. “I feel guilty that the abbot and his men had to die so that I might live. What’s the point of it all Edmund? All this discord and fighting and pettiness – what’s it all for? Why should others die for me?”

“You are our rightful king,” replied Edmund as if the matter were that simple.

“And that justifies people dying for me? Being heir to the throne does not make me deserving of that, or even the throne.”

“And it is good that you consider that,” said Edmund, “but do you think that your uncle would be a better ruler than you?”

“That’s what I can’t decide,” murmured Soren. He looked away.

“You cannot consider that he would prove better?” said Edmund, vehement.

“And you would not consider it at all?” retorted Soren. They fell into silence for some minutes again. “Zaki aside,” he said at last, “I have to consider my own fitness for the role. For all of my life I have been a prince who would someday become king, as surely as the sun rises each day. Yet, I’ve never stopped to think about what that means.

“Being king means that I will affect every person’s life in this kingdom and perhaps far beyond its borders; my choices will change lives perhaps or perhaps not for the better. My choices could kill people. They already have. I’ve stayed on this path because it’s been my life and all I’ve known, but now it’s all gone: my family, everything. Now, I only have myself left and I’m not sure who I am.” The words came tumbling out as Edmund listened, barely moving.

“I am realising that I cannot go back to that life again. None of this can be erased. I don’t know if I can live with the consequences of controlling other people’s lives. Would I sacrifice another monastery full of good men for what I believe in? My conscience would not allow it. I have been frightened and grieving and confused, but this has made me realise that I cannot run from my choices and I will have to decide sooner or later whether this is worth it for the sake of those around me. If it is in the interest of the kingdom that I not pursue the throne, then I would honour that.”

“What do you believe in?” Edmund questioned the prince, who took a deep breath before he replied.

“I would like to believe that peace in Caledan could be restored, so that every man woman and child doesn’t have to live in fear of Zaki. I would like to believe that I can make that peace,” Soren added in a softer voice, “but I’m not sure if I can. I’m not sure if the cost is too high.”

“They are just goals, Soren. No man is perfect,” said Edmund. “But the value in him is that he always tries his best. If you were to take the throne and possess that power, would you?”

“Of course,” replied Soren.

“Well, why should you not be a good ruler?” challenged his companion. “You want to do good things for the benefit of your people. Why would that make you anything less than the finest kings in your lineage?”

“What of my uncle?” asked Soren. “Surely he believes in his motives just as strongly as I do in mine?”

“Perhaps he does, but do you think they are as altruistic as yours? He covets the throne for his own gain. Moreover, what of your sister? Can you guarantee her safe conduct or even your own if you relinquish the throne to your uncle? Do not assume that someone else other than you could and will step up to be a better ruler. The kingdom at present has two choices and no other: yourself, or Zaki.

“Besides the fact that you are both of the royal bloodline and thus both have the right, Zaki would not permit anyone else to rise so high; he would crush them before he saw them make a claim to the throne. So you must make the choice, not based on your merit compared to that of every other living person, but on your merit when placed beside your uncle. From his actions so far, and who you understand him to be as a person, do you think he will be the better ruler?”

“I had not considered it as such,” murmured Soren, “with just he and I in contention. But, I can see the sense of your argument. No, I don’t think he would make the better ruler. I cannot know if he would act in the best interest of others, after how he has already acted.”

I really have no choice for now, Soren realised. If I ever want to see my sister again; if I ever want to live without constant fear of my safety in exile; if I want to be sure that the kingdom is in the hands of one who will respect and protect it, then I have no choice. It has to be me.

“So you will pursue the throne, whatever the cost?” asked Edmund.

“I will,” said Soren, after a moment’s hesitation. He felt strangely calm and sure of himself for the first time. “I don’t want anyone else to die for me, yet Zaki must be brought to justice for what he has done and I cannot let him claim the throne for fear of what he may do. I could not abandon my sister and flee like a coward in any case; I have to try for her sake.” He frowned, but Edmund’s smile was radiant.

“You have grown much more in this time than I would have thought possible, Soren. You already have the makings of a great king,” Edmund said proudly, to Soren’s surprise and pleasure.

“I am most happy that I have your confidence and support,” Soren replied. “I fear I’ll need many more like you before I’m to confront Zaki with any hope of success.” I have no idea where to find such allies. I pray they materialise. I can imagine Zaki’s amusement if I rode up to the gates of Pandora alone and bedraggled on my horse. He would surely laugh at me before he killed me.

“We may find allies where we least expect it,” said Edmund, who must have sensed his concern, “so do not despair quite yet.”

The atmosphere between them disintegrated. The niggling doubt that had occupied his mind since their flight from Pandora had vanished at last.

Zaki

It was a bitter return to Pandora. Zaki clattered through the almost deserted late evening streets in a foul mood, driving his exhausted horse as his company straggled far behind him. He reached the citadel alone, abandoned his mount in the courtyard, stormed into the castle and scattered surprised servants with orders to summon the council.

As he awaited them in the council chamber, dirty and travel stained, his mood brewed further discontent until they finally assembled about the vast table.

“How do preparations for my coronation proceed?” Zaki asked Behan. He needed some good news to cool his rage.

“Very well, Your Royal Highness,” Behan replied. “It will be held two days hence if that is agreeable. We await the final arrangements.”

“It will be a grand affair?”

“Naturally, sir.” Master treasurer Lord Asquith cut in. “The coffers have been replenished with the seizure of traitors’ assets, so the event will be magnificent.”

“Good,” replied Zaki, ever curt. He drummed his fingers upon the table. “You will need to source me the finest crown in the vaults, Lord Steward,” Zaki ordered, “and organise that Pandora’s archbishop conducts the ceremony.” He rose to leave but could not miss the shared look between Behan and Lord Heligan sat across the table from him. “Do you have an opinion to share on that?” he asked them.

Behan coloured. “No, sir. I merely wondered if the absence of the crown will be a setback. Historically…”

“History is in the past,” Zaki said through gritted teeth, “and will bear no reflection on my reign. A crown is a crown and the finest we have will be more than adequate.”

“As you wish, sir,” Behan replied. Zaki had already left without a backwards glance.

~

The council exchanged glances nervously.

“Are we missing something?” Asquith looked quizzically at Reynard, who exhaled in resignation.

“He did not retrieve the crown from the monastery. The boy – Soren – we heard rumours that he sheltered there, yet we turned over every single stone and found not one trace of him or the crown. Needless to say, Zaki is not well pleased.”

“Why does the abbot not come to conduct the coronation as he usually is wont to do?” Behan asked.

Reynard regarded him with a calculating look – there was no love lost between the two men – before he answered to the room at large. “The abbot is dead.”

~

The archbishop stood with his back towards the congregation as he watched Zaki climb onto the dais with slow, measured paces. Zaki arrived before the looming stone figure of the dragon. It crouched over the throne, hiding it from view beneath the impenetrable sweep of its frozen wings.

A deep silence filled the vaulted space as the watching crowd collectively held its breath and waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. The dragon did not even twitch.

Zaki beckoned the archbishop forward with a sharp gesture. He hurried to obey and climbed up onto the dais with as much grace as he could muster. Pages scrambled after him, far less graceful under the weight of their burdens. The archbishop, beads of sweat beginning to roll down his anxious face, swept the grand purple mantle of kingship around Zaki’s shoulders with a flourish and fastened it with the golden clasp.

Fur lining trailed upon the floor and stroked Zaki’s neck as he began to feel uncomfortably warm. He looked into the crowd – a blinding sea of upturned faces – until Demara caught his gaze from the front row. She smiled at him, but his face seemed to have frozen and would not respond.

The archbishop knelt at Zaki’s feet to offer him the royal ceremonial sword – the honour and chivalry of Caledan – which Zaki accepted. He then received the golden sceptre that denoted his right to rule, which was set with a fist sized gleaming diamond said to represent truth and integrity.

The archbishop charged him to rule in line with the law and Zaki repeated the promises of kingship to those waiting, whilst the dragon throne stood cold and dark behind him. He knelt at the archbishop’s feet as the final page approached, bearing the last plump velvet cushion upon which balanced the finest crown contained within the royal vaults.

A slight murmur arose as the silken cover that concealed the crown fluttered to the ground, revealing it for the first time. Golden, set with precious metals and jewels, it was magnificent and yet unexpected. Silence fell as he rose to his feet.

“I present to you on this joyous day His Majesty King Zaki of Caledan, first of his name!” shouted the archbishop to the congregation. “Long live the king!”

“Long live the king!” the crown obediently roared back. Cheers broke from outside, the chant taken up and repeated throughout the city, however in the cathedral silence fell once more as those gathered waited for the throne to accept the new king. Zaki met Demara’s gaze again and she smiled at him encouragingly.

He turned, bowed on bended knee to the stone dragon and held himself low. His closed eyes opened, confused. He rose and stood. His hands shook. The dragon loomed before him. The throne was still lost to him under the protective cage of its wings. It remained unmoving.

Whispers and then murmurs began to rise from the crowd, silenced when he turned to face them. The realisation dawned. The throne had refused him. He could not begin to contemplate what this could mean – not at this moment. He stepped forward.

“I need no grand throne,” he proclaimed far more bravely than he felt. “A simple chair will suffice.” He called forward the archbishop. “Fetch me a damn chair,” he hissed, “and have them pay allegiance to me!” The archbishop hastened to comply and he was seated within seconds, his mantle draped around him.

First of all came Demara, who knelt at his feet to kiss his hands and swear allegiance to him. A trailing line of his noble subjects followed her as Zaki locked a smile upon his face and suppressed his growing doubts.

Demara

The cheering had subsided as Demara left the cathedral and the atmosphere felt less than jubilant. The people did not clap or call to her as she passed, as she would have expected. Instead, they watched her and spoke in hushed tones.

Demara hurried into the first of the waiting open-topped carriages, helped up by her ever present maids, who adjusted her dress and fur lined cloak as she perched upon the cushioned seats. Trying not to shiver – the day seemed cold and the breeze brisk – Demara sat erect and poised.

She smiled to the crowd and waved gracefully to them as the carriage set off to return to the palace, puzzled when the crowd did not respond with enthusiasm. “I do not understand. What has happened?” she asked her maids through her gleaming smile.

Her maids did not reply. They sat demurely and quiet opposite her.

“I see that something is not right. I command you to tell me what it is,” Demara said.

“If it please you, ma’am.” Joslyn leaned across to speak to her. “The coronation wasn’t exactly as expected. Not very traditional,” she tried to explain as Demara ceased waving to the crowd and fixed her eyes upon the maid. “The people will wonder that the abbot of the northern monastery didn’t conduct the ceremony as he ought to and they will wonder why Pri- King Zaki doesn’t wear the crown of the dragon kings, but ma’am please forgive me, I only say what they will be saying…” She trailed off.

“Tell me.” Demara glared.

“The dragon throne should have accepted him.” Joslyn rushed. “There’s a throne hid under the wings of the stone dragon. It’s magic! No one knows how it happens. The dragon’s still for years and years, but when the king or queen dies it moves and covers up the throne. When the new king or queen gets crowned, the stone dragon’s supposed to move and allow them to sit the throne. But this time, it didn’t.”

“What does this mean?” She didn’t understand the girl’s garbled story but Joslyn’s words at least confirmed her fear that something untoward had occurred.

“It might mean nothing, ma’am, it’s just that people are superstitious and think it might be bad luck,” Joslyn replied. “I’m sorry if I worried you ma’am.”

The carriage jerked to a halt outside the castle. Demara disembarked and withdrew to her quarters. “I do not require your services any more today,” she said as brightly as she could to Joslyn, who curtsied and left. She held up a hand to stay Seline as she made to leave.

“Not you, Seline. I need you.” Demara slowly lowered herself onto a cushioned chair and stared out of the window.

“Are you well, my lady?” asked Seline.

“I do not know,” replied Demara, downcast. “I know that you will understand me Seline, as no one else here will. I miss our homeland. These Caledonians and their ways are so strange sometimes. I worry that I will never belong here.”

“Hush, my lady, do not worry yourself with these things,” Seline said. She smiled at Demara as she sat at her feet. “You are the new queen of Caledan; surely that is wonderful! No one should make you feel unworthy, for you are greater than them all.”

Demara smiled faintly. “Queen. I never expected to be queen. It does not feel quite real, I must confess, though perhaps it will when I am crowned on the morrow. I cannot see that the people will receive me well though, given the reception they have shown my husband. I worry that we are not secure.” Seline tried to soothe her but Demara silenced her with a wave. “I worry about everything now I am with child. I wish I were home.”

“I wish that too, my lady,” Seline admitted quietly. “It is cold here and unfriendly. I miss the warm sun and the long days of Roher with all my heart.” They both fell silent, remembering their homeland. “Will you journey there for the birth?” Seline asked.

Demara frowned. “I know not. I suppose my child will be the heir to Caledan’s throne. I am not sure if I would be allowed to leave. Perhaps I could return for a while afterwards. I have not seen my home since before I married. I know this should be my home now but I do not belong with these people. I do not trust them.” She rubbed her stomach. The growing bump was solid beneath her hands. “Will you summon Tomas for me?” she asked Seline.

“Ambassador Delgado? Of course, my lady,” Seline scrambled to her feet.

Within the hour she returned, out of breath and red faced. “He comes now, my lady.”

“Thank you Seline.” Demara favoured the girl with a smile. “Send away my other ladies. I tire of them. I wish for just your company tonight.”

“Of course, my lady.” Seline bobbed and left as the Roherii ambassador Ser Tomas Delgado entered.

“Your Majesty.” Tomas bowed low to her.

“Come Tomas, I am ever who I was.” She beckoned him forward to sit beside her, whilst she shared her worries.

“I have come from the coronation procession just now, my lady and I see no reason why you should be concerned,” Tomas said. “The crowd seemed eager to see their new king and he has made sure to guard the city well; there were many soldiers to line the route and keep the peace.”

“I worry that I am not safe here, nor my child, because the coronation did not proceed as it ought to have done,” she replied.

“If you seek my opinion, my lady, I would counsel you to remain positive, especially in light of your present condition. Do not overtax yourself. I will keep you informed if there is anything to be concerned by, so you can assume that if you hear nought from me that all is well.”

“Thank you, Tomas.” Demara smiled at him to conceal the worry that had not dissipated with his words. “I am sure you are right.”

Eve

“Can you think of nowhere they would be?” Artora challenged her to think.

Eve thought for a moment whilst poring over the map and recalling her thorough geography education. As she ruminated over the clues the queen had given her, her lips formed a surprised ‘Oh’ as she realised.

“Precisely,” said the queen as Eve pointed to the map. “The volcanic islands of Kotyir to the east are not known by some as the dragon isles for no reason. That is where some of them still dwell.”

“What else can you tell me?” Eve asked.

“Perhaps now would be the time to give you a brief insight into magic?” Artora offered, to Eve’s instant agreement.

They stepped through double doors into the garden and began to wander towards the mountains. Eve squinted at her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

“Magic in Caledan is not well known and deemed not to exist by the population as more than a fairytale,” Artora said. “As our most powerful weapon, it is a secret of the highest order. Although there are tales of our magical abilities, they are deemed to be as fanciful as the existence of dragons due to the fact that we have been hidden from the world for so very long.

“Magic itself can be described as the manipulation of pure energy that can be performed by will. It takes practice to master but can be used in complex ways and on a vast scale. Energy is not used up by magic use; it complies with the laws of matter and transforms from one form to another. Fundamentally, nothing is gained or lost and an overall equilibrium is maintained.”

Eve nodded, not quite understanding as Artora continued.

“However, magic is not straightforward to use nor accessible by anyone; only the Eldarkind were given such powers and so only those with some remnant of our blood flowing through their veins will be able to use magic. For example, the monarchy contains our blood to some degree through intermarrying in the earlier days and every now and then, a member of the bloodline will express some proficiency with magic, although for the most part it is a dormant skill. Mortals in the population with diluted forms of our bloodline can also express magic to some small degree.

“It is possible, although much rarer for any other unrelated being to use magic. It is unclear how they are able to do so. Such gifts of power appear to occur randomly and spontaneously and thankfully their powers are weak and so they cannot do much harm if their skills emerge. If they have great skills, we find and train them personally,” she explained.

“Most ordinary folk with such affinities to magic tend to find themselves as very proficient healers, carers and craftspeople. You though should be capable of using magic,” she glanced at Eve, “because you are a daughter of the Eldarkind. The blood should flow almost as strongly through you as it did in your mother and if your looks are anything to go by, I would think there is a very strong likelihood that you also have her powers.” Eve listened, enthralled. They wandered away from the garden and across the meadows, climbing towards the wooded slopes.

“So, I have described to you what magic is and who may use it, but I have not described how to use it. It is an odd thing to describe. Magic can be felt in the mind like a stream of raw energy, ever present, laying dormant. It can be sensed most keenly at times of high passion – anger, joy, sadness, fear and so on.

“The stream of energy is accessed, controlled and directed simultaneously by its own language and thought, so that one may not think or speak something separately and invoke magic. Instead, most magic users must speak and have focused thought for a manipulation of energy to occur.

“In rare cases without great training, and also in childhood, magic can be used without words in situations of stress. It is possible for highly trained and skilled magic users to mentally speak, rather than physically and still have the same desired effect; however this is something that takes enormous levels of practice to undertake successfully.

“The language of magic is the language the elementals left the Eldarkind and so we speak with their tongue to heal the world around us. This language is one that describes the true name for each object in the world and this is how it is able to link the manipulation of anything to one’s desire.

“The Eldar tongue is innately known from birth, but is awoken at a later stage – anywhere from childhood to adulthood – depending on the circumstances. It will sleep until awakened and could indeed never awaken in a person.

“Although the Eldarkind speak this language as their mother tongue, until one awakens in the magical sense and is able to reach out to that stream of energy, the language is dead on their tongue and merely a form of speech. We must also be careful, once we do awaken magically, to speak this language without directed thought unless we intend to use magic. Otherwise, this can result in unfortunate consequences if magic is used accidentally! This is something we all learn to control when we come into our skills. Perhaps this would be easier for you as your mother tongue is not the Eldar tongue.

“The Eldar tongue itself allows communication between us and all other species excepting humans, who do not understand it because they have already evolved their own complex languages. Even though the dragons are much more intelligent than other creatures in general, they are also able to understand the language and this is their primary tongue when they choose to communicate with words, which occurs in dragon to Eldarkind communication, rather than with images or sounds, which occurs in communication between dragons. They can speak in the human tongue also, although we are not sure how.

“Speakers of the Eldar tongue on a basic level are able to gauge animal emotions and on a higher level communicate in a detailed fashion although the animals are unable to speak to us in return and instead use their usual forms of verbal and nonverbal communication, which users of the language can recognise and decode with practice.

“Magic is not a plaything though. Although it opens up to us a great world of possibilities and allows us to reach out to any living being, magic is not something to use carelessly. Sustained magic use is limited by concentration, willpower, and mental and physical strength. No task greater than one’s own strength should be attempted.

“The manipulation of energy requires your own body’s life and strength to control, until you are skilled enough to successfully and subtly extract such energy from the surrounding environment to fuel your intentions. This dissuades from foolish spell casting, as you cannot use more energy than you possess to cast a spell. If you did, your very life force and physical form would be burnt up to feed the spell, which ends when it is completed, or the energy source from the magic user has completely run out.

“Magic is limited also by the knowledge of language in that particular tongue. Of course this is not an issue for Eldarkind where this is the spoken tongue and it is so innate in the strength of our blood, but it is a limitation in more diluted forms in the general population, whose innate knowledge is incomplete and warped. It is worthy to note that use of the language and directed thought by non-magical individuals produces no magical effects; they cannot access the energy stream to facilitate it.

“So you can do anything you want?” asked Eve.

“Theoretically, yes, although only the elementals possessed vast enough strength to be nearly limitless in their powers. Not even we possess either infinite knowledge or strength, even as a collective,” Artora said.

Eve was silent for a while, trying to digest all that she had heard, whilst Artora observed her. “You said that it is likely that I am able to use magic. Are you sure?”

Artora dipped her head in silent confirmation.

“But I don’t feel anything. This energy stream you spoke of, I don’t feel it. And when I heard your people speaking in their language, it made no sense; I understood none of it. Surely that means it is not possible?”

Artora shook her head. “Eve, the signs point to your abilities and I would be astounded if your powers never awoke. It is often the case that magic does not awaken until adulthood and I believe it lays dormant within you. One moment you will be as you are and the next, it will be as if you have awoken in a new life. Perhaps you are not ready to awaken or have not met the event which is destined to awaken your powers.” She saw Eve’s dismayed face.

“Eve, remember what I said yesterday evening. Magic, or any other skill for that matter, does not make you evil unless you choose to use it thusly. It is a great gift, and I am confident that when the time comes, you will bear it with the appropriate sensibility.”

“Perhaps I can accept that,” said Eve. She bit her lip. “Does this mean I am some kind of immortal? I don’t want to have to live forever if all those around me will fade.”

“Alas, that I do not know and cannot guarantee,” admitted Artora. “Given past precedents, one who is half human and half Eldarkind usually has a lifespan not quite as long as ours, but far longer than that of a human.”

At that Eve was silent.

“It is hard as an outsider to come to terms with the possibility of a life longer than those you love and it is not something you should be expected to reconcile with, especially at your young age. I would suggest you think as little of it as you can. You have many other things to consider before your lifespan becomes something to worry yourself with.

Eve still felt unease. Her excitement had been tempered by her own unknown fate.

Artora had evidently decided that for the moment Eve had enough to contemplate. It was nearing lunchtime and so she sent Eve out to dine in the gardens. Eve returned feeling calmer than before, though no less of an enigma. Basking in the sun and admiring the scenery had lulled her unsettled emotions.

“You didn’t seem surprised at all when I passed you the letter from my father yesterday.” Eve thought aloud. “Why is that?”

“I already knew,” said Artora.

“Magic?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Artora rose from her chair to pick up a flat, round object that had been resting on one of her many shelves. She placed it gently on the table, and Eve could see that it was in fact a finely crafted mirror with a border inset with white pearls. She peered at Artora in confusion. Artora gestured for her to stand.

“Look into the mirror, Eve. Leitha Karn,” Artora said.

Eve gasped as the silvered surface of the mirror, which had reflected the pale ceiling, plunged into the blackest colour. The dark swirled with deep greys and the mirror cleared sluggishly to reveal Eve’s father writing at his desk. His face was not visible.

“Father!” Eve exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

“I used the words of power, words from our language to seek a vision of your father as he is now in the mirror. This is how I watch the kingdoms without ever having to break the pact with the dragons by leaving my land. The word ‘leitha’ is to scry, or to see far. Use of a flat, reflective surface helps to fix the image one wishes to see. Lessa,” Artora murmured. The mirror faded back to silver, reflecting the ceiling once more.

“That’s amazing. Can you use this to see anything anywhere?” asked Eve.

“Within reason,” replied Artora. “You must know what you wish to seek. I could not scry a person I did not know existed in Arlyn, for example. However, if I wished to scry Arlyn itself, I would be able to see both the buildings and the people that moved through it, depending on where in the place I were looking. I might see a particular person and not knowing their name, would be able to them scry them afterwards, by picturing them very clearly in my head and directing the magic as I have just demonstrated.”

“Can you scry Queen Naisa?” asked Eve, with a sudden stroke of inspiration.

“No!” Artora replied sharply. “It is impossible. It has been tried before to scry the deceased, but the veil of death masks the mirror and will not relinquish a vision. Do not ever try to interfere with the dead, should you come into magic, Eve,” Artora warned, “for it is a folly that will end in your own demise. The void between this world and the next is so great that your life force would be extinguished in the fleetest of moments in the attempt to bridge it. Promise me you will never attempt it!”

“I promise,” Eve said, taken aback.

The queen relaxed and picked up the mirror.

“Wait!” Eve said. “Will you scry Prince Soren?”

“Why?” Artora’s eyes narrowed.

“I long to see if he is well and Princess Irumae too. They are my cousins and had I not been bound to come here I would have been determined to find Soren. Please will you show me if he is alive?”

“Very well,” said the queen after a pause. “Leitha Soren!”

The mirrors surface flooded with black, as before, and cleared. They could see Soren riding on horseback along a rutted, earthy track as leafy green trees raced past. Another horse galloped beside him, with Edmund on his back.

From what could be seen of their faces, they both had a determined air, but when Eve caught a glimpse into her cousin’s eyes, she shivered. She saw a strange steely glint that had never been there before; a testament to his recent trials. Nevertheless, to all intents and purposes, he was alive and Edmund once more with him.

“Lessa.”

“I wonder where they journey to,” Eve said.

“I have my suspicions,” Artora remarked, “though I may not share them with you. He will have a great task at hand if he is to reclaim the throne. Take heart; he is alive and Edmund is with him.”

“You know Edmund?” said Eve with raised eyebrows.

“Quite well. There is much that you will not know of Sir Edmund.” She smiled. “He has visited my realm many times across the years, with news from Pandora. In any case, it is too late to follow them instead of returning home, if that was your intention.”

Eve blushed. “I had thought of going to find them. I’m reluctant to return home when I feel like there’s something I could be doing to help. I don’t know if I’m quite ready to face my father again, either. There’s so much that he hasn’t told me and I want to make sense of it all before we meet again.”

“As I have offered before, you are quite welcome to stay for as long as you wish.”

“I appreciate your generosity,” said Eve delicately. “Yet, I feel like there’s still something I should be doing. I could not stay and languish in good conscience. Are you sure you cannot tell me where the prince is going? What of Irumae? Are they going to find her?”

Artora paused. “I cannot tell you the prince’s destination, but no, they do not go to the aid of the princess, at least not yet.” Eve opened her mouth to speak, but Artora had already guessed her intentions. “Leitha Irumae,” she spoke to the mirror.

The blackness this time seemed slower to clear. Eve realised that it was because the vision showed a small, darkened room, lit by candles. It seemed to be windowless and constructed of stone, and was furnished well, with a rug on the floor and some comfortable looking furniture.

On a bed in one corner lay the princess, fully dressed. She was motionless with closed eyes and her pale, vacant face was young and vulnerable in the sickly light.

“She has been this way in this place for many days,” said Artora. “I have not seen her awaken, however we can be sure she is alive simply for the reason that I can scry her at all.”

“I have to help her,” said Eve.

“Are you sure that is wise?” Artora raised an eyebrow.

“Probably not,” Eve admitted, “but I want to help. How can I stay here or return home in good conscience? Perhaps she is hurt, or injured, and perhaps she is in danger. I would feel far too guilty knowing that I might have had the chance to help her and chose not to.”

Artora sighed. “I fear this may be your purpose, cousin. I would council against going alone however. Are you to consult your father on this and request an escort?”

“No,” said Eve. “He would not let me go at all, let alone lend me more men. I do not want to give him the chance to stop me. I am an adult now, free to make my own decisions and this is what I decide. He will have to realise sooner or later that he cannot always keep me safe at home.”

Artora regarded her for a moment, as if measuring her up for the task. “Are you to return your two guards to him or take them with you?” asked Artora. “You are welcome to take some of my own with you should you wish.”

“I’m not sure,” replied Eve. “There is something about Nyle that unsettles me. Since he discovered that my mother was one of the Eldarkind, I do not feel that I can trust him anymore. As for Luke... I am fairly sure I can rely on him.”

“Well perhaps Luke should accompany you,” suggested Artora. “I am sure a guard of Arlyn will work in your favour. As for Nyle, he can take my news to your father. I shall send two of my own guard with you if that is agreeable? Four will travel inconspicuously and I am sure you shall have need of my guards’ skills.”

“Yes, I would like that. It would give me a chance to learn much more about your people.” Eve smiled. She felt content, as though the piece of a puzzle had fitted into place and revealed more of her purpose to her. It outweighed the niggling guilt that arose from becoming distracted from her original task.

“They are your people too,” Artora reminded her. “In that case, the necessary arrangements shall be made and you may depart the day after tomorrow.”

Soren

Over the coming days they rode over vast uninhabited plains, so open and wide that they felt simultaneously exposed yet insignificant. The scale of the plains meant there were no visible hills or mountains on the horizon for days. Impressive roiling cloud structures rose overhead in an imitation of the grandest human structures, yet on a much larger scale and although there were no storms, the dull, seething atmosphere made the landscape all the more imposing.

Although the plains should have been deserted, they lit no fires at night as the light would be visible for many miles around. Despite it being somewhat windy, the weather remained warm enough to endure each night with no proper shelter, other than small hollows in the ground, where they could find them. Before sleeping each night, they clashed in quick bouts of sword practice to warm themselves up and relieve aching muscles.

Without a fire, they had to make do with cold meals and ration the small amount of food. Along with food, Hador had given them each a crossbow with a pouch full of bolts to use both in defence and as a tool for hunting, but the plains seemed bereft of any kind of animal to hunt and supplement their meals. Only birds, flying well above their range, wheeled over the plains in great swoops.

At last, after rising early on successive mornings and riding until late, they spied a smudge on the horizon which did not move with the clouds and solidified into a dark band of mountains marching down from the north. It took them a further day to ride within reach of the foothills, until at last the plains yielded to forests.

The trees seemed all the more oppressive around them after days in the endless space. However, with the forests life also returned and Edmund soon shot a rabbit with his crossbow. As he tied the body to his saddlebag he grinned at Soren; the forest and the rabbit meant they could have a fire and hot meal that night.

The rabbit meat stewed in their small cooking pot, bubbling away as it boiled whilst the stream they were camped beside babbled back at it. Edmund and Soren pored over their map as Edmund calculated their rough position.

“There is no road from here to the coast unfortunately, although it means there is very little chance of us meeting anyone we would rather not which is advantageous,” remarked Edmund. “We will have to cut through the mountains.”

“Where are we heading?” asked Soren. He scanned the map of the coast for the various towns along its length.

“Harring.” Edmund pointed out a small dot on the map where east Caledan met the sea. “It’s a small town and the nearest large dwelling to the Isles of Kotyir in any case. Mostly it’s fishermen who live there, though a couple of lesser noblemen have estates in this region too.

“This coast, for all its wild weather and relative remoteness from the rest of the kingdom, receives many visitors and tradesmen for the quality of its catches. There is superstition regarding dragons if we are to trust Hador’s advice, which could be truer than they know. This is the nearest we will travel on land, so we could hire a small boat to take us the rest of the way.”

Soren studied the map with intrigue. He had never journeyed to the other side of the coastal mountains. A thin strip of land separated mountains from the sea – at the other side, the weather was colder and the sea both freezing and fierce at this latitude. A strange quirk in geology brought together the freezing sea with a chain of volcanic islands that had risen from the depths of the sea to above its surface over many thousands of years.

Tales had been passed down from generation to generation about strange fire breathing mountains that could form new rocky land from glowing hot molten lava, spew out black clouds high enough to be seen for many miles and also create great and treacherous mists over the sea where many a fisherman had sailed out never to return home.

Even stranger tales were told locally of the elusive and spectral flying beasts that had allegedly been sighted from a distance several times over the years flying around the islands that came inland with the mist to steal livestock and naughty children. As a rule the islands were avoided wherever possible, but nearby inhabitants were reluctant to move too much further away because of the uncommonly good fish stocks there.

Soren had heard the tales once or twice as a child. With an amused smile, he realised that all along, those tales could be related to the dragons that he had so hoped to happen upon as a child. I wonder what they are like to meet in person. I wonder if they look like Brithilca. He pictured the statue once more. He began to daydream as he had when he was a boy about what it would be like to meet a strange being like a dragon, but gave it up as he realised how very little he knew of them.

I only know of them what people have made up in books and pictures. In reality, they could be nothing alike. He found that exciting, yet at the same time disconcerting; he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

A sharp rap of wood on metal startled him out of his reverie, but it was Edmund, who put down the wooden spoon he had been using to stir the contents of the pot. They had a quiet meal and savoured the hot, meaty broth with special appreciation.

“A feast fit for a king.” Edmund smacked his lips in satisfaction afterwards.

“Or a king to be, perhaps.” Soren laughed and Edmund chuckled.

“That will have to do for this fine fare for the moment I suppose.”

Satisfied, they fell into slumber as the small fire died and the stream rushed past. It was not until mid morning that they awoke.

“Damn it!” Edmund cursed. “We’re late! I had hoped to be back in the saddle at dawn. That rabbit stew kept me content enough to sleep half the day away!” He kicked a stone to vent his bad temper.

“It’s not that desperate, is it?” Soren half opened his eyes and ruffled his tangled hair as he sat up.

“Not that desperate?” said Edmund. “Well if you call being on the run from a mad man and on our way to find a clan of dragons ‘not that desperate’ then perhaps we ought to go back to sleep?”

“I take it back.” Soren yawned. “We can still make good progress today, can’t we?”

“Yes, though not as much as I had hoped.”

They travelled through a flat valley that carved the thin mountain range almost in two, following the course of the stream that soon joined a river, against the current. High peaks towered on either side. The valley was barren, with a rough gravelly base and a thin line of trees separated the valley bottom from the bare grey rocks which soared up and out of sight. As they rose to the river’s source, climbing above the dispersed trees, they forded the river. Soren noted with surprise the icy coolness of the water despite it being summer.

“It’s so cold!” he exclaimed to Edmund above the noise of running water and the horse hooves clattering on the loose gravel.

“It’s fresh melt water from the glaciers,” called Edmund. “They are so high they remain frozen all year!”

Wow. They must be high indeed, Soren realised. I hope one day I am at leisure to explore. For all my freedoms, I have spent far too much time in the city.

As they pressed on, mounting a small summit, the land fell away before them, giving a view all the way to the coast. Although the weather was overcast, the steely grey-blue waters in the distance stretching into the murky horizon were impressive. Edmund allowed Soren a minute’s appreciation of the view before he urged him on.

“Come,” he encouraged. “We need to be out of the mountains by sunset and we only have a few hours remaining of good light.”

Edmund

They had less time than Edmund anticipated. As they followed a smaller river in a rocky valley even barer than the last, the skies which had darkened since they began their descent started to drizzle and then rain until Edmund, Soren and their horses were soaked.

When they had descended almost to sea level, the mountains fell away to either side revealing faint lights far ahead in the distance that Edmund confirmed to be Harring. Shivering and teeth chattering, Edmund had never been so glad to see such a miserable looking place.

There was nowhere adequate to shelter overnight and so Edmund lead them into Harring. It was a muddled cluster of buildings, so dismal in the rain and dark that Edmund suspected even sunshine could not brighten it up. Harring had two inns but a small lamp caught their attention before they could decide which one to enter.

Its light shone on a damp notice pinned to a board and to their dismay, it depicted a very good likeness of both Edmund and Soren, with a huge reward for their capture. Edmund’s relief at the prospect of a dry place to sleep vanished. Fear flashed through him.

“What are we to do?” asked Soren in a low voice. “We cannot stay here; we’ll be recognised.”

“I am not sure,” replied Edmund. “I did not think Zaki would resort to this.” He is more thorough than I anticipated. “However, we have both grown rather unkempt since we left and can pass for others against these pictures; our hair is shaggy, my beard is unkempt and even you have some stubble. Our clothes are in a foul state and even our fine horses look less than noble.”

“Surely the risk is too great, but, if we do not stay here, where will we go?” Soren said.

Edmund hesitated. We could camp outside the town. He dismissed the idea; there was little shelter to be found and no woods marked on the maps that could hide them. “I cannot tell whether this is foolish. With your consent we shall stay the night.”

The prince thought for a moment, before agreeing.

“It will do us better to be warm and fed for a night, and the horses also, given what we are to attempt next. We shall risk it.” Edmund suppressed the feeling of relief at Soren’s response. You’re growing soft in your old age, old man, he chastised himself, hoping he had not made a mistake.

They trotted to the nearest inn, preparing a plausible story as to who they were in muttered tones in case anyone stopped to question them. After tethering the horses in the stables and untying the saddlebags to take with them, Edmund flipped a small coin at the taciturn stable hand and requested him to unsaddle and groom the horses. He scowled at them as they walked into the inn and made no move to fulfil their requests. His eyes followed them to the door. Riding cloaks concealed their swords but were unable to hide the crossbows strapped to their backs.

The inside of ‘The Anchor’ was dingy, dull and thoroughly unwelcoming. Nevertheless, Edmund still felt relieved to be out of the rain. A small, smoky fire burned in a damp grate and the air was unpleasant with the smell of it. Edmund and Soren shared a glance of mutual dislike and resignation at their first impression of the place as they stepped over the threshold.

It seemed that despite the early hour of the night, the locals also found it a unlikeable place, for there were two other men sat in the yawning shadows that pooled around the inadequate lamps spotted around the room. Their gleaming eyes tracked Soren and Edmund. Soren averted his eyes and followed Edmund to the bar. The barman glanced disinterestedly at them, not offering a greeting.

“Good evening,” said Edmund. After a few moments silence from the man, he continued. “I wonder if we might seek a room for the night? My servant and I are travelling through the area and would appreciate a meal and a bed tonight.”

The man sniffed loudly and replied. “Fine. Have you got horses stabled too?” As Edmund nodded, he continued. “That will cost you extra.”

“How much?” asked Edmund.

The barman chewed the inside of his cheek. “Two coppers for each horse and a silver for you and the boy,” he said, with a grimly gleeful smile at the inflated price.

Edmund's mouth thinned in disapproval but he counted out the coins on to the bar with no word of a protest. The barkeep eagerly raised his hand. Before he could sweep the coins into his grimy apron, Edmund stopped him.

“For that extortionate price we want meals both now and for breakfast,” Edmund insisted, “and I want some meat with that too.”

The barman scowled but assented and Edmund smiled, satisfied as the coins tumbled into the depths of the man’s apron pockets. As they turned to sit at a table, the barman stomped off into the kitchen. The door slammed behind him. Dust fell from the beams.

“Well we haven’t been recognised,” Soren mouthed.

“And may it stay that way,” muttered Edmund. He evaluated the two other inhabitants of the room, who regarded them with open interest.

They ate the lukewarm fare brought to them a long while later by the barman, but they were glad for it. A broth, with unnamed chunks of meat floating in it, was better than nothing. As soon as they finished, they retired to their room still under the scrutiny of the two men. Edmund latched and locked the door, before barring it with a chair as well for good measure.

The room had a double bed, if it could be called such, for it was nothing more than a wooden base with a lumpy straw mattress. A thin, patched blanket lay on top. Other than that, the room was bare; lit by one lamp, with shuttered and locked windows, it was oppressing and dark.

Although the door and window were locked, they still took alternate watches throughout the night, not trusting the inn to be safe. Throughout the night they heard footsteps outside their door several times, but the handle was only tried once. When found locked from the inside, the perhaps opportunistic attempt to enter was abandoned. The feet and their owner padded away again.

It was a poor night’s sleep and so they rose early to ride to the docks to charter a boat and forwent breakfast. The wind had fallen, but it was pervasively cold and damp in the predawn darkness. By sunrise, they were already attempting to barter passage with the sailors who were in a flurry of activity getting ready for their day’s work. Man after man they asked; anyone they could see with a small craft, to no avail.

By noon all the boats had refused them, many having sailed before they even had a chance to hail the captains. Their lack of progress left Edmund and Soren feeling frustrated and short tempered. Chilled and tired, they retired to a dockside tavern for a hot meal and a rethink of their strategy, and it was there, quite by chance, that they had the most fortunate of meetings.

The barmaid was a lively, chatty young thing, who seemed out of place in such a dull and unsociable town. Luckily for Edmund and Soren, who had attracted her interest as outsiders, her tongue was loose and without having to reveal too much of their fabricated identities and purpose she had already furnished them with details of a fisherman who lived a few hours ride north of the main town.

She described him as an enigma of a man, who sailed nearer to the dragon isles than he ought to; nearer than anyone else, but who somehow still managed to come to no harm and return with the reward of huge catches and strange tales. He lived an isolated life and rarely mingled with the townsfolk except to barter his fishes for other products and this had gained him an unusual reputation.

He sounded odd enough to Edmund and Soren, however after a hopeless time on the docks that morning, they decided he might be a viable option. With a brisk thanks to the young woman, Soren and Edmund departed. In their haste, they bumped into a man entering the tavern. Edmund apologised as they brushed past him, but as he paused for the briefest moment he could have sworn he recognised the man. The feeling passed, forgotten as he mounted his horse.

The maintained north road ended with Harring – stopping quite abruptly beyond the last house – though a discernible track lead north through the mud, rock and grass. Urging the horses forward, they began the dismal trek along the seashore to find the sailor.

It was slow going as they picked out the pathway, and the further away from Harring they travelled the more unnerved they became. It seemed a windswept and bare place but even more than that, utterly barren; not a creature stirred or called to break the sound of the wind. After a time however, there seemed to be too many hoof beats upon the ground for them to be alone, yet when they looked about, they spied no one. The hairs on Edmund’s neck rose and a shiver passed down his spine.

As they passed a rocky spur, they saw a horse up ahead; it stood saddled yet riderless and cropped the grass as it ignored them. It was only when they approached it to pass that it raised its head to wicker at them and trot away backwards.

“Ho!” a nearby voice called. The man it belonged to strolled out from behind a line of shrubs to their left, tightening his pants up. “Well now then good sirs, how are we on this fine day?” His glance was keen and his smile did not quite reach his eyes.

“Good day, sir,” Edmund responded, thrown off guard by the man’s manner, so contrasting to the unfriendly folk from Harring. He made to ride on but the man passed before his mount and forced him to halt the horse again.

“Well now what a fine horse this is,” the man remarked and stroked the stallion upon his nose. “And his lady looks so fine too.” He leered at Miri. Edmund tensed. The man seemed far too jovial and once more Edmund had the feeling they had met before, but could not recall where.

“Here, Al!” called the man, startling them. Miri pranced – Soren calmed her with a touch. “Come look at these lovely horses!” Edmund’s heart sank. He lowered his hand towards his sword surreptitiously as a second figure emerged from their right. Behind him, Soren mirrored his movement.

“Oh aye, Jem, mighty fine.” Al appeared. Al held an axe. It relaxed too carefully against his hip. Instinct caused Edmund to turn back to Jem, as the quietest hiss of another blade being drawn met his ear.

Edmund yanked on his stallion’s reins and the horse rose beneath him to lash out with his front legs. Jem fell back as the hoof struck him across the chest, although he managed to retain his grasp on his grimy dirk and did not fall. Upon the horse, Edmund cut an imposing figure with his drawn sword and he saw the fear reflected in Jem’s eyes as he beheld the now less than helpless traveller. Edmund suddenly realised who he was; one of the two men from the inn the previous night. Contempt filled him.

Eve

Time in Ednor seemed to flow faster than normal and it was already time to depart. Although Eve felt excited about the new path laid before her, her heart was heavy as she packed away her few possessions.

She had not seen Artora again, but her time in Ednor had exposed her to the wonders of the Eldarkind culture where she felt strangely at home. The surroundings felt familiar in a way she could not explain; almost as if she had been there in another dream or another life. For her guards however, that had not been the case – she had not confided her plans in Nyle and Luke.

The three had spent their free hours exploring Ednor together, escorted by one of the Eldarkind who became a willing guide, eager to tell them of his home. Whilst Eve delighted in the sights about her in quiet awe and wonder, Nyle and Luke grew more restless. Noticing this, Eve felt guilty but did not know how to tell them she would not be returning to Arlyn. Although Luke remained too shy to pry, she could see that Nyle was eager to leave and growing frustrated by Eve’s refusal to engage either one of them in serious discussion or confirm her intentions.

On the morning of their departure, they gathered in the courtyard to find their horses already assembled and tacked with saddlebags brimming with provisions. Eve was dressed once more in her now clean riding clothes.

Unbeknownst to her guards however, she had also been measured over the previous days for the fitting her own personal set of light armour, a gift courtesy of the queen that now lay concealed in her saddlebags for later use. She had been given a fine and surprisingly light chainmail hauberk, with engraved metal greaves and bracers and a small helm of similar design. The night before departing, Artora also presented Eve with a long, silver dagger that had a decoratively etched handle of the blackest ebony and was accompanied by a matching black leather sheath.

From a distance it was unremarkable. Close up, the detail on the small weapon was fascinatingly intricate. Although the precious armour was stored away in the saddlebags as were her bow and arrows Eve wore the dagger around her waist with great pride, feeling overwhelmed by the queen’s generosity and the kindness of her people.

As they added their few personal belongings to the bags and checked over their mounts, Artora met them with two of her kind in tow: a male and a female, both fair haired and blue eyed like the rest of their race. They stood behind her with neutral faces as she greeted Eve and her companions.

“It is a sad day to see you leave, dear cousin, so soon after you arrived,” Artora said with affection colouring her voice, “but of course I wish you well on your travels, and the greatest of success in your endeavour.”

Luke and Nyle shared a look of mutual bafflement.

Artora glanced between them, before resting her eyes on Eve. “I think it is now that your intentions must be shared, Eve.”

Eve steeled herself. The moment she had been dreading had arrived. A hard knot in the pit of her stomach convulsed as she turned to face her guards. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and wracked her brain for the best way to explain.

“I shall not be returning to Arlyn,” Eve said.

“What?” Luke and Nyle exclaimed in synchronisation.

“I won’t be returning to Arlyn,” repeated Eve, her resolve strengthening. “There are other things that I must do before I can return there. I’m going to Pandora instead, to find my cousin Irumae. My mind is made up and cannot be changed.”

Luke and Nyle gaped at her speechless.

“Nyle.” Eve met his eyes as unflinchingly as she could. “I require you to return to my father with Queen Artora’s news, and also my own.”

At this, the female Eldarkind stepped forward and offered Nyle a scroll and a small box that a simple set of clasps fastened shut. He automatically took it and frowned as he examined it.

Eve reached into her saddlebags to withdraw her own correspondence, also handing it to him, before turning to Luke. “Luke. If you are willing, you will accompany me.”

“You cannot be serious! Have these folk addled your brain?” said Nyle.

“Who are you to question me, and how dare you slander our host and my kin!” Eve said.

Nyle glowered.

“Eve,” Luke said. He chewed on his lip. “We are expected to protect you and return you safely home and your father is relying on us to do so. How could we fail in that?”

“You would be protecting me and returning me home, just not to my father’s schedule,” Eve said persuasively. “Nyle, you would be taking him news so that he does not fret over me.”

“Yes,” she said as Nyle opened his mouth, and held up her hand to stall him, “I know my continued absence would concern him. At the very least you can reassure him of my safe arrival and productive time here. He does require some news from my stay and the letter sets out everything he needs to know.”

“And what do you think he will do with me when he finds out I let his beloved daughter and heir go gallivanting around the wilderness?” Nyle kicked a stone in frustration as Luke stood in silence, his brow furrowed in worry. “I’ll lose my position! I’ll lose everything I’ve worked hard for, as will Luke! Have you thought of that?”

“I have begged him in the letter to not punish you at all. I write that I left you no choice in the matter. If he disregards my words then you have my solemn promise that the moment I return, if all is not well with you I will make it so.”

“If you return,” he muttered. It was clear Nyle was infuriated rather than placated. “What if we bound you and carried you to Arlyn whether you liked it or not,?” He folded his arms and glared at her.

“We cannot do that!” Luke protested.

“What, so you’re just going to do whatever she says and damn the consequences?” Nyle scoffed at him.

Luke hesitated, aware of Eve as she shifted her gaze to him. He met it for the fleetest of moments and cast his eyes down, also avoiding Nyle’s glare.

“If she is to go regardless of our wishes, I would sooner go with her to make certain that she is safe and protected, rather than return to Lord Karn without her,” he murmured. “I would certainly never consider taking her anywhere by force if she felt the cause were so important, unless her life were in danger. I do not deem that to be the case now, so what other choice do I have? Yes, I too risk my position, but I would rather try to protect her as is my duty than give up and slink home like a coward.”

“I am no coward!” snarled Nyle, bristling. “You have forced me into a corner.” Stiff and hostile, his mouth was a thin line with the force of his displeasure. “It would seem I have no choice in the matter.” He surveyed the silent group of people before him with gritted teeth.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said. He executed a sharp, cursory bow in Artora’s direction. She dipped her head to him, but he had already turned away to mount his horse. “My Lady,” he called back in farewell to Eve without turning as he urged his horse away.

“I feel I have made an enemy of Nyle today,” said Eve, feeling troubled as he rode out of sight. “I hope this will not have repercussions.”

“It will be what it will be,” said Artora. She glided forward and touched her shoulder reassuringly. “Come, do not let this darken your day. I have one final gift for you, dear cousin.”

The male Eldarkind behind Artora handed her a small box matching the one given to Nyle. Artora passed it to Eve, who admired it for a few moments before she opened it.

It was made of an unfamiliar dark grey wood and was rectangular in shape, just over a hand span long and wide, very thin and light. Something within gave a slight, hard rattle. As she opened the clasped lid, a gleaming silver surface caught the light and a beautiful round mirror, a smaller replica of Artora’s even including the rich pearl border, was revealed lying cushioned in the box.

Eve’s fingers brushed over the pearl border and she gazed at Artora in wordless thanks.

Artora beckoned her closer and bent to whisper its purpose into her ear. “As you have not yet inherited your powers Eve, I have enchanted this mirror so that you may scry as you wish without magic of your own. Speak the words of seeing as you saw me do and you shall see what you desire. The magic shall draw off the surrounding energy of the land until you should come into your powers.

“Use it wisely though and in secrecy, for it is a great crime to needlessly breach another’s privacy and this ability should never be shared carelessly. I have sent the same mirror to your father, linked to yours, so that you will be able to scry each other and share words if you need to. Keep your mirror in its case when you do not use it and keep it close.”

Eve closed the box, snapped the clasps closed and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you,” she said fervently to Artora, “for everything you have done for me.”

“You are welcome, dear cousin.” Artora smiled. “I am glad to show the daughter of Freya kindness. Return soon.”

Eve beamed.

“Luke,” Artora said. Her benevolent gaze flicked to the guardsman.

Luke gawked at her, wide eyed and apprehensive.

“Walk with me.”

Luke hurried to obey as Eve observed them, curious and puzzled.

They walked some distance away. Eve strained her ears and eyes, but could not discern anything. Exchanging some final words inaudible to Eve, Luke bowed to the queen before returning to his horse. As he passed Eve, he glanced at her with deep brown eyes that now held a troubled and thoughtful expression.

Eve looked to Artora for any clue; the queen acted as though nothing had happened and turned to the two unnamed Eldarkind, who had been murmuring away in their tongue in her absence.

“I shall introduce my escorts, as they shall be your travelling companions on the journey to Pandora. Nolwen,” Artora said, as he flashed a bright smile at her, “and his sister Nelda.” Nelda bowed her head.

Eve and Luke exchanged greetings, upon which Artora clapped her hands. The unexpected sound was a sign, for the rap of hooves on the ground became clearer and two saddled and loaded horses were led into view to bear Nolwen and Nelda.

“We should squander no more time here,” Artora said, “for you have some way to travel today.” She gestured at them to mount their horses. With a last few words of farewell, Nolwen and Nelda led the group out of the gates and into the city with Eve following and Luke at the rear.

Eve raised a hand to her newfound relative, who returned the gesture in kind, wishing with some part of her as she rode away that she might have stayed for longer.

~

They rode away in silence; the clatter of hooves meant there was little chance of conversation. Once they had left Ednor, the jarring noise gave way to more pleasant dull thuds as they drummed over packed earth and grass instead. Eve took her chance to approach Luke.

“What did she say to you?” she asked, as laughter floated back to them from Nolwen and Nelda who were engaged in conversation some distance ahead. Luke regarded her for a few seconds with a strange look. She repeated her question, presuming that perhaps he had not heard.

“Nothing of importance,” he replied. He averted his gaze and increased the separation between their horses as a sign of his reluctance to talk. Eve did not press him, though she was not at all convinced of his sincerity.

It took longer to climb out of the valley than it did to enter it; the journey was steeper than Eve realised. Despite this, they made it to the rim of the great valley by mid-afternoon, where they stopped for a brief respite and some food.

Eve sat near the edge of a ridge that offered an uninterrupted view of the entire vista. Looking down over the expanse before them, Eve tried to remember as much as possible about the valley, absorbing as many details as she could of the landscape.

The city they had been in mere hours before was tiny in the distance. Although Eve had revelled in the beauty and newness of the place, she realised there was much more of the land to explore that she had not yet even dreamed of.

“It’s beautiful, is it not?” The rich, resonant voice of Nolwen startled her out of her reverie.

“It is. There’s a part of me that wishes I could stay,” Eve replied with regret.

“Then you should return some day,” replied Nolwen as if it were that simple. “Although it is good to travel, it is a shame to leave such a home behind. To our advantage, the sorrow of leaving makes the joy of returning all the greater. I shall leave you to your thoughts.” He apologised for disturbing her.

Now that her train of thought was broken however, she no longer wished to linger, for she knew that she could stare at the view all day and not tire of it. Seeing Luke lunching on a rock, she decided to try to determine his strange conversation with the queen.

“So what did she say to you?” Eve asked.

“Nothing of importance,” he repeated after noting her sudden presence with a raised eyebrow. “What was her gift to you?”

“A trinket, nothing of importance,” she replied casually. Luke nodded and smiled as she turned away and she knew he was just as unconvinced with her response as she was with his.

She had no further success in talking to him that day and so, around a small campfire that night, she tried to become more familiar with her strange new companions. Observing them during the day, they seemed unreserved, with lively personalities and found constant reasons to smile and laugh that she did not quite understand.

Although they conversed with each other in the tongue of the Eldarkind, they could speak the common tongue of Caledan, albeit with a strange lilting accent. They had harmonious voices that seemed to ebb and flow and Eve found that their foreign conversations were like listening to music, because of the constant shifting of pitch, timbre and other qualities of their vocals.

They both resembled others of their race, but Nolwen wore his hair uncommonly short, cropped close to his head in a mass of short waves, rather than long as Eve had seen most other male Eldarkind styled. Nelda kept her hair longer and held back in a neat and practical braid with none of the intricacies or decoration that might adorn her brow in Ednor.

Both were outfitted in slim fitting riding outfits that highlighted their lean, muscular structure. Combined with the distinctive facial structure of their kind, this made them seem scarily alike when discounting their more obvious gender differences.

They appeared to be no more than ten years Eve’s seniors and she was shocked to discover that they were in actual fact over twice that amount older than her. She could not keep from wondering if her own fate was to age as slowly as they.

They revealed they were members of Artora’s household, distant relatives who held positions of no great significance in her household. Eve realised with a smile that this also meant they were distant cousins of her own. As for why they had been chosen to accompany her, they did not give any explanation, but Eve was unsure whether this was because they would not or could not.

They spent the early evening eating around their campfire and telling small tales of Ednor, the surrounding land and most dearly to Eve, stories of their family, who were albeit distantly, also her own. They had been well educated and travelled Caledan beforehand as scouts and envoys and, as Eve was sure she would find their tales much more exciting than they found hers, she was keen to listen. Luke, sat beside her, listened as Nolwen and Nelda shared tales in undulating voices.

So it was, that by the time they came upon the Great Lake a couple of days later after several discussions as to their course of action, Eve felt at ease with her new companions. Even Luke had begun to emerge from his shell and speak to them, his mixture of fear and reverence ebbing.

Soren

Jem scrambled for his horse, but Edmund rode to cut him off and dealt a stinging blow across the back of his shoulders with the flat of his sword. Jem yelped, causing his horse to bolt. He sprinted after it in a futile attempt to catch it whilst Edmund gave chase.

With his accomplice suffering, Al rushed towards Soren, who was forced to turn Miri as Al raised the axe, to back her from harm’s way. Al moved forward and grasped her rein, but Soren could not swing his sword; Al had moved to the opposite side of Miri’s head. Quick as a flash Soren grasped his hunting knife and plunged it into the man’s outstretched arm.

With a howl, Al dropped the reins and crumpled, cradling his bleeding arm. Miri threw herself away from him. Her eyes rolled and her stride lengthened as she fled. Soren forced her to turn back and brought down his sword on Al’s ax as the man stood before the charging mare. The weathered wood was not fit to stand before a royal blade and it shattered, the axe head spinning away into the undergrowth. With nothing but a shortened stick to defend him, Al turned tail and fled.

Soren turned back as Edmund returned. “Shall I kill him?”

Edmund shook his head.

“Why not?” Soren asked, surprised at his response.

“They are not worth it,” said Edmund, his voice heavy with contempt. “Pathetic. They do not even deserve to be called men.”

“What if they should tell someone we are here?” Soren persisted.

“I would not worry about that,” Edmund replied, dismounting to check his horse over. “If they were more bothered about our horses then we have not been recognised. And in any case, what self-respecting pair of bandits would ever admit to being beaten by a boy and an old man?”

Edmund remounted. “We should go. There may be more of these folk about and I would not care to meet them.”

All seemed calm as they moved on, but it took a while for the hammering of Soren’s heart to quiet. Before they had gone far they came upon the still form of Jem upon the floor, blood upon his brow.

“Tripped. Hit his head upon the ground,” said Edmund in response to Soren’s enquiry. Soon they passed the bandit’s horse quietly grazing, and after that they were alone. To their relief, there were no more encounters in the desolate place. When they came upon the fisherman’s house that afternoon, it was such an unobtrusive place that if not for the boat bobbing up and down by the shore they would have entirely missed its presence.

A rocky cliff rose up from the shore and out into the sea to form a slight shelter and natural harbour for both boat and dwelling. Behind the cliff a wooden shack, grey with weathering seemed to blend into the rocky wall and a similarly colourless, aged gangway extended into the water from the beach.

The craft moored there seemed the most well cared for thing of all and Soren recalled seeing similar looking boats at the main docks in Pandora. A large lean to, a shed and a cart sat against the cliff next to the house. The place seemed deserted as they scouted the area.

“It looks like a cog,” explained Edmund when Soren asked why the craft was so close to shore, “which explains why he can moor it in such shallow water, as it’s almost flat bottomed under the water line. It’s not a large one, but I wager it could still hold a belly of fish. I would also guess it’s quite old, however it looks well kept. Hopefully it’s sea worthy.”

Their horses’ hooves clattered on the rocky ground as they rode down to the dwelling. When they dismounted some yards away from the front door, a disembodied voice rang out.

“Oy! What d’yer want?” it shouted.

Soren and Edmund scanned the area. No one was there. A clatter drew their attention to the small craft. A man’s head popped up over the rail, wild haired and bearded.

“We mean no harm,” called Edmund. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Do you know where we may find Garth Storrsson? We have a business proposition for him.”

“Aye,” said the man, after a pause. “Yer looking at him. A business proposition you say? I aint had one o’ them in a while. Hang fast, I’ll be a moment.” He ducked out of sight, and after more clattering, swung himself over the rail and onto the gangway with a resounding thud.

With a slap of his hands and a quick stride up the pebbled beach, he stood at his door looking them over. He was not a tall man by any standards, but his stocky build and confident gait made him an impressive figure. His chin held high, he stared at them with wrinkled eyes and ruddy cheeks.

“And who might you be?” He folded his arms as he faced them.

Soren’s eyes flicked to Edmund.

“My name is Erik,” said Edmund in his usual measured tone. “I’m a merchant looking to expand into trading on this coast line. My servant here accompanies me. You were, ah, recommended to us in Harring for the quality of your fish.”

Garth squinted suspiciously.

“Very well then, yeh may come in to talk but I aren’t making no promises,” said Garth.

The distinct smell of fish outside formed an offensive sensory barrier, but as they ducked through the low door, they were surprised. It was clean inside and tidy, although sparse and small. There were two rooms; a living space and what appeared to be a bedroom, kept warm by an aged stove.

As they closed the door and stood inside, unsure of where to put themselves, they observed that the place seemed well built. Soren felt glad it was summer however, as it seemed an insufficient place to weather out a winter in.

“Sit down,” said Garth.

They backed down onto a wooden bench and placed their swords down beside them; their crossbows and everything else they had left outside with the horses.

“To business then. What’re yeh interested in trading?” Garth leaned against the stove.

“Well it depends what you catch,” improvised Edmund. “I was hoping we might come on a test voyage with you the next time you go to sea?”

“Hah! What kind of merchant are yeh if you don’t know what yeh looking to buy?” snorted Garth. “What do yeh want, trout, pike, sturgeon, or somethin’ else?.” He fired the names at them. Soren had no idea what any of them were.

“Any of those would be perfectly adequate if they’re the best you catch,” replied Edmund.

Soren noticed Edmund’s agitation and shuffled nervously.

“Well I can’t magic them up out the sea!” Garth slapped his hand against his thigh in frustration. Soren jumped. “They’re all freshwater fish; any merchant hereabouts with a grain o’ sense would know that! Now I’ll ask yeh again what kind of merchant are yeh, if y’are one at all, and if you’d stop wasting my time!”

Soren’s heart pounded in his chest as his body flooded with panic. A bead of sweat rolled down Edmund’s forehead next to him. Neither Edmund nor Soren answered. Edmund flexed his hand, but did not reach for his sword.

“Well?” Garth demanded. “Yer filthy and no offence to yeh but the pair of yeh stink to high blinking heaven; I dunno what swamp yeh’ve been bathing in! Even so I ain’t seen no strangers before riding such fine horses, dressed in such fine clothing, wi’ such nice weapons, nor talking so proper neither. I aren’t stupid, so why are yeh here and what do yeh want wi’ me an’ my boat?”

Soren and Edmund shared a look, resigned to the truth. Soren stood. Edmund remained seated.

“It seems we underestimated you,” Soren. “We are no merchants, you are correct. I apologise for the ruse, but we desperately need your boat. We must travel to the isles of Kotyir. It is a matter of life and death and we could find no other sailor who would dare venture even half as close as you do.”

“Yeh want to see the dragon isles?” Garth seemed confused by their role reversal and glanced between them.

“Not to see them, we want to land on them,” said Soren.

Garth’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Land? Why on earth would yeh want to land there? D’yeh know what’s out there?”

“Yes,” said Soren, “and it is for that reason we need to go. We need to find the dragons.”

Garth’s mouth fell open at that. “Who are yeh?” he whispered.

“I am Soren, son of the late Queen Naisa and rightful king of Caledan. I travel with Sir Edmund, advisor to my late mother. My throne has been taken from me and Caledan is in peril. I am forced to desperate measures to right the wrongs that have been done. I must travel to the islands of Kotyir.”

Garth sat down on top of a barrel. His mouth gaped. “Bloody hell,” he said at last.

“Will you help us?” Soren said. “We can pay you.”

“I dunno what to say,” murmured Garth almost to himself, his eyes downcast and his brow furrowed.

Soren waited with bated breath.

“It ain’t every day I get a supposed king to be riding up asking me to show him some dragons.”

“Well, it will be late when we arrive, if we are to set off back to Harring today and an unsafe journey back in the dark. Time is of the essence for us, so perhaps we may stay the night hereabouts whilst you decide on it?” Edmund suggested.

“That’ll be fine. I need some time to think on this ‘un. Fancy helping me unload my catch? There’s a meal in it for the both of yeh if yeh do.”

Soren had a sneaking suspicion that Garth was humouring them, but with nothing better to do, they set to unloading Garth’s catch after making the horses as comfortable as possible in the lean to storage area to the land side of the dwelling. It was not much in comparison to the royal stables, but at the very least the horses were dry and out of the wind.

Once Soren and Edmund started to relay the fish back onto land, Garth set about methodically and rapidly scaling, beheading, and gutting the fish in preparation for storing them. It was not a large catch and they soon finished. Edmund sat down to join Garth – Soren was reluctant. The task was repellent. The fish stank and each time he picked one up, his hands and clothes were covered in slime and tiny silvered scales.

Garth must have noticed this, for he sent Soren off with a bucket to fill up the empty barrels in his lean to with fresh seawater. Back and forth he went until he had done so and then the three of them packed the barrels up with fish directed by Garth, which were then sealed in to salt themselves in time for the next market, or to be used by Garth when they were preserved.

The afternoon had been therapeutic; they had talked little, and the methodical nature of the tasks had lulled them in a sense of calmness. As sundown approached, they built a small fire to burn the fish entrails on and tidied up the shore of mess. As they half-stripped to wash themselves in a small bucket of cold water, a shout rang out from inland.

“Dad?”

The high-pitched voice startled Soren and Edmund, who almost kicked over the bucket by accident.

“Lindy!” waved Garth to a girl with bushy brown hair and baggy shapeless clothes who stood on the rise from which Soren and Edmund had first spied Garth’s dwelling.

As she ran down to them and hugged her father, who gave her a scratchy kiss through his beard, Soren thought with a stab of sadness that she looked much the same age as his own sister. He forced himself not to think of Irumae as he greeted her.

The four of them ate in silence around Garth’s stove – a wholesome meal of fresh fish and root vegetables. The fish was rich and tender and Soren savoured each mouthful of the flaking meat. It was not until they had finished eating that Garth struck up the conversation they had been waiting for. He sighed, sat back and folded his arms.

“I migh’ be crazy, but I’m tempted. However, I’m not about to believe I’m in the company of the righ’ful king of Caledan and some all important lord. Yer don’t seem very kingly to me! How do I know if I can trust yeh?” He observed them through narrowed eyes, as his wide-eyed daughter sat beside him.

“I suppose you don’t,” replied Soren. For the first time, he felt anonymous. He realised that, although everyone in the capital would recognise him, here, where people had never seen the king or queen, he would be just another face amongst everyone else. “We’ll leave the horses here though, as our guarantee.”

“Oh, righ’, so I’m only worth two horses am I? Thanks!” replied Garth.

“No! That’s not what I meant.” Soren tried to rectify the misinterpretation.

Edmund interrupted. “We mean to prove ourselves trustworthy. Of course we will pay you handsomely as well. We will leave the horses and money here. As for giving you some confidence that we are who we claim to be; you will know the royal crest?”

Garth raised an eyebrow and nodded once.

“Here.” Edmund took from around his neck a long, gold chain that had lain hidden under his clothes. He tossed it to Garth, who caught it one handed with sharp reflexes that Soren had not expected him to possess. Soren saw attached to the swinging chain a yellow gold signet ring. Standing in sharp relief against the shape of a shield and upheld by golden arms that were inlaid with polished rubies, was the dragon and crown that was his mother’s crest.

Garth held in his hand a priceless piece, worth more than he could ever hope to earn in ten lifetimes and he clearly realised it. He weighed the heavy ring in his palm and ran his fingers along the finely crafted chain as he absorbed with reverence the treasure that lay in his hand.

“Do you believe us?” Soren was eager to know where they stood.

Garth paused before he answered. “I’m startin’ to.” Silence fell as he thought. “Even if I believe who y’are, why on earth do you need to travel to the dragon isles? It doesn’t make no sense.”

“We need to find the dragons and speak with them,” replied Soren. “They may be the only hope of me regaining the crown.”

“Yeh speak of them as if yeh believe in them,” said Garth guardedly.

“I do. I know they exist,” said Soren.

“So yeh wouldn’t think a man was mad if he said he’d seen them?” suggested the fisherman.

Soren smiled. “No, we wouldn’t and we would appreciate the man who saw them telling us everything he knew about them.”

“Well,” said Garth thoughtfully, “I can’t say whether I saw them or I didn’t, but I’ve sailed close to those islands and I’ve heard a roar as what couldn’t have been made by the sea, or the rumble of the islands as they make themselves anew. I’ve seen winged things that were so far away yet so big I don’t think they were birds and I swear I saw one breathe fire. Unless I’m goin’ crazy, I’m sure I wasn’t mistaken.

“Surely you’ve heard the tales of them though? Child snatching, livestock stealing, giant, winged terrors? Why on earth would yeh want to go and try talk to one? Especially when they live in such an awful place as them islands. They’re hard places to get to and the earth belches out hot, glowing, melted rocks that makes the sea steam an’ the sky dark – yeh could be killed! If the islands don’t kill yeh the dragons damn well migh’ before yeh can say so much as ‘good day’!”

Edmund shifted in his chair. “It will be dangerous, but worth the risk. We must try.”

“Yeh more determined than most then, to seek me out. Never before in my life have I heard of such a venture.” Garth shook his head.

“Will you help us?” asked Soren.

Garth did not respond.

“Think of it this way.” Edmund joined Soren in their efforts. “You can go on an adventure that no one else will have lived through, and I’m sure it would entail no more danger than your fishing trips do. If we succeed, you will have the most fantastic tale to tell and a bag of gold to tide you over.

“Even if we fail and die, you still have a fantastic tale and the bag of gold and we wouldn’t be needing our horses back. Either way, you can move up in the world if you choose. Time is of the essence and we need your decision. What say you, fisherman?”

Garth did not reply.

Soren

Clattering awoke a stiff Soren that morning. He rested for a moment, cheek pressed against wood before he came to his senses and sat up. He had slept on the shack’s floor, with his pack as a pillow and his cloak as a blanket; relative luxury compared to the bare earth yet just as uncomfortable. Edmund was nowhere to be seen. Soren’s mouth opened when he saw what was happening outside.

He rushed out, not caring that he was half-asleep and dishevelled. Edmund and Garth were loading various caskets, barrels and bundles onto the small boat. Edmund stopped to smile at Soren as he drew closer. Soren grinned as he realised why Edmund was so cheerful.

“You decided to take us!” Soren exclaimed to Garth, who paused with a sack in his arms.

“Aye,” said Garth. “It’s a foolish and dangerous venture yer Majesty but I’m not one to turn down the most interestin’ offer that ever came my way. I could use the money to give my Lindy a better life than what she’s gonna get otherwise.”

With that, he turned round to busy himself placing the sack somewhere safe. Soren gazed at Edmund with his eyebrow raised. Edmund looked back, shrugging his shoulders at the prince. Who knows what is in his mind, thought Soren as he glanced back at the fisherman. At least we have a boat. With that, he ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to comb it, before joining Edmund in loading the craft with renewed vigour.

It took a further hour to finish. They loaded boxes and sacks and containers of varying sizes and shapes, with contents from food to fishing equipment; everything the three of them would need to reach the Isles of Kotyir and everything Garth would need for fishing along the way. The deck remained clear but the cabin was crowded; there was just enough space for one man to bunk, let alone three. Soren was so glad to be on a boat heading for the dragon isles that he had no regrets about having to sleep on the deck under a makeshift shelter.

Edmund and Soren gathered up their things. They unpacked every single saddlebag they had with them, repacked anything they did not need and kept out the necessities such as food and weapons. They bundled their things in blankets, packed those in saddlebags that were small enough to carry as satchels and stored the rest of their possessions in Garth’s house.

Their fee, which cost almost every single coin they had, they left on Garth’s table in a glittering pile for Lindy to hide. Their horses and tack remained in the lean to and they said goodbye to their mounts with a final pat. The horses nickered as they walked away. Grey ocean mirrored dull sky as they boarded and hoisted the sail to catch the slight breeze.

Lindy came from within the house to stand in the shadow of the door. She raised a hand in farewell and Garth replied in kind. Soren could have sworn he saw her look at him and Edmund with open hostility in her eyes. He moved to the bow of the boat to gaze seaward instead. Edmund followed him. Thinking about it, Soren could not blame Lindy for disliking them.

The breeze and slight current tugged the craft out until the wind threw some might against the sail as they cleared the headland. Soren had not yet thought about the return journey; now that he was within a couple of days of reaching the ancient home of the dragons, he had little room in his mind for anything else.

His thoughts spun on a repetitive loop, imagining a myriad of possibilities; what the dragons would be like in body and spirit, how he could find them, how they could communicate, how he could introduce himself, how the first encounter would play out, and what he could say to convince them to give him the crown or tell him where it was. His mind gave him few answers. He had no idea what to expect.

He spent hours sat and stood by the bow of the ship, straining his eyes for the first sight of their destination as Edmund helped Garth, interested in the workings of the small boat and learning how to fish and crab with lines, nets and pots. The east coast of Caledan passed by to their left as they sailed, always in sight of land. Garth insisted on pulling in to anchor nearer land that first night, much to Soren’s frustration.

“If we sail through the night, we’ll make much faster progress!” Soren protested.

“And dash ourselves on the rocks or Gods know what else,” replied Garth ominously. “The only reason I’ve managed to keep meself out of trouble is because I’ve enough sense not to go sailing off in any old direction at night. Always stay in sight of land when yeh can an’ always drop anchor at night. Yeh never know what lurks in or above these waters at night. I’d rather be a slow man than a dead one.” He folded his arms and glared, as if daring Soren to challenge his decision.

Soren nodded reluctantly and turned away. Edmund put a warning hand on his shoulder and looked at him with a cautionary glance. “I know you’re impatient Soren, but we must trust that he knows best,” Edmund muttered to him as he passed. Soren acknowledged the comment with an uncharacteristic grunt and resumed his position at the bow.

The weather remained dull and dry for the whole of their voyage and the sea mild. They were luckier in that than Soren appreciated, but the lack of visible progress combined with the sometimes intolerable pitching of the small vessel on the larger waves was not leaving him in the best of moods.

He realised his unreasonable manner and felt guilty – then a pang of seasickness smothered the guilt as he scrambled up to vomit yet again over the railings and into the sea. Garth’s booming laugh rang out and he disappeared into the cabin. He reappeared a minute later with a small, twisted thing resembling a root. He took his knife, shaved several small slivers from one end and deposited them into the prince’s limp hand.

“Eat.”

Soren pulled a face as he chewed the strange substance. “Ginger?”

“Should cure a turnin’ tummy.” Garth cut some more peelings and gave them to the prince who ate them without question. The ginger did help, but Soren found he was gladder than he had expected that night, when they steered towards shallower, calmer waters to anchor for the night.

The Isles of Kotyir rose into sight the following day. Mounds loomed in the haze as they drew closer in a chain of islands that led eastwards from the mainland until they faded into the distance. Garth, who they had gathered was quiet at the best of times, was even more taciturn and tense as he began to steer his precious boat away from the mainland and northeast to make for the first island.

The sound of seabirds had disappeared that day, leaving nothing except the slap of waves upon the hull and the swirling of the sea around them. As they grew closer to the islands, deep, low rumbles permeated through the air at irregular intervals.

“The fire mountains,” called Garth quietly, in reply to Soren’s enquiry. He stood by the wheel of his ship, seeming to grasp it for comfort and reassurance rather than purpose.

Soren felt a rush of excitement and fear turn his stomach upside down.

The nearest island drew closer and closer and Garth rushed into activity, barking sharp orders to make the boat ready to anchor. They lowered the sail and hoisted a smaller one up in its place which brought the craft to the slowest crawl so that Garth could avoid hazards.

The waters seemed unusually clear and calm as they inched around the first island. It was eerily quiet. A vague breeze rustled around them as they waited and watched, silent as ghosts themselves. There were no beaches on this part of the island; tall, black-grey cliffs formed an impenetrable wall barring their way, until at last they came to a small cove that allowed them somewhere to stop.

The cliffs diminished and receded to beaches of fine, black sand and it was just within their shadow that Garth dropped the anchor. They could see waves crashing over a hidden barrier out to the open sea. Garth explained to his passengers that they were in a lagoon, which sheltered them from the main brunt of the sea’s force. A ridge of rocks that almost broke the sea’s surface at low tide formed a calmer channel between the sea and the islands, however it was tricky to navigate to the safety of the lagoon.

“That there is why so few return from the Dragon Isles,” the fisherman said sombrely. “At high tide they’re treacherous at best, at low tide, suicide. Even I’ve only come this far twice and I’d not have dared to a third time I dare say, had yer not appeared.”

After standing for a moment longer, they turned to face land. The black beach bathed in its’ shallow waters was bare. It gave way to rocks as dark as the cliffs and then higher to vivid greenery – a wild tangle of dense forests rising out of sight to culminate in the dormant volcanic peak that had once built the island. Although the chatter of life – hidden birds and animals – floated faintly on the air, it seemed an unnerving place.

Soren felt dwarfed by the task ahead. They were at just the first island in a chain of several. How do I find the dragons? He questioned himself.

“Should we try here?” Soren asked.

Edmund frowned. “Were your sightings here, Garth?”

“Let’s try the next island and maybe past that un’ too,” suggested Garth. “It’s not that much further round and I’ve never had any sightings this close to the mainland.”

Soren agreed with relief. He did not fancy the thought of having to explore such a wild and unknown tangle of forests without even an inkling of whether they were heading in the right direction.

The second island proved much the same as the first, but as they sailed past it after a unanimous decision, the third came into view. It was smaller and much rockier. Trails of black destruction cut stark swathes through the greenery.

“That’s what a live fire mountain looks like then?” Edmund asked Garth.

Garth tipped his head to one side, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Well, it’s living rather than dead, but now it slumbers an’ thankful we should be that it does.”

Another rumble emanated around them.

“Long may we hope it sleeps whilst we’re here,” Garth muttered, almost to himself. “We’ll be coming to islands that are more live than asleep or dead if we keep on,” he cautioned. “Choose wise an’ quick or we’ll have to turn back for our own safety when night falls.”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Soren said. He looked at Edmund in desperation, as panic rose inside him. “I don’t know what to look for now that I’m here. There are so many islands and time is not on our side to explore them all!”

“Perhaps then, we ought to summon them?” Edmund said.

Soren did not understand. “How so?”

“Garth, perhaps you have something that could make a loud, carrying noise?” Edmund asked.

“I have a horn and the boat has a bell, though both are small,” the sailor replied.

“Anything might help,” said Edmund. “It is certainly worth a try. Perhaps we are being watched this very moment without realising, but we cannot see what is before our eyes. It might draw something out.”

Garth shivered; perhaps at the thought, or maybe because the insidious breeze was becoming chillier. Edmund and Garth began to create the loudest din possible using horn and bell, whilst Soren beat his sword unceremoniously against a metal bucket.

Pealing bell fought discordantly against baying horn and clanging metal. It seemed like they continued for an age, until they were sore with effort and their hearing dulled. Even deafened, they could not fail to hear the huge roar that drowned their din.

It rumbled and reverberated around them and through them, a low, disembodied sound so large it came from everywhere. The three men fell silent. Shivers crawled up Soren’s spine. The roar ceased, echoing, and as it faded, he heard a repetitive thud, like a giant heart beating.

From behind the island, a great, black, winged beast arose, its wings the source of the dull thuds. Flying low against the horizon it sped towards them, huge and growing more monstrous by the second. They froze in fear and indecision, but it pulled up short to alight several hundred feet away on the nearest cliff edge.

Although so far away, its size was beyond estimation. It roared its terrifying dominance at them, unleashing a huge, spurting jet of flame in their direction. Soren flinched. It did not reach the boat but sent a wave of heat roiling across them.

“God save us,” whispered a dumbfounded Garth. Edmund and Soren stood, rooted to the spot.

Zaki

“Your Majesty, Lord Asquith seeks you,” the man said.

Zaki waved him away. The messenger scuttled out backwards, almost tripping at the door when he bowed.

“I must leave. We ride to meet your father who is to return to oversee the smooth transition to my rule.” Zaki turned back to his wife.

Demara sat in the chair opposite as usual. He could see she was weary – the pregnancy had taken its toll on her. Dark circles hung under her eyes and she slouched in the chair. A most unladylike queen. He did not mind, as long as she gave him a son.

“When will you return, husband? I am almost due.”

“Beforehand,” Zaki replied. “We will be some weeks. Do not tax yourself. My son must be healthy.” He bid her a brisk farewell and left. Asquith awaited him outside.

“Your Majesty.” Asquith bowed. “You summoned me?”

“We must accelerate our plans.” Zaki wasted no time. “I am no fool. The coronation was a shambles. I need to reinforce my rule swiftly to ensure success. Harad already rides for Pandora but we must ride to intercept him and impress this urgency upon him. Reynard will ride with me. You must manage affairs here in my absence. I expect all to go smoothly.”

“Sire.” Asquith bowed again, smooth as ever.

Zaki left with haste at the head of a great host, unannounced. It would take him weeks to reach Caledan’s border and return and he could afford no diversions. Yet, when they passed the southern estates of Sir Edmund, days later, a thought struck him.

“Let us halt! We will dine at the traitor’s estate tonight,” he said to his captain. They made for the manor house, set amongst fields of crop and orchards. It was rich country. Zaki found himself surprised at the pleasantness of it.

Dane

Keys rattled in the lock as they fetched him, he presumed, for another round of questioning. Dane squinted at the guard with dull eyes as light flooded in. The windowless wine cellar had been his prison for weeks. It had been pleasant; now it lay dark and empty, ransacked and drained by his greedy captors, who were gleeful in their abuse of his father’s assets.

They dragged him out. He was too weak to resist; they saw that the finest meats never came to his plate anymore. He had given up hope of escape and despaired at the treachery of the queen’s soldiers for following her brother. Dane was certain that Soren could not have murdered her, but he worried more for his own fate now and yet again wondered where his father was. The only advantage to their repeated attempts to draw Edmund’s location out of him was that it gave him renewed hope that his father was alive and had not forgotten him.

Today was different, however. At the head of the table sat a figure Dane had not expected to see. A flash of fear coursed through him as he beheld Zaki lounging in his father’s chair. He looked well, clothed in the finest riding gear and impeccably presented as always. Zaki sneered at him.

In comparison, Dane was bedraggled – a shade of himself. His clothes were stained and torn and he stunk of fear, sweat and excrement. Hair hung limp across his dirty face and starvation had already gnawed away at him. Gaunt cheeks sat under dark eyes.

“You have been treating him like an animal!” Zaki exclaimed.

The captain froze, fearing reprimand. Zaki laughed – his usual short bark.

The captain relaxed and smiled smugly.

“Not so grand now, Dane Edmundsson. Where is Edmund? Where is Soren?”

“I know not.” Dane coughed, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The captain strode forward to give him a casual backhand blow across the face that was so strong it knocked Dane to one knee.

“I know not, Your Majesty!” The captain corrected him. Dane glared up with hatred at the man who had dined with him amicably not three months before. “It’s always the same, Your Majesty. ‘I know not!’, ‘I don’t know!’, ‘I have heard nothing!’” The captain mocked Dane.

Zaki sighed.

“Obviously captain, your methods are not effective enough. I must leave, else I would take pleasure in this myself, but starting tomorrow, you must begin chipping away at him as he chips away at your patience. Let us see how many fingers and toes he can lose before he tells the tale we want. I am not a monster, however. You may have the rest of the day to consider that, young Dane. I tire of the stench. Take him away.”

Arms grabbed him and dragged him back into the darkness. He was beyond tears, beyond fear and beyond anger as he laid in the dark, dazed and still, long after they had tossed him on the floor. I cannot tell them what I do not know, he thought to himself. Do I endure a slow and painful death? Do I end things now? He rebelled at the thought of suicide, not wanting to extinguish the hope of escape.

It could have been hours later or minutes – though from Zaki’s promise he knew it was not days – when he heard a faint scratching on wood. He dismissed it. Yet it would not disappear, as insistently annoying as a fly. All of a sudden, after a soft thud, a panel of the wall, near the top lifted away and Dane beheld a face as grubby as his own, lit by a tiny match. He squinted, trying to place the young face.

“Who are you?” he said.

“Names are dangerous,” the boy replied. He slithered through the hole. Dane saw earth dug away on the other side and the faint glimmer of moonlight filtering down the tiny tunnel.

“Are you here to rescue me?” Dane whispered.

“I’m ‘ere to try.”

Eve

The four made for a small town on the lake’s edge, having decided unanimously that journeying to Pandora via water would prove much safer. In the upheaval caused by recent events, no one could be quite sure how safe the roads were. Of course, due to their unusual appearances, Nolwen and Nelda had no choice but to disguise themselves before leaving the mountains to avoid arousing suspicion.

By some strange use of their magic that remained unexplained to Eve and Luke, they had managed to alter their anatomy. Eve and Luke awoke on their final morning before reaching the lakeside town, to the great shock of two unfamiliar faces staring down at them.

Nolwen and Nelda’s sharp features had rounded and most distinctively, both their hair and eyes were now brown. Their voices had not changed at all, which reassured Eve that they were still the Eldarkind siblings, before she was able to see the slight resemblance remaining in their faces. Luke was spooked, but Eve observed the effort he made to act as though nothing had happened.

As they rode into the town, the trees gave way to dwellings clustered by the lakeside, where jetty after jetty of all sizes and shapes extended into the water into the maze of boats both large and small. Although crowded in its arrangement of buildings and the number of people milling about, the busyness of the place was pleasant.

However, they soon discovered a sight that shocked Eve, when they happened to pass by the town notice board. Large posters declared Prince Soren and Sir Edmund wanted dead or alive for obscene rewards. Their likenesses were very convincing. Both men were stern faced.

Eve paused to view their portraits. It made her sad to think of their predicament and with the sudden realisation that she could, promised to herself that at the first opportunity she had, she would scry them. Luke caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile, but she felt little better.

Chivvied on by Nolwen, they moved on to the waterfront to buy passage on the next boat to Pandora, sailing the following morning. As Eve opened up the purse containing her savings and a small allowance given by her father for the trip to count out the large fee for herself and Luke, she noted how much her funds had been depleted. Just a few coins remained in the bottom of what had been a bulging bag.

They spent the rest of the day procuring provisions for the horses, as the voyage would take several days. They had been supplied with the Eldarkind’s traditional travelling fare; small cakes of grains and oats, mixed with dried fruits and nuts and sealed together with a sweet sticky substance. Eve at first thought she had never tasted anything quite so delicious and satisfying, however by the time they reached the lake she tired of it and longed for meat and cooked foods.

The following morning, the docks were a flurry of motion in the predawn. The four led their horses on foot through the weaving net of people to the huge wooden barge like boat that awaited them. They tethered the horses under a purpose built shelter, which had three sides and a roof and gated stalls within. In the centre of the barge was a huge set of sails set across three staggered masts and a cog mechanism to raise the anchor.

Although several traders had boarded and stabled their horses in the stalls, they had chosen to go below decks to guard their stocks. So, the vast deck was left empty save for captain and crew, who made the boat ready and fit to sail.

Soon, the shore was hazy in the distance as the barge floated southeast across the Great Lake and once it had disappeared altogether there was nothing save water and sky in all directions. Although Nolwen and Nelda seemed content staring into the distance and occasionally talking in a mix of languages, by that evening both Eve and Luke were frustrated and bored.

They had both spent the day in relative solitude; tending to the horses, or sat at opposite ends of the shelter with their own thoughts and were glad to come together for the evening meal, however meagre. They could light no fire on the wooden ship, so their food was cold, and in the looming darkness, their light was a solitary lamp. There was nothing more to do afterwards save sleep and so they set the usual watch and attempted to bed down for the night under the available shelter with the horses.

“I think I prefer sleeping on tree roots,” Eve said with an almighty yawn as she awoke the next day. The four were bleary eyed, stiff and dishevelled as they ate breakfast in the fog to which they had awoken.

It was a strange contrast to the clear though overcast day before. Steely grey waters swirled around the boat, wavelets slapping against its side as it ploughed through the thick, clinging mists. The bow and aft were barely visible and it was cold as the fog resisted the morning’s warmth.

Huddling close together in the shelter made them colder and stiffer, so they rose and raced each other back and forth across the ship; even Luke cast off his reservations and joined in. Once warm and red cheeked, they collapsed laughing in the piles of hay, feeling far more enlivened. The energy soon passed however, and even Nolwen and Nelda seemed subdued, but Eve, feeling emboldened, nudged Luke and mouthed to him to follow her.

Curiously, he rose to trail her across the boat into the mist. When Eve turned to find Luke stood next to her with a questioning look on his face, her heart leapt into action, beating fast in her chest, and she began to question herself.

It is not too late to turn back, not yet, the thought crept into her mind. She looked into his open face, wondering if she were right to trust him and he gazed back, nonplussed. After a long pause, he moved ever, as if to withdraw, but she reached out to grasp his sleeve. She dropped it almost instantly, her cheeks burning.

“Please stay,” she said.

He leaned on the railing and shifted his focus from her out into the unending white as he waited. Her heart would not return to its resting rate and hammered as nerves rushed through her.

“How long is it since we spent time together as children and friends?” she asked him.

“At least five years now,” he replied. “Although we have trained together since with the guardsmen since I joined their ranks.”

“It’s not the same though,” she muttered.

“No. It’s not.”

“I do miss it, you know.” She dared to confide in him as he remained silent. “Our friendship. We used to be close, once upon a time. Things aren’t the same without you. There’s not been anyone else I felt so at ease with.” Her mouth curved in a small smile.

“You were right, that night before Ednor, to try and help me, but you must understand, my mother’s identity is something I’ve never shared with anyone before.” She peered at him anxiously, but could not gauge his reaction. “I hope I didn’t offend you by concealing it. I hoped that our friendship counted for something.”

“Is that why you kept me on, and not Nyle?” he asked.

“Partly,” she said, “you and I were closer, and it’s regrettable to lose someone you can depend on. I would have kept Nyle too but there’s something in him that I can’t trust. I’m frustrated with myself for not noticing it before. I might as well tell you and then you can decide for yourself whether you still trust and believe in me or whether you wish to follow him home.” She trailed off.

“Tell me what?” Luke frowned.

“In hindsight perhaps I should have told you before you got on this boat and then at least you could have had the chance to ride off if you had chosen – perhaps that is what I feared…”

“Tell me what?” Luke repeated.

Eve looked at Luke with dread, biting her lip, but the moment had come and she could put it off no longer. She closed her eyes, as if to protect herself, and turned away, burying her chin into her shoulder.

“Eve?”

“I might have magic.” She forced out as if it were a swear word. “Because my mother was one of the Eldarkind, she had magic. Queen Artora said it is practically certain that I will inherit it too. I don’t know if or when or how it will happen and I’m not sure what it means. I was scared to admit it even to myself at first, and especially to you.”

“I would not blame you if you refused to come with me. I know the prejudice held against magic; Nyle made it clear enough that it still runs deep. I appreciate your efforts in being so courteous towards Nolwen and Nelda. I won’t ask you to stay if you don’t want to.” She rushed over the words, dreading the response.

“I already know,” Luke replied.

“I beg your pardon?” Eve’s voice was shrill with surprise.

“I already know,” he repeated softly to her amazed silence, as she comprehended the reason for his secrecy at last and tried to understand his decision to stay with her. “When Queen Artora took me aside at our leave-taking, she told me. I think she wished to test me, for your sake.”

“Are you leaving, then?” Her fists clenched around the rail.

“No,” he replied after a pause. “I shall do my duty.”

She recoiled, indignant. “You do not have to stay for duty!”

“That’s not what I meant.” He was hasty to placate her, but he stopped speaking and huffed. One hand struck against the rail whilst the other ran through his hair. “I don’t have the same way with words that you do,” he said. After a moments silence, he continued.

“I didn’t lie, that night in the mountains. I stay because I wish to do my duty and protect you, but I also miss our friendship. I will be there for you whenever you wish to call on me, as a guard, a friend, whatever you should require. My Lady.” He turned and bowed before striding away into the mist.

She watched Luke go, stunned as she turned around and sunk to sit with her back to the rail. A warm relief blossomed in her stomach. The tense knot of anxiety and anticipation, which had been so immovable just minutes before, dissipated.

She let out a great sigh of release, knowing she had been right to place her faith in him. In the same instance however, she still could not pin down his character. He seemed forthright and friendly and yet distant and formal and she could not understand why.

It was some while later when she arose to rejoin the others. The mist was burning off and pale light filtered through it, though warmth was still lacking. As she returned and seated herself on a bale of hay, there was the slightest tension between her and Luke as they exchanged faint, polite smiles and this did not go unnoticed by Nolwen and Nelda, who shared a look of their own.

Suddenly, Nolwen leapt to his feet. “Come! Let us train,” he said. They regarded him with slow comprehension. “It is cold, I am stiff, and it would do us well to warm our muscles and our wits.” He smiled at them. “Come Master Luke. I wish to see the proficiency of the men of Arlyn.”

“And I wish to see the skills of the Lady of Arlyn, Mistress Eve,” Nelda said, with a mischievous smile.

Eve grinned. Luke got up and retrieved his sword. She fished around in her pack for the sword that had lain so carefully wrapped up in its sheath and belt since the day she had left Arlyn, leaving her armour concealed.

It had been weeks since she had trained, and she noticed with regret the heavy weight of her sword, which felt less than familiar. At least against a woman I should still be a fair match, she thought to herself as she cast an eye over her weapon to check it was in working order.

They stood, two pairs facing each other, spaced out on the empty deck. Eve gripped her slim blade whilst Luke experimentally whirled his hand and a half broadsword in a figure of eight. Nolwen and Nelda drew almost identical, razor thin, long blades covered in the same swirling patterns that adorned the dagger that Artora had gifted Eve.

Heads were inclined as the humans saluted with their swords and the Eldarkind made a flourishing gesture with theirs and then the siblings leapt into action with inhuman speed. Eve clumsily brought up her blade just in time as the ring of metal clashing on metal sounded.

The speed and force of the attack was astounding and unexpected and Eve had not even a moment spare to see if Luke was as surprised as she. The jarring impact radiated pain up her arm and she danced backwards out of the way to buy valuable seconds, but she had no time.

Before she could breathe, Nelda was upon her again. Eve defended better this time having forced her stiff legs into action and dodged to one side. Crew members spilled onto the deck from the cabin to see the commotion and settled down to spectate.

With the distraction, Eve spared a glance at Luke and Nolwen who seemed much more closely matched; Luke at least, was holding his ground better than she could manage against Nelda. They sparred for twenty minutes with Eve struggling to attack and forced to defend, before Nelda flicked Eve’s sword aside with relative ease and drew close to rest her blade against Eve’s neck.

Her eyes bored accusingly into Eve, who realised with guilt just how complacent she had grown in her sword training. With a sudden spark of inspiration, she dropped her sword with a clang and wrenched out her dagger to point it at Nelda’s stomach. Nelda looked down at the noise, raised her eyebrows, and let out a single, clear peal of laughter that stopped Nolwen and Luke in their tracks several yards away.

“Well, Mistress Eve,” she said with twinkling eyes. “You are a rough gem, but resourceful!”

“Your skills are amazing!” Eve’s breath came heavily as she regarded Nelda with awe.

“Years of training.” Nolwen dismissed the complement. “Maybe we could train together when we can as, please take no offence, Lady Eve, perhaps you need to challenge yourself further.”

Eve was glad for the colour already in her cheeks from the exertion as she blushed under it from embarrassment for her poor form, agreeing gratefully to Nelda’s proposal.

Nolwen sauntered over with Luke in tow. Eve was glad to see he was as breathless as her. “I find the soldiers of Arlyn to be good fighters amongst men, what say you sister?” Nolwen said.

“And the Lady must be counted as a good fighter amongst their women,” said Nelda. She was generous and Luke smiled at the praise. Eve winced as she caught the undertone of their meaning; amongst humans they were proficient, however against Eldarkind, they were no match.

They lent the rest of the day to amicable discussion about weaponry and fighting techniques and manoeuvres, with Eve volunteering first watch that night. The fog had vanished and the sunset was glorious, setting lake and sky on fire. As it sunk below the horizon they set out their bedding and, wrapped in a blanket, Eve perched on a bale of hay and stargazed as she waited for her companions to fall asleep.

Some hours later, when Eve was sure they were unconscious, she reached into her bag to pull out the box that had been a gift from the fey queen. As she opened up the dark container, the pearls and reflective surface of the mirror gleamed faintly in the star light. She breathed the incantation of far-seeing on the mirror. “Leitha Soren!”

Nothing happened. She frowned in annoyance, about to repeat the incantation until the faintest flicker of light across the surface of the mirror stalled her. There was nothing more however, just roiling darkness with faint swatches of light passing across the mirror’s dark surface. With an internal curse, she released the image, annoyed with herself for assuming that, despite the late hour, she would still be able to scry her cousin.

She tried to scry Irumae. The room was in darkness. Last of all, she tried to scry her father – to no avail. “Lessa.” Not even the faintest flicker of light crossed the mirror as she released the seeing spell. She packed away the mirror and, when the moon was high enough, rose to wake Nolwen for the next watch.

~

Eve next awoke to the loud cry of, “Land ho!” She scrambled out from underneath her blanket and peered out into the bright light. As her eyes adjusted to the familiar blue, she spied a faint smudge on the horizon. With a rustle, Nelda stood beside her.

“The mount that marks Pandora,” Nelda answered Eve’s enquiring glance. “We are close.”

Even so, reaching the horizon and making port took a great deal longer than Eve anticipated, to the extent that there was ample time for more sword practice. This time however, instead of a relentless pace, Nolwen and Nelda, who had swapped charges today, went through battle motions in exaggerated slowness to correct poor technique. A short and intense full speed practice fight followed this, cheered on by the crew, until once more Luke and Eve found themselves outmatched. Eve had the niggling feeling that their partners were holding back.

By midday they had sailed into Pandora’s harbour to dock. The great castle on the hill loomed above them to the north over the rest of the city and the lake. The docks bustled, full of people and a barrage of sounds, sights and smells that assaulted them almost physically as they disembarked and dove into the overwhelming maelstrom.

Towering city walls rose close to the docks but Nolwen steered the group away from them and southeast around the outskirts of the city within the walls so that they could stay in the city outside the fortified ramparts. The hope was that by staying close to the docks and buried deep within the churning chaos of human comings and goings, they would remain undetected.

The Rose and Crown Inn became their cover of choice, so they stabled the horses there and retired to their room to discuss their strategy. They decided that Nolwen and Nelda, who blended in well with their disguises, would trawl the city for a way into the castle, as they knew the city far better. Luke was to remain with Eve as her protector and they were to remain as low key as possible, roaming around the local precinct to see what news they could glean from the lower levels of the city, which were rife with gossip.

Pandora was a bustling and vast human population compared to the much quieter town of Arlyn and the loud clamour of people and animals and carts was initially indiscernible. Despite the recent upheaval, there was no clue of any fear or ill feelings on the surface. Rather, everyone seemed to go about their daily business as normal.

The sole hint of change was the flag that flew from from every flagpole. The crown and dragon of the queen on a blue and gold field was gone, replaced by a crown and sword on gold and black that they presumed must belong to Zaki. The strong presence of soldiers patrolling the city at random hinted at Zaki’s instability.

Luke and Eve wandered up and down the roads and side streets, losing themselves in the higgledy-piggledy arrangement of buildings, but here the city wall proved of some use. Although the buildings were several storeys tall in places, creating shadowy alleys, the wall was visible in the gaps between them and gave some clue to determine their position.

From the inn to the docks they wandered and back without success. Snippets of mundane conversation and haggling were all they caught in the commotion. Feeling disheartened, they returned to the inn before sundown, as agreed, to reunite with Nolwen and Nelda.

The room was just large enough for four and overlooked the busy street below. They perched by the window, but it was dark and some hours later before the two Eldarkind slipped into their rented room, making Eve start. Eve and Luke had eaten without them; cold, salted slices of meat, bread and cheese and strange tasting local water to wash down their meal. Eve didn’t mind – it made a refreshing change from the travelling biscuits, which she was beginning to despise.

Nolwen and Nelda’s portions lay untouched on the plates and when the two returned, they consumed the food before speaking.

“I gather you wish for our news first?” Nolwen said.

Eve and Luke nodded.

“Well, we have not had a productive day in terms of our purpose, though we learnt interesting things concerning the feelings of the people for their new king,” Nolwen said. “We have been into the city proper through the east gate and circled the castle. From all angles, it is well guarded. The main entrances of course would be no sensible way to enter and all of the side doors we found are guarded more than I would expect to see.

“We were not able to check the parts of the castle inaccessible to the city – that is to say, those parts that lead into the walled gardens. Unless we scale the walls into the castle gardens and perhaps find a way in there, and mind, this would have to be at night to avoid detection, I do not see how we can gain entry. The fortress is well protected, as Zaki well knows, and he has ensconced himself well.”

Eve sat up, startling Luke who was slumped on the window-seat next to her. “I may have found something useful!” she said. Luke was nonplussed beside her. “I thought our day was quite fruitless until you said that, but I’m positive I heard today that Zaki may not even currently be in the city. I’m sure as we were at the docks I recall someone mentioning preparations that needed to be made for his return.”

“Perhaps the guards are for show,” murmured Nelda, her eyes narrowed.

“We cannot count it for definite if we are to be cautious.” Nolwen bit his lip. “We can make enquiries tomorrow. Do you have any other news?”

Eve and Luke shook their heads.

“No matter. We have something to start with. If Zaki is not here it may greatly help us.”

Soren

“Before I kill you, insolent humans who trespass in my territory, explain your din!” a fierce, guttural voice that was not his own sounded in Soren’s head and he exclaimed as one with Edmund and Garth.

“You heard it too?” he asked.

They nodded. Even Edmund was wide-eyed.

“Is it..?” Soren trailed off and they gawked at the dragon sat on the cliff top.

It flexed an onyx paw, crushing stones into pebbles with ease. They dropped into the sea a long distance below. It roared again, a column of fire erupting from its mouth.

“ANSWER ME!” the voice growled.

As one, they flinched.

“Dragon,” called out Soren, but his voice faltered. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Dragon!” he called again as loudly as he could.

The dragon raised its head.

“I am Prince Soren of Caledan, son of Her Majesty Queen Naisa. I come to seek the crown of the dragon kings which I believe to be in the safekeeping of your kind, brought here by the great dragon Brithilca.”

There was silence as the breeze fell and without warning, the dragon leapt off the cliff to fly closer. It battered them with gusts of wind as it circled around the small boat, which pitched upon the water as the displaced air caught the sails. It did not land on their boat, which was fortunate – for the dragon was several times the larger and would have killed them all and destroyed the boat in the attempt – but Soren noted that neither did it land in the water.

“I am curious of the human that knows of our ancestor Brithilca,” the dragon replied. It circled low above them. Its vast wingspan was terrifyingly enormous; it covered the entire boat and more as it blotted out the light with each pass above.

Its long tail snaked behind the wings, and they could see that great plates of a strange material – neither skin nor scales – covered its stomach. It alighted on a large rock that broke through the surface of the water much closer than before and settled itself so that not one inch of it touched the sea.

If any of them had paid attention to the others, Garth, Edmund and Soren would have noticed that they all shared the same expression of fear and wonder. Tightly aligned scales covered its body from head to tail, leaving no visible gap uncovered and the edge of its face was covered in long barbs that made its streamlined head even more intimidating. Golden-amber eyes with a long, vertical slit-like pupil glared out above smoking nostrils and its ajar mouth revealed a glittering white maze of sharp teeth.

As it coiled its tail around itself and hid its clawed feet from view, Soren could see that from the top of its head to the tip of its tail it had sharp spikes at regular intervals; some of which, judging by the size of the beast, must have been as long as the prince’s entire leg. Its wings, much like those of the bats that Soren had seen in Pandora only much more beautiful, folded to its body. They were covered partly in armoured scales but mostly in a smooth membrane that gave the wings the required surface area to lift the dragon’s huge bulk from the ground.

In its entirety, it was a beautiful creature, designed with such perfection and precision that they were left in no doubt that it was a fearsome and successful hunter.

“Will you release the crown to me?” Soren called after a long silence.

“I have been waiting for you. I know why you are here however that is not for me to decide alone,” replied the dragon. It exhaled a huge puff of smoke. “You shall return to my brethren with me and we shall confer.” It was not a question.

Soren looked to Edmund for guidance, but he had none.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Edmund said.

“Or the dragons’ nest,” replied Soren. “Is it safe?”

“Who can tell.” Edmund shook his head, “I fear we have no choice left now but to go forwards.”

“You’re right, of course,” admitted Soren. “Where are your brethren?” he called to the dragon.

“Over the mountain. You shall soar with me. Your floating tree is too slow. Come to the sea shore and we shall fly together.”

“I shall join him,” Edmund spoke up.

“So be it,” the dragon replied indifferently. It uncoiled and jumped into the air; powerful wings carried it back to shore as it let out its greatest roar yet.

Seconds later the roar was answered in the distance and as Garth steered the boat closer to land, a red dragon, far smaller than the black dragon, but still far larger than Soren, Edmund and Garth appeared. It alighted on a beach that became visible as they rounded the tall headland that obscured the rest of the island.

Garth brought his flat-bottomed boat as close as he dared to the shore so they could disembark and then dropped the anchor. “How long should I wait?” he said.

Soren and Edmund, who were busy fetching their possessions, paused for a moment.

“If we do not return in a day, get yourself well away from this place,” Soren answered. “Hopefully we will see you sooner. If not, thank you for your assistance. It is most gratefully appreciated.”

“You’ll be fine I’m sure,” muttered Garth, but it seemed more for his own peace of mind. He seemed uncomfortable with the parting. “Thanks for showing me real dragons though,” he suddenly grinned. “I know I’m not crazy now!”

Soren chuckled. “You weren’t imagining things at least, but perhaps your sanity could be questioned for agreeing to chase them?”

Garth guffawed. “Well I’m as close as I’d want to be now; rather you than me getting closer still, I’ll admit.”

Soon enough their small pile of possessions were laid out in several bundles on the deck. Edmund and Soren lowered themselves into the surprisingly warm water, which came up to Soren’s and Edmund’s chest and Garth passed down the first two bundles. They relayed them to shore and returned for more until there was nothing left on the deck.

~

Garth stayed on his boat. “I hope I haven’t just sent the King of Caledan to his death,” he muttered to himself, watching them wade to shore with the last of their things. “Fare thee well,” he called as they emerged from the sea, dripping wet. They raised a hand and replied in kind. Garth turned away to raise anchor and take his boat back out to deeper waters before the tide stranded him.

~

Flying was disconcerting and Soren returned to solid ground with great relief. He had ridden upon the black dragon’s back and Edmund the red dragon’s, nestled between and clung to the huge spikes. The two dragons had gathered up the bags of possessions in their great claws to carry. Garth’s small boat soon disappeared behind them as they flew low and quick over the ocean. Wind raced past them as they circled up on thermals, before gliding back over the island and out of sight of the fisherman’s craft.

Soren’s stomach lurched every time he looked down at the dizzying distance between them and the ground. Instead, he concentrated on looking ahead at either scenery level with them, or better still, the intricate detail and repetition of the dragon’s scales. It was not much easier but he could steady himself enough this way.

At least, he considered, I am too busy being frightened of the great drop to worry about flying into the midst of a clan of dragons.

As they rose through the air, the main features of the island became visible. Although one peak was visible from the sea to the south, the island had two volcanic cones: one active and one dormant or extinct. The evidence from minor eruptions in the very recent past dominated the landscape in the form of destructive black trails, which carved through the remaining sparse greenery of the first peak.

The second, inactive peak stood in sharp contrast. Vegetation clothed it almost fully from bottom to top, showing that it had not been subject to any recent disturbances. It was the rocky summit of this cone that the dragons had made their home.

They rose higher than the peak itself and Soren dared to look down at this point, clinging even more carefully onto the dragon below him as the wind rushed past and buffeted him unevenly. Laying sprawled below was the entire island laid out just like a map, but in colour and very real. Beaches, bays and cliffs defined the boundaries of the island in a beautiful display of natural forces at work, but the real sight lay at the peaks of the two volcanoes.

Nearby, the northern side of the first volcano had great oozing vents of hot, molten magma, which expelled ribbons of slow-moving lava. The heat and noxious fumes as they flew over this area were almost unbearable, so they did not linger long. They passed over the taller inactive peak at their highest altitude yet before descending towards it.

For a few precious minutes, sunlight broke through the clouds dropping piercing golden rays onto the ground and water below. A flash of brightest blue caught their eyes as they flew over the old volcano; in the enormous crater lay a huge pool of the calmest, most pure blue they had ever seen, with a tiny island in its centre.

The two dragons angled their wings and glided down in ever-smaller spirals. Soren just managed to keep his eyes open as they hurtled down. His stomach turned with the nauseating motion, but his watering eyes were unable to look away from the intoxicating perspective offered to him.

As they plummeted, the crater opened out beneath them. It was huge, Soren realised and the island in its centre not as tiny as it had first appeared but hundreds of metres wide and long. The black dragon roared; it was deafening this close and Soren clapped his hands over his ears as the sound penetrated deep into his head, holding onto the dragon with just his legs.

“Come all, I summon thee!”

Soren braced himself for landing with closed eyes and hugging the spike in front of him with both arms as he was rocked back and forth by the powerful downward beats of the dragon’s wings and jerks of its body as it slowed to touch down. It landed and stopped in a few paces with a series of giant, shock-absorbing steps that jolted Soren, who almost lost his grasp.

He opened his eyes. The dragon had folded one wing to its side and left the other laid down to the ground for him to climb down. Edmund emerged from behind the red dragon looking shaken by the experience as the black dragon folded in its remaining wing and turned to face Soren. The dragon lowered his head until one of his great eyes was level with the prince’s own.

“I have called my clan and they will come.” The great dragon spoke with authority. “You shall follow me to our most sacred place and there we shall have our meet.” Soren shivered, half with nerves and half with cold, still drenched in now ice cold water.

The dragon turned and strode away, tail slithering on the rocky ground, to the highest point of the small island, which by Soren’s best judgement stood about ten feet above the surface of the lake. Their possessions were left in a jumbled heap by the lake as Soren and Edmund hurried to follow.

There was not one tree on the island. It was barren and rocky in the centre of the calm lake, though bathed in light as the crater walls extended not so far up as to darken it. As they climbed to the very top of it, a hollow became visible. It seemed odd to Soren; it was no wider than he was tall and almost circular, and strange gouges he could not account for covered its rim. It took him a minute to realise that the strange gouges were of similar spacing and depth as dragon claws, and he wondered aloud at it.

“We heated the rock with our breath and scraped out the molten stone with our claws,” the dragon explained.

Soren’s eyes widened in awe, and he moved closer to peer down into it. A shallow pool of still water almost filled the depression. At the bottom, he could see the swirling patterns of claw marks frozen in the stone.

“What is it for?” the prince asked tentatively.

The dragon puffed a small column of smoke from its nostrils. “At the beginning of our time, this was the first nest of the first dragon. In this nest, the mother of our race spawned us all. And now, this nest forms our seeing pool,” he said, leaving Soren none the wiser. “With it we can see events from afar and speak with the Eldarkind as we will it.” The dragon paused and his eyes flicked skyward. His nostrils twitched.

Faint at first and becoming louder, great wings flapped in the air. Soren raised his eyes from the pool to see dragons approaching on the wind from all directions. Some flew directly to land on the island; some spiralled down as they had. All were fearsome and impressive.

Dragons of many colours, shades and sizes converged; black, grey, brown, red, green, gold, amber and even a few blue dragons. Soren and Edmund stood by the pool slack-jawed as the clan landed around them, battering them with wind. Hundreds of dragons crowded onto the small island. The red dragon that had borne Edmund, Soren noticed, retreated some distance away.

Once the clacking of claws on stone and the rustling of scales and wings had ceased, the black dragon extended his neck to survey all who gathered about him. The largest and most magnificent of the dragons gathered themselves around the pool, with the smaller dragons craning their necks for a glimpse from further back. It seemed to be a system of classes, where the strongest took precedence.

Soren and Edmund found themselves the focus of hundreds of pairs of glittering eyes belonging to faces with smoking nostrils, slitted pupils and sharp teeth. Standing on the only clear piece of land he could see, Soren felt like he was on a dragon’s dinner plate, and hoped very much that they were not thinking the same thing. His heart pounded deep and fast in his chest and perspiration sprang from his brow.

“I, Myrkith-visir, clan master, have summoned you here with such urgency for a meet of significance that has not been seen for many seasons,” rumbled the black dragon, finally naming himself. “Before you all stands a human who comes to claim the crown of the dragon kings.”

Soren stood up straighter.

“If it is here, human, why should we pass it to you? What have you done to earn it?” A silvery dragon snaked its head forward from the front row.

“Silence!” snapped Myrkith-visir and the dragon snatched its head back with a hiss. “Our pact with the Eldarkind requires us to act and we must act with caution if we are to keep the peace of the world. If we should fail to make the right choice, the world shall fall into the endless fires. Caledan and its peace is the keystone to the security of the world and we are bound to its fate. Younglings,” he said and stood on his hindmost legs to survey the smaller dragons at the rear of the gathering, “you will now experience the true majesty of our aged and unique race.”

He lowered himself to the ground with a grace that belied his great bulk and turned to the pool behind him. Uttering a low, continuous moan, echoed by the oldest of the dragons encircling him, a strange melody began weaving itself, ebbing and flowing in volume and tone. Soren gazed entranced at the pool, barely breathing and frozen in anticipation.

As the dragons sang, the water began to ripple and expand upwards, impossibly increasing its bulk. It swirled into a flowing form that had no set definition as it grew and grew to the height of Myrkith-visir and then more, whilst spreading outwards. After what seemed like minutes, though it had in fact been mere seconds, the flowing contortions grew finer as the shape settled into the form of a dragon, whose feet remained tethered to the pool.

Soren stood still, covered in goose bumps with the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he felt the strange power of what they witnessed. It shimmered with the glinting light that caught the forms of the moving water, and he could pick out scales, teeth, and a blinking eye as it swung its head to regard them all. The dragons’ song faded and as one, they lowered their heads to bow to it.

“Wise one,” Myrkith-visir greeted the form. It regarded him and swung its head to Soren without seeming to reply.

“Soren Rasirsson,” a strong voice echoed.

Eve

The new king was absent from the city and had been since his coronation some days prior, as Nelda managed to uncover the next day, though she could find no explanation for his absence.

However, the heavy presence of soldiers made the Eldarkind uncomfortable to remain in the city; Nolwen and Nelda blended in with their disguises, as did Luke, however Eve with her unusual hair was a beacon for unwanted attention. So, at the urging of Nolwen, they left Pandora altogether. They headed towards the woodlands that marched south from the capital.

The wood was the protected hunting grounds for the royal family and it spread many miles south, though it could not go further west due to the lake, or too far east due to the farming lands that lay southeast of Pandora. There was no punishment for passing through the forest, but as hunting here was prohibited, few locals bothered to stray beyond its borders; preferring instead to set up small rabbit snares on its edge where trapping was legal.

Nolwen, Nelda, Eve and Luke slipped into the forest at the earliest opportunity; guiding their horses off the beaten track and let them trot into the forest until all signs of habitation behind them were gone. They came upon a beck a short distance from a bank high enough to shelter them from any passersby and the worst of any bad weather and stopped there to make camp.

There were few hills and no caves, so it was the best that they could have found. Nevertheless, it would not provide shelter against downpours or gales and so they each said a small prayer to ask for the calm and mild weather to continue to bless them.

The forest completely extinguished the noise of the city, even though they were still in easy reach of the city gates, a deceptive illusion that lulled Eve into thinking they were in the depths of the countryside. Even though she knew it not to be the case, rustling leaves and muted birdsong helped her relax after Pandora’s hustle and bustle.

Since landing in Pandora, the irresponsibility, rashness and implications of her actions had begun to dawn on her. I must not have doubts now. Irumae needs my help. She resolved to scry the princess again that night, regretting the lack of privacy she had had since Ednor and feeling guilty that she had not yet managed to scry her father, Soren or Irumae.

By the time they had scouted the area and made camp, it was almost too late to venture back into the walled city. The gates closed every day, an hour after sun down until dawn the next morning. The exception was the dock gate, which shut later and opened earlier for business to commence.

Nolwen and Nelda decided to return to the dock front to lurk about in the public spaces in the hope of seeing or hearing something useful. Eve agreed to remain behind. She cursed her conspicuous appearance, which the Eldarkind refused to disguise. Luke would not leave her alone in the woods, so the Eldarkind departed without them.

Eve was glad that he remained behind, so that she did not have to be alone in the unfamiliar place, but also a little frustrated as it meant that she would not be able to use the scrying mirror in his presence. Although she was sure she could trust him, she was reluctant to show him its power in case he was unnerved by the display of magic.

As they waited for Nolwen and Nelda to return, they sat with their backs against the bank and talked freely as they watched the horses graze on long tethers. Eve felt at ease in his presence, as she always had done when they were children. It felt to her just as it had then and filled her with a warmth, knowing she had one friend in the world that would follow her so far.

Luke was surprisingly open in return; since finishing in the town school at the age of eleven, she had returned to her father’s care for private tutelage whilst Luke, who was slightly older, had already joined the ranks of the guards. He had started at the lowest rank, working his way up to just below captain before they had departed.

Until he joined the ranks of the household guard with Nyle, the only contact they had were brief encounters, mostly in the training ground where the guardsmen trained daily. Eve had also trained with them at her father’s insistence. Lord Karn had never believed in mollycoddling his daughter; she was the heir to the county and he wanted her to succeed him, rather than have Arrow county ruled by an outsider. It was a wish that was now becoming his demise. His desire for her obedience could not match the level of independence and free thinking he had allowed her.

Now, she was halfway across Caledan. She knew it would be against her father's wishes. For the first time she felt concerned that her actions might not pay off and what the consequences might be. In a world ruled by laws and politics, her actions might have consequences beyond herself – consequences that could affect her father, her home and the land she loved, which would one day would be hers.

She shared all of this with Luke and the moments of her life that he had missed and in turn, he shared such moments with her. They laughed together into the sunset and beyond as darkness fell. They lit no fire, but the darkness did not feel intimidating as it first had to Eve when they had set out from Arlyn, now that she had acclimatised to the night time sights and sounds.

Eve lay down that night as they awaited the Eldarkind’s return, whilst Luke took the first watch, feeling happier than she had done in a while. She bid him a warm goodnight, but could not settle. She must have slept, for the next thing she knew, she was shaken awake with a hand hovering over her mouth. She struggled, about to cry out, when Luke whispered to her.

“Eve, shh, it’s me! I’m sorry.” He apologised for covering her mouth and removed his hand hastily as she stopped squirming. “I didn’t want you to make a sound. There are horses nearby; I don’t know who they are.”

She sat up. It was nearly pitch black. They could see the faint glow of the moon through the trees though it offered little light to them. She could indeed hear horses nearby; but the tramp and rustle of their hooves came from a different direction to where their own horses rested. Adrenaline coursed through her, her heart pounding.

“Lady Eve? Luke?” The faint cry came and she sagged with relief.

“Nelda!” Luke called and scrambled to stand up. From behind the bank, the Eldarkind emerged, each holding a lamp that illuminated the trees and forest floor. “Are you alright?”

Eve shook off her thin blanket and stood to greet them. She was not sure whether it was due to the poor light, but they appeared tired for the first time since she had met them.

“What time is it?” Eve asked, disorientated by her sleep.

“The second hour of the new day,” Nelda replied as her brother tethered their two horses by the beck. She sank onto her blankets.

Eve waited for her to speak.

“We think we might have found a way. We shall talk when we awake. Can you keep guard tonight?”

Eve agreed despite her disappointment. Nelda thanked her, before she reclined into her blankets, closely followed by Nolwen. Light snores soon rose from their still forms.

“I’ll stay up,” said Eve. She held out her hand for the second lamp.

“Wake me when you tire,” replied Luke, before he too lay down to sleep.

Eve sat up her blankets between Luke and Nelda, who were a metre away on either side, placing both lamps down by her feet and extinguishing one. Before she woke Luke for his watch, she thought he muttered her name, but in her tiredness, she could not be sure. Once she was certain he was awake, she passed him the lamp and fell asleep.

Nolwen and Nelda still slumbered peacefully when she awoke. She yawned and Luke glanced down and smiled at her.

“Morning.” They greeted each other as she rose to wash her face and hands in the brook. She felt stiff and grimy that day. Splashing the cool water over her face, she longed for the luxury of a bath and could not remember how many days it had been since Ednor and her last proper wash. A hot bath, she decided, was her target; however she might procure it.

As she stretched and wandered back to camp, Nolwen and Nelda stirred. They too washed and broke fast as they explained their ventures the previous night.

“We passed up and down the docks,” Nelda said, “stopping off in the inns along the way. We found one tavern, close to the dock gate that seemed to be a favourite of the off duty city guardsmen and so we lingered there the longest, until turning out time at midnight.”

“I have a sore head this morning.” Nolwen grimaced. Nelda buffeted him on the shoulder.

“That is your own fault, brother! You should have kept to water like I.” She admonished him, though not harshly. She turned back to Luke and Eve to continue. “In any case we heard many an interesting thing. Zaki left the city after the seven days of mourning for Queen Naisa, riding North as if the very devils of the earth were after him and taking a large contingent of men. He returned days later with nothing to show for it.

“In any case, he was crowned not two days after his return. However, his coronation was not after the fashion of old. There was no blessing performed by the abbot, who seems to have vanished – imprisoned is the rumour – and the dragon guardian did not release the throne to him. The archbishop crowned him with a simple ceremonial crown though he maintained the rest of the usual pomp. The people rest uneasy at this. It does not sit well that he is unblessed by both abbot and great spirit and does not even possess the traditional crown, as all good kings and queens must if Caledan's history and lore is anything to judge by.

“There are already mutterings that Soren is alive and has fled not as a coward and a criminal, but to gather men and rightfully take his throne by force. There are whispers – and only whispers, for anything louder would be certain treason – that the king is not so innocent as he would have his subjects believe. I have reason to suspect that should it come to it, some, perhaps many of the guard and the city folk would support the prince if and when he returns.

“A few days ago Zaki rode south. Apparently, he shall meet with a small force of his father in law King Harad’s soldiers who will return to the city to ensure the successful transition to his rule. I am not certain how credible the source is, but we can be sure that he is absent for now.”

“I hope that will help us,” said Luke. “If he is absent, few should remain to guard the palace.”

“We can be hopeful that it will be favourable for us that he is away,” Nelda said.

“Did you find anything that may help us enter the castle?” asked Eve.

Nolwen nodded and then groaned. “You had best continue, sister. My head betrays me.”

Nelda rolled her eyes. “We cannot hope to acquire any plans of the city or castle, but there is one way we might be able to access the castle in broad daylight without being seen.”

Eve was not convinced and Luke seemed cautious.

“Magic?” he asked.

“No, that would be much too complicated,” said Nelda. “The castle has its own private dock.”

Luke and Eve remained nonplussed.

“This dock,” Nelda said, “is underground and can only be reached by a channel that flows from the lake right into the hill and under the castle itself, ending in a large chamber where boats can moor. It is how all provisions destined for the castle arrive. Rather than carting them into the city from the common docks and up the hill and then through the castle itself, it is much easier to sail them up this channel, moor the boats at the pool within, and then offload the goods. For all we know it could be the route Soren took to escape from right under Zaki’s nose.”

“How could we access it?” Eve asked.

“It still may not be our best option,” said Nelda. “We still do not know where Irumae is held; we are assuming she is in the castle at all.”

“I think I can shed some light on that,” said Eve. She regretted having to reveal her secret possession but knew that it would be necessary to convince the others. She retrieved the black box containing the scrying mirror from her saddlebag and sat down again. She took out the mirror and placed it down before her on top of the box so it did not touch the dirt.

“Leitha Irumae,” she whispered to it. The mirror’s surface distorted and swam with colours, until once more she saw the room that contained Irumae. It was the same room, darkened with no visible windows and she suggested that it could mean the princess resided within the dungeons. Irumae remained still on the bed, unconscious, as Eve had last seen her.

“She could be drugged,” murmured Nelda, with pity in her eyes, “but she seems to be alive, which is something, and we can hope that she has been treated well.”

“Do you agree she could be in the dungeons though?” Eve said.

Nelda frowned. Nolwen did not react. His hand still cradled his head and his hair fell forward over his face. Luke remained impassive with a troubled gaze.

“It may be a good indicator,” Nelda replied, “though of course they may simply have closed and barred the shutters on her window. The dungeons should be easiest to reach if we enter the castle by the docks. Shall we?”

Silence fell. It was time to make their decision; to attempt to enter the castle via the docks, or to abandon the idea altogether.

Soren

Soren gasped and his mouth fell open with astonishment at the strange being that knew his name. He felt a great weight upon him and everything around him seemed to fall away as the figure scrutinised him and he could do nothing but gaze back at it. Transfixed yet unsettled, shivers crawled over his skin.

“I am Brithilca,” the ethereal dragon rumbled, confirming Soren’s guess.

Soren bowed low to the watery figure. “I am honoured to meet you, Great Dragon.”

“I know why you are here. I cannot give you the crown, though it is within my power to bestow it.”

“Why not?” asked Soren, forgetting manners and courtesy and stepping forward in his surprise.

“You are yet to prove yourself and the true nature of your character,” the dragon explained. He growled as Soren began to protest. “Peace, youngling. I know of your circumstances, I know of what you have endured to reach this place and I know of your legitimacy through your bloodline; it is not enough. Before you can inherit the crown of the dragon kings, you must prove your worth, prove that you are worthy to ensure the peace of the realm.”

“My uncle has already seized the realm under false pretences and if I cannot claim the crown, the kingdom will fall to him!” exclaimed Soren. “I cannot let that happen! His madness, cruelty and self-serving nature would do irreparable damage to Caledan!”

“Peace, youngling,” said the great dragon once more. His voice swelled in magnitude. “Zaki sought to take the crown by force from its resting place, without earning the privilege of possessing it and for that and other reasons it will never be his to hold.”

“If you will not give me the crown to prove I am the rightful heir,” replied Soren, subdued, “then how am I to prove myself at all? Zaki already holds the kingdom in name and by force of military might. There is no one else but he and I who could hold a claim to the throne and I have nothing to back mine with, though I am certain I would make a more just guardian to our people than he. How can I overcome that?”

“It will not be easy, yet the seeds of his downfall are alreadysown. He has already been crowned, but not with the true crown of the dragon kings and he extends his hands holding the keys of the realm to the men of the south, who have long desired Caledan as their trophy.

“Thus, the people know him for what he is: a fraud. He has no love for them, save for the fruits of their toil helping him meet his own selfish ends and they see this and do not trust or serve him well him for it. You have but to extend your hand to them. If your true nature is that worthy of a king of Caledan, the people will flock to your banners. You will have victory and you shall prove that you are worthy of lifting the true crown onto your head.”

“How do you know this?” wondered Soren, distracted from the disappointment of being denied the crown.

“I am at one with the world,” Brithilca said. When Soren did not reply, he continued. “The dragons have had a long standing pact with the Eldarkind. It is our duty alongside them to safeguard Caledan and through its peace the rest of the world. Thus I, and we, know of the world as we watch it to ensure peace reigns. Although my body rests beneath your citadel, my spirit roams free and although the Eldarkind remain in their secret realm, they see the world through their hidden eyes.”

Soren pondered Brithilca’s answer. He wondered what he meant by roaming spirits and hidden eyes, but pushed aside his curiosity.

“If you and yours guard the peace, as you say you do, then surely you will invoke the old alliance to help me cleanse the kingdom of Zaki’s illegitimate reign and any claim his father in law might stake to Caledan,” Soren said more boldly than he felt, hoping it would pay off.

Brithilca did not reply immediately. “You make a daring request of me,” said the dragon spirit. “Already the world moves at a fast pace with dangers greater than Zaki growing and I fear our involvement will be needed in some way. I must speak with the Eldarkind first. You shall leave me now and return here in the morning at first light. I will tell you our decision.”

Soren and Edmund bowed to Brithilca. The dragons lowered their necks again, all except Myrkith-visir who held Brithilca’s gaze as if in a private conversation of their own. Finally, Myrkith-visir too dropped his long neck in submission and murmured a faint “Brithilca-visir” in parting. The sound of rushing, trickling water filled their ears. Seconds later, Brithilca was gone. The pool settled to rest again.

Dragons departed around them with great leaps into the sky. They battered and buffeted those who remained with gusts of air. Soren felt as if he were in the midst of a jewelled flock of birds as they took off and scattered into the sky. During the appearance of Brithilca’s spirit, the sun had deigned to shine and blue skies dominated, illuminating the crater lake and causing the dragons to glitter fiercely as they passed overhead and out of sight beyond the crater rims in all directions.

Soon three dragons remained: Myrkith-visir and two others that dwarfed by his size. Both were shades of earthy brown and Soren was sure that if they curled up he could mistake them on a murky day for gnarled tree roots. Myrkith-visir entrusted the care of Soren and Edmund to the two dragons, Feldloga and Feldith.

The flight to their overnight shelter was much rougher than their previous journey with Myrkith-visir, requiring more laboured flapping to gain enough altitude to fly over the crater rim, which jolted Soren about as he clung to a spike on Feldloga’s back trying not to vomit. Compared to Myrkith-visir’s bulk, the smaller dragons, although still towering above Soren and Edmund, felt insubstantial beneath them.

Once they landed, Soren sat with his head between his legs until the nausea subsided. As he recovered, he lifted his head up, hair tousled, to notice the two dragons sat close by. They regarded him with tilted heads – like a dog or a cat might.

“Is this your home?” he asked them.

One answered the affirmative – which one he could not tell. He stood up unsteadily to survey his surroundings. Vegetation obscured his view to the right; trees and shrubs he did not recognise, though the patchy grass beneath his feet that petered out further up the peak looked familiar enough. He surveyed the rest of the panorama.

The cave behind him was nothing more than a deep impression partly naturally formed from the rock beneath an overhang and partly scraped out by the dragons to offer some shelter. He saw dried grasses lined it, forming a thick layer of insulation from the cold stone. Structured piles of rubble to either side of the entrance extended the barrier against wind and weather.

The most impressive view however lay before him. The land swept away and, except for one large rise which obscured the beach, he could see all the way to the sea. From here, the shallows were azure. As he gazed further afield, he could see the stark contrast of the steely grey-blue waters out to sea that swirled under matching clouds.

“It’s beautiful,” Soren murmured. They were so high and so far north that the weather had a noticeable chill to it despite the bright sun, and when the breeze rose, Soren shivered.

The two dragons and the two men spent the rest of the day in conversation, each race as curious about the other. Other young dragons, overcome by curiosity, continued to arrive, until there was hardly any space left around the two men. It became apparent to Soren that the dragons could tell them apart as poorly as Soren and Edmund could differentiate between the two brown dragons. This caused some amusement to both sides, although all parties were adamant that the differences between them were obvious.

Soren and Edmund were the first humans that the young dragons had laid eyes on; they were curious to understand how such small, scale-less, wing-less, claw-less and to their eyes teeth-less creatures could hold dominion over most of the known world. Edmund and Soren showed the dragons their swords and small knives; the dragons remained unconvinced.

A black dragon put it to them with derision, “How can you do anything with one claw?”

“Well what if you had just one claw to fight with?” asked Soren, emboldened.

The dragon growled in response, as his companions let out strange rumbles that seemed to be laughter. “I am Myrkdaga son of Myrkith and I am a dragon not a mouse!”

Faced with a row of glittering teeth so close to his head, Soren reconsidered. “I meant no offence,” he said contritely.

Myrkdaga, Feldloga and Feldith were the boldest of the dragons, Soren discovered, although Myrkdaga seemed dominant over the others, who deferred to him.

Although still awed by their size, several feet taller than Edmund, who was no short man himself, they discovered that they were the younger dragons of the clan. Feldloga and Feldith were brood mates of twelve years old, sired by Myrkith-visir’s younger brother and Myrkdaga slightly older. So young, thought Soren, yet so huge!

Both Feldloga and Feldith, though this was not immediately apparent to Soren or Edmund, were males, with fierce attitudes and each strove to dominate the other. The sibling rivalry was almost comical in their attempts to outwit each other and take the last word on a matter, but Soren sensed that he did not want to be in the middle of the more physical expressions of their disagreement if he could help it.

The two brother dragons lived together because they were still too young to fight with either each other or larger dragons for a more prominent position in the clan. According to Feldith, the lifespan of a dragon was so long that it would be at least another twelve years before they would be big enough to fight or seek a mate. Soren did not dare to ask how old Myrkith-visir was.

Their sharp minds were impressive; despite their youth, they seemed to be wise and witty beyond their years and Soren would have sworn, had he not been able to see their bodies, that he was conversing with another human. It was bizarre to experience the contrast of their predatory bodies; perfectly designed for fighting, hunting and killing and their minds, which possessed astounding intelligence.

That night, after being outfoxed in games of riddles by the wily dragons, Soren fell asleep to dream of sweeping away Zaki under a storm of dragon fire as he descended with the entire might of the dragon clan behind him.

~

The following morning dawned bright as the rumbling of stirring dragons woke Soren with a start. He had spent the night on a pile of dried grasses in the dragons’ cave, whilst the dragons laid underneath the stars. It was sheltered and had retained enough heat to keep them warm despite the altitude and the latitude.

Soren dressed, wishing for a hot bath. Every inch of him was caked with dirt despite yesterday’s dunking in the sea. He wore his other set of clothes – which were marginally cleaner – wrinkling his nose with distaste at the state of the last as he scrunched them up into a bundle. They were covered in grime, fish slime and probably worse.

Next to the magnificent dragons who cleaned themselves with barbed tongues, scraping each scale until it shone, he felt disgustingly inferior. Half asleep, he wondered if they despised his scent and was glad that he had grown unable to smell himself.

Eager to hear the dragons’ judgement they returned to the small island in the crater lake where they found Myrkith-visir waiting by the pool. This time, without the power of the entire clan’s summoning, Brithilca’s face swam beneath the surface of the tiny pool as if it were a reflection. They knelt by the poolside, with Myrkith-visir lowering his neck so it was level with their heads. Feldloga and Feldith waited some distance away, beside Myrkdaga, who had insisted on accompanying them.

Soren addressed him today as ‘Brithilca-visir,’ understanding now from Feldloga that ‘visir’ was a special term of respect for the highest of the clan; applied only to Myrkith, the clan chief and Brithilca the great dragon spirit.

“The decision has been made,” Brithilca said.

Soren froze, not even breathing.

“One of the clan will escort you to Pandora.”

One... thought Soren. He closed his eyes in dismay. What can one dragon do? His dream of sweeping Zaki away under a mighty assault now seemed impossible.

“My kin will take you to Pandora and return henceforth. We will take no part in your affairs.”

Soren opened his mouth to protest, but Brithilca did not pause.

“It is you who must unite the kingdom. Only then can you claim the crown of your forebears and then will it be your right to do so.”

Soren bowed to the ground. Disappointment rendered the words hollow as he tried to thank Brithilca. He was not sure if the dragon sensed his insincerity or not.

“I also bear you a message from Queen Artora of the Eldarkind. She bade me tell you this to give you hope in a dark time.” Brithilca’s voice ceased, and there spoke into Soren’s mind then a different voice; one that made his heart quicken.

“Prince Soren, you stand out of favour and luck with life,” the rich, warm voice of Queen Artora said. Soren saw the flash of a disembodied smile in his mind’s eye and felt a strange sensation of a hand upon his head as she spoke. “Fear not, for although you face perils beyond your imagination, if you cannot unite the kingdom, no one can. This I have foreseen. Go with confidence to Pandora and speak to Caledan’s people of your hopes and desires for their kingdom and they will rise up and follow you. Ride into your city not with an army, but with honesty.”

He saw the smile again as the light touch faded. The voice disappeared and a tear sprang to his eye at the sadness its departure left him. The voice was loving, soothing, reassuring. He longed to hear it again.

Silence fell. Soren did not speak to break it and pondered what he had heard. Myrkith stirred.

“You should depart immediately, Prince Soren,” he said to Soren. Any hope Soren had that Myrkith would lend him more support than Brithilca had allowed was crushed.

Dragons were not subject to the long drawn out partings and ceremonies that Soren was accustomed to. They exchanged a quick farewell with Brithilca, although Soren would have longed to stay and talk with him for days if he could, wholly fascinated by the spirit and his knowledge. Brithilca faded from the pool and Myrkith too departed with few words or ceremony.

Soren was delighted to learn that Feldloga and Feldith would fly alongside them part of the way to return Soren and Edmund to the mainland. However, he was apprehensive when he learnt that Myrkdaga would be the one to carry them to Pandora; because it meant flying all the way and because of their disagreement the previous day.

The journey would take a few days, instead of weeks sailing back to land with Garth and travelling the remainder of the way on horseback. This was advantageous for Soren, who realised that speed would be of the essence, but the thought of flying such a long distance when the two short journeys he had previously embarked on upon dragon back had been so nauseating, was less than welcome.

Soren felt overwhelmed by the dragons as they gathered up into bundles his and Edmund’s few possessions to transport in their giant clawed feet. Ever practical, Edmund had noticed how sharp the dragons’ scales were and laid, with their permission, one thin blanket over each dragon back; it was all they had that could suffice as a makeshift saddle and protective layer.

Soren appreciated Edmund’s quick thinking. Even riding a horse saddled was sore enough. He did not want to imagine flying all the way to Pandora seated on razor sharp scales. As he watched, Edmund punctured holes in two corners of each blanket and passed through a length of cord to tie around the dragons’ bellies.

To their credit, the two dragons were tolerating of what must have seemed to them a very strange practice. Soren, having an appreciation for the great status of the legendary creatures, felt guilty about having to treat them as if they were pack horses and made an effort not to call the makeshift contraption a saddle, for fear of offending them. He thanked them for agreeing to bear them and the other dragons for carrying their things, before he climbed up Feldith’s leg.

Once mounted, there was one more addition to make to their makeshift riding gear. Both Soren and Edmund tied a short length of rope around one wrist, passed it around the spike in front of them and then tied it around the other wrist.

They did not tie these too tightly, but it would mean that, if they lost their grip on the spike when buffeted with wind, they were more likely to be able to right themselves without falling off. Soren resolved to devise an easier way to ride a dragon.

All too suddenly, they were flying. Myrkdaga took a running leap into the air and rose with strong wing beats. Feldloga and Feldith, having things grasped in their claws, crouched and with the enormous strength of their haunches, jumped into flight.

Soren held onto the spike, and hugged it close so his face touched the smooth, almost warm, bone-like material. Then Feldith jumped, jolting Soren again and again as he flapped to gain altitude. A wingspan to his side rose Feldloga.

The island fell away beneath them until they could not see the small pool where Brithilca’s incarnation had risen. The crater lake dwindled as they left it behind them and then they were over the rim of the crater, returning the way they had come. They soared down the heights of the rich green inactive peak, gliding around its black and scarred but now sleeping sister peak.

“Take us down please!” Soren shouted as he noticed the tiny boat waiting for them in the bay. He was surprised Garth had waited for them, and he smiled, feeling sudden warmth for the stranger they had roped into the harebrained mission.

“Why?” questioned Feldith.

“The man who brought us here is just down in the bay, still waiting for news of us. I would like to go to him to thank him for his support and release him from his service.”

Feldith conferred Myrkdaga, who grudgingly agreed to land on the beach where his father had first appeared to Soren and Edmund. Feldith roared to announce their presence as they circled low over the ship. Within moments Garth stumbled out of the cabin in panic, with a pan on his head, clutching the most pathetic makeshift bow Soren had ever seen. Soren burst out laughing. Garth looked up, open-mouthed, as the three dragons soared over him and landed on the beach.

Soren untied his hands and slipped down from Feldith’s back as Garth swam to shore with short, efficient strokes. He emerged dripping from the water as Soren met him at the shore, the prince grasping forearms with him. Garth looked over Soren’s shoulder at the three scaled predators, who crouched on the beach with their glittering eyes fixed on him.

“Some escort, eh?” Garth gulped, half-frozen in the scaled behemoths’ gazes.

Soren chuckled. “Thank you for waiting,” he said to the fisherman. “We won’t be sailing back to Pandora, however,” Soren admitted. “We’ll be flying.”

“All the way from here to there?” Garth gaped. “Gods, aren’t yeh scared you’ll fall off? I beg yer pardon.” He backtracked.

“I can’t say it appeals to me but the speed would hold a great advantage,” Soren said with a grim smile. “Can I ask a favour of you though, Garth?”

“Of course,” said the fisherman.

“Our horses will have no way to return with us, except in the stomachs of my new esteemed companions,” one of the dragons behind him snorted – a rumbling laugh, “and I regret I hold greater affection for them than that and wouldn’t wish to leave them behind either if possible. Would you send them to me in Pandora by any means as soon as you land? I will reward you handsomely.”

Garth considered it for a moment. “It should be possible,” he said slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.” The prince thanked him and then they bade each other farewell. The fisherman swam back to his boat whilst Soren remounted Feldith. Edmund had already climbed back into Feldloga’s makeshift saddle.

With a run and a leap Myrkdaga, had taken to the air again and his companions followed in quick succession. They soared upwards, in wide circles; over the small bay, over the boat where Garth stood with his hand raised, over the cliffs and then out to sea and south. The islands soon faded behind them as they climbed higher and higher, and soared further away. Soon, there was nothing below them but an expanse of blue.

Eve

“Yes,” said Eve. She examined at the image of Irumae on the mirror before her. “It might be our best chance and for now it’s our one chance to help her. That’s what I came for. I’ll go even if none of you join me.” She felt nervous at the prospect of going alone, unprepared as she was, but knew she could not ask the others to follow her.

“I’ll go,” Luke said, though he stared at the mirror with a furrowed brow.

Eve met his sincere eyes and a beaming smile crossed her face.

“I shall come,” Nelda said serenely. “I would not have come so far to leave you now.”

Nolwen was last to speak. “As will I. I have not had a good fight in many years.” He grinned at his sister, who tutted at him.

“Thank you,” said Eve. “I appreciate your support beyond words.” She studied Irumae’s image one last time. The young girl remained prone, stretched out on the bed. “Lessa,” she murmured and Irumae faded away as the mirror returned to reflecting the web of leaves of the forest canopy above it.

The sun was high in the sky, and so they devoted the rest of the day to discovering how they could access the concealed royal dock, planning to launch an attempt that very night if they could. Nolwen still felt the after effects of his drinks the previous night and so Nelda rode out that day with Luke. Eve remained confined to the camp, much to her frustration, but she bore it without complaint and set to preparing herself for what was to come.

She washed herself in the beck as Nolwen slumbered and took out the dagger the queen had given her and her own sword to maintain them, though she hoped deep down not to have to use them at all. Falling into a methodical manner of working through her simple tasks sent her into a meditative state and before she knew it, Nolwen had awakened and it was mid-afternoon.

Seemingly recovered, he insisted they spar together to warm up and make good use of the time. Nolwen was by far more skilled with the sword than Eve, but he sparred with her patiently and tried to hone her technique with constructive comments where he saw room for improvement.

After their exercise, her skin shone with a thin layer of sweat and so she returned to the river to wash once more, although she knew that she could not shift the muck caked on her clothes. Luke and Nelda returned around the sixth hour after noon and took Nolwen and Eve, who had been discussing sword techniques, by surprise with their almost silent return.

“We found a way. We’re to go tonight, if you both agree,” said Nelda.

It transpired that Luke and Nelda had spent the day at the docks watching and listening for anything helpful. There was very little that they heard, but by watching the docks, they determined which vessels went to the royal docks, with which provisions, when.

“By what we saw, there would be no way to procure passage on one of these boats; foot passengers are not accepted into the castle, especially by such a vulnerable route,” said Nelda. “Nor could we hope to gain entry to the boats on a working basis; I doubt they accept any old stranger from the docks to man boats at the drop of a hat. However,” she raised a hand to pause Eve, who was on the brink of speaking, “Luke may have found a way.” She looked to Luke to continue.

Luke cleared his throat. “I noticed that the marina doesn’t have gangways large enough for all the boats to moor at. It means that some boats have to drop anchor in the lake itself and row in and out of the marina in small rowing boats, which the city keeps for communal use. It’s such a busy place that no one seems to take any notice of who uses them. One would just about fit the four of us in it; if we could happen to borrow one for the night, we could slip unnoticed out of the marina and into the royal dock.”

“That’s brilliant,” said Eve, surprised by the simplicity of the solution.

They agreed to set off just before nightfall on foot to the docks, leaving the horses near their camp, as there would be nowhere to tether them in the city. They packed up the camp, in case they had need of a swift exit, yet had no choice but to leave everything bundled in a pile. They could not risk burdening themselves with more than weaponry and armour.

They dressed in light armour pieces from their saddlebags. Eve wore her fitted armour for the first time, slipping the chain mail over her top and strapping the greaves and bracers onto her shins and arms. She braided her hair in a long plait as Nelda had, which flowed down her back and double-checked that her helmet fitted well. The weight of armour was noticeable, even though it was not a full suit and the Eldarkind smiths had somehow made it light enough to not hinder or burden her.

Eve flexed her arms and legs; trying to move in all directions to check she had full mobility and blushing when the others laughed at her strange movements. On her left hip, she hung her sword in its scabbard from her belt and on her right, the Eldarkind dagger and checked she could draw both without hindrance. The routine felt familiar, as if she were dressing in light armour for a training session at home.

Lastly, she regarded her bow, which had hung disused from her saddle since she left Arlyn. It would not do for the confined spaces inside the castle. She stroked its smooth wooden limb fondly and left it atop her pile of belongings in the camp, next to her quiver, hoping they would still be there when she returned. Once finished, she saw Nolwen and Nelda similarly attired to her although they retained their brown haired and dark eyed disguises.

Luke had donned the traditional style of armour that Eve wore to train in at Arlyn; chain mail shirt reinforced with thick leather plates on the front and back, bracers that extended to protect the back of his hand and the first joint of the fingers, greaves that extended up to protect the kneecaps. On top of that, he wore a formal helmet that protected the back of his neck and carried a small shield – more of a buckler than a true shield – which he hung from his hand and a half broadsword handle that sat in his belt.

They ate what they could to give them strength through the night and concealed their armour beneath cloaks. Keeping to the forest borders for as long as possible before venturing out onto a road, they tried not to attract any attention amongst the many other users of the road.

By the time they reached the docks on foot, the sun was setting, so they sat near the water in a dingy corner outside a tavern and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible until darkness fell. When life had faded from the docks – having moved inside either the taverns, ships or city – they stirred with nervous excitement.

Nolwen sprinted onto the northernmost gangway and wove between crates and mooring ropes until he found a rowing boat tied up between two larger craft that hid it from the dockside. Once he had untied its mooring, he signalled to the others to join him. They piled into the boat, which sunk low into the water under their weight. There were two sets of oars resting in the boat across its two benches, so they took one each and coordinated their strokes to move through the marina, keeping behind large boats wherever they could to remain hidden from shore.

The night was clear and large clouds drifted across the sky, obscuring the small amount of moonlight available; this helped to hide them, but hindered their movement through the maze of crafts. Eve could not be sure how long it took before they made it unseen to the mouth of the cave – it seemed like hours.

The void like opening swallowed them in oppressive darkness. The pitch-black tunnel was not long, and they could see a dim glow ahead from the underground dock. Even so, it was a disconcerting journey, moving through the darkness and gliding over still, black water.

As they exited the tunnel, the cave broadened out to huge proportions. They could see no one, although they could hear the faint sounds of talking coming from the guardroom. The water was still here, being so sheltered and there were small barges moored.

The cave had formed naturally, though an entrance had been bored down to it from above many centuries ago. A small guardhouse guarded the way, next to a gate with a portcullis that could be lowered to protect it. A raised stone floor had been constructed by backfilling part of the cave so that there was a wide area to offload goods; this also meant that there was an open area for them to cross that would risk their discovery.

The portcullis was down, and a small wooden gate beside it lay ajar. It was most bizarre to see a gatehouse and portcullis in a cave, but with such vulnerability under a castle, it was necessary to protect the fortification.

The floor level was almost high enough to hide them in the shadows as they sculled across the water. They stowed the oars with a tiny clunk and the rowing boat glided to the wall with what was left of its momentum.

It came to the wall side on and Luke and Nelda stretched their arms out to touch the wall first and push against it to slow the boat to a stop before it bumped against the stone. Nelda jumped out, quick as a flash and was gone, whilst the other three waited in silence as they had agreed earlier. Within minutes she had returned.

“All clear,” she whispered. She reached down to pull Luke up and out of the boat, and then Eve, whilst Nolwen climbed out on his own. They made for the guardroom in single file led by Nelda, who ushered them in and then closed the door. Two guards lay sprawled out on the floor.

For the first time Eve looked at Nelda with a tingle of fear; she knew her distant cousin to be well trained, but Nelda’s carefree personality hid colder skills that she did not understand. Not for the first time she began to feel out of her depth and fought to keep the unease buried.

Nelda saw her consternation. “They are not dead, cousin.” Nolwen drew Eve aside. “I have merely sent them into a deep sleep from which they will not awaken for many hours. However the next men we meet we shall probably have no option to kill. They are traitors and will not show us mercy; we must show them none in return if we are to accomplish what we came for.”

Eve nodded – though she had no idea if she were capable of that – as Nelda turned back to her brother and Luke, who had finished stripping the tunics from the limp guards. The two men donned these over their armour and belted their swords over the top. Once more, they put on their cloaks. Nelda and Eve put their cloak hoods up to obscure their faces and the four left the guardroom, Nelda grabbing a lamp on the way out.

The portcullis led to a wide, spiralling ramp that seemed too conspicuous, so they chose instead the original spiral staircase next to it to ascend to the inner castle. The single-file stairs climbed several storeys up before ejecting them onto a wide corridor joined by the ramped road. There were no windows, just lines of dully-burning torches to illuminate their way, and so they crept along its length until the way bent up and down.

They followed the downward arc to an iron gate. A locked, iron gate. Luke and Eve shared a look of despair, but Nelda crept forward. They made to follow her until Nolwen cast his arm out to halt them in their tracks. Nelda crouched by the gate, whispered, and the gate clicked open.

They filed into a corridor that could take four men walking abreast. Doors lined the corridor on each side and Eve’s heart quickened. However, they discovered no prisoners, just dusty bottles of wine in racks towering above them on tall, long shelves. Nolwen huffed in disgust at the wasted time and they retreated.

There was no choice but to follow the wide corridor up. The further they went, the better lit it was and the more chance they would be discovered. Yet the castle was unnervingly empty. Eve wondered whether the late hour of the night, combined with the king’s absence meant that the guard was minimal. Silent and tense, they crept on.

The ramp led to a second closed portcullis set in the high-ceilinged corridor. The small wooden gate next to it also lay shut. Beyond they could not see anyone; it was not a well-defended part of the fort, for who could send an army through a small cave and two portcullises without being noticed sailing across the lake first?

Nolwen unlocked this gate. He pushed it open and they crept through. They were on the lower levels of the castle now; the servants’ quarters, the kitchens and service rooms would be hereabouts and somewhere, the dungeons.

Before they could discover the kitchens and servants’ quarters however, they came upon what they had been looking for: the dungeons. Another locked gate barred their way. Nolwen opened it without a hitch. They followed the corridor down a gradient to a closed wooden door on their left whilst the corridor stretched ahead and bent right.

On the other side of the door they could hear talking and laughter; Nelda raised her eyebrows at Nolwen and held up five fingers. He frowned, listened, shook his head and held up six. They tiptoed past the door and began to examine the doors. Eve’s body coursed with nervous energy – she felt electrified and alert.

From the scrying they knew the door was solid; it did not have a hole barred by iron as the first few doors did and so they passed these by without stopping. The corridor bent right and suddenly before them were two guards standing sleepily by a door matching what they had seen in the scrying mirror.

The two guards stood no chance. Nolwen and Nelda leapt forward, swords drawn and cut the soldiers down before they could even notice the intruders. Almost in synchronisation, they lowered the men in slow motion to rest them on the ground with the smallest scrape of their armour on the stone flags. Eve dared not look at either of the bodies let alone her two companions as they all hurried into the room.

Irumae lay on the bed, just as she had done in the mirror, the folds of her long dress falling about her legs and slippered feet. Nelda rushed over with Eve and though blood-stained, bent close to examine the girl. Her face was pale, made more so by the dark hair that lay across her in a tumble. She was twelve and her small form was frail in the dull light. She did not wake to a gentle shake, but did not appear to have any injuries.

“I think she’s been drugged,” said Nelda. “We will have to carry her out like this.”

“So be it,” said Nolwen. “Let’s go.” He scooped up the girl in his arms as if she weighed no more than a leaf. They froze at a noise outside.

“Which idiot left the gate open?” a man’s voice called some distance away. “Rouse yourselves and check the prisoners!”

Nolwen swore and passed Irumae to Luke so he could draw his sword. “Stay behind us,” he said to Luke and Eve, as he and his sister led them from the room, grim faced. Once out, they ran; around the corner and straight into a group of six soldiers who had spilled out of the guardroom in confusion in front of a seventh figure, who had his back turned to Nolwen and Nelda.

Some of the guards already had swords drawn and they leapt forward with snarls as they beheld the intruders. The seventh man joined them as Luke passed Irumae to Eve, who stumbled under the sudden weight. Luke stepped in front of her to meet the onslaught as Eve drew her sword with difficulty, feeling useless.

The metallic clash of swords hammering against each other filled the corridor with a din that jarred Eve’s ears. They had a slight advantage, as the corridor was too narrow for all the guards to meet them at once. Even so, it was difficult to fight in such a confined space. With their long swords, the Eldarkind were at a disadvantage to the guards who were equipped with shorter blades, even though they had far greater skill and a longer reach.

One guard and then a second fell, and Nolwen, Nelda and Luke pushed forward, but as Eve turned around, several feet behind her companions who were engaged in the other direction, a soldier was barrelling towards her from behind with his sword drawn. She was forced to almost drop Irumae to the floor and raised her sword just in time to meet his.

Where did he spring from? He was strong, far stronger than she and she felt his determination to best her through the sheer force of his blows. Back and forth across the corridor they danced, but she could not beat him although somehow she managed to escape his blade’s scything swings by darting out of reach.

Once more she sprang forward at him and once more he parried her sword thrust. The clash of steel rung in her ears as her arm seared with pain at the force of his block. She whipped the blade away and slashed at his side – once more, he was there to stop her cutting open his unprotected abdomen. She had the smallest opening to slice deeply into his leg, but something within her caused her to hesitate and his sword met hers.

The edge of his blade slid along hers until they were hilt to hilt and then it was his turn to surprise her, pushing her away with such force that she reeled for a moment, lost her balance and fell to the ground, crying out with the pain of the fall. Her sword bounced out of her hand and came to rest over an arm’s length away in the shadows, as she laid semi-stunned on her back.

His footsteps approached and her dazed senses heard his heavy breathing and the clang of steel as he kicked her blade away. She saw his shadow over her, black against the dark vaulted ceiling above. He circled her, sword still drawn, until he was face to face with her. He looked down, lifted his broadsword and rested the point on her collarbone. The cold of the steel seeped into her, but it did not dull the erratic heartbeat in her chest: the only sign of her fear. She could not move, could not speak.

“Do you yield, traitor?” he asked her coldly.

“No!” she heard Luke scream. She could not see him behind her, struggling to cut down the soldier in front of him to reach her. All she could see was Irumae slumped against the wall next to her. She did not answer the man, lost in her blank thought and staring at her cousin’s still form. He kicked her with contempt. As she cried out he raised his sword to strike her.

Fear gripped her as she lay powerless and frozen against the stone, until something else flooded through her, energizing her body as though she had been struck by lightening.

“NO!” she screamed and threw up her arm. The world turned white and unbearably bright as energy flooded through her. She was catapulted bodily off the ground and struck the wall. The world turned black and silent. She heard nothing more.

Soren

Soren was glad for the rope that tied his hands to one of Feldith’s spines. It kept him upright and stable when the wind plucked and tore at them, or Feldith shifted beneath him. As well as the wind, it was also cold despite the summer month. The single redeeming quality was that, flying above the low clouds, they remained in the sun and although the wind snatched away any warmth it could give them, Soren was grateful at the very least to be dry.

The day passed swiftly and engaging in such an unusual perspective was captivating. To be able to see blue waves crashing thousands of feet below him and clouds drifting past forming various shapes and apparitions was unlike anything Soren had witnessed before. It felt so abstract that his fear of heights receded. Exhilarated, he felt like he was a bird. Is this what it is to be free?

They passed over the shoreline in the early evening, far north of Harring and even Garth’s tiny shack and so none but animals witnessed their passage as they flew low over the land. The mountains ahead barred their way to Pandora, although they already flew higher than some of the clouds.

The dragons flew between peaks rather than over them. It was because, as Feldith explained, the air was so thin at the top of the mountains that there was not enough breath for them to fly on. Soren regarded the glacier-capped peaks; he would never have guessed the deadly secret of their deserted heights.

They crossed the entire chain of mountains before stopping for the night. It was dark when they landed in a valley sheltered by foothills. Mountains hid in the darkness above them, their silhouettes visible against the starry sky. Soren and Edmund lit a fire from discarded branches and huddled around it and ate their meagre fare longing for meat and a proper meal. The dragons flew off to hunt; the air was quiet after the sound of their wing beats had disappeared into the distance.

Soren and Edmund remained sat on the banks of a small river, although they could not see much in the small firelight. It snaked back and forth across the valley, leaving a flat valley floor free of the forests that clustered thickly upon the hills. Around them the landscape rustled as hidden animals moved around them.

By unspoken agreement, they set out drawn swords on the ground and sat alert and focused, almost back to back next to the fire, just in case a wolf or large animal should chance upon them. They were east of the protected central lands surrounding Pandora and here, on the other side of the plains, roamed greater predators than they; brown bears and grey wolves that were never to be trusted.

The dragons soon returned, bringing their protection along with the scent of fresh blood from their feed on their breath. On edge, Soren felt reassured by their presence despite this going against all instinct and intuition.

"Forgive me," Edmund said, "I did not think you were to accompany us so far," he addressed the two brown dragons.

Feldith snorted.

Feldloga snaked his neck out to stretch as he lay down. "We were not intended to." His reply was short, though it did not seem curt.

"Why did you come, then?" Soren asked.

"Because islands are tedious and the sea is cold and tedious!" complained Feldith. "We tire of it; we wish to see the world!"

"What if the world should see you?" said Edmund. "Your islands, as dull as you may think them to be, may no longer be the haven they are now."

"My sire did not say I could have any of my clan with me," Myrkdaga said, "yet neither did he say they could not come with me. I will not send them away if they wish to fly with me."

"I suspect Myrkith-visir will not be happy once he learns of your absence," murmured Edmund.

Feldith growled; a deep rumble full of warning.

"I am glad you came, though," Soren said earnestly, though he received no response. He pondered the dragon's words, wondering if they were to come all the way with him and crucially, whether they would defy Brithilca's words to help him take back the throne. He and Edmund tried to settle for the night, but in the wild, surrounded by dragons, sleep did not come and Soren had a restless night filled with twisted nightmares.

They were beyond tired when they glimpsed Pandora first on the horizon, but the sight of their home cheered Soren. As they drew closer, he marvelled at the view of the city they received from so high up; an unrivalled sight impossible to recreate from ground level. By this point, he had become accustomed to flying and swayed instinctively with the wind and motion of the dragon's bodies. Myrkdaga now bore Soren and Feldith, Edmund, whilst Feldloga transported their possessions tied to his belly.

The castle dominated the city, built on the great hill that fell away into the lake behind it and surrounded by the city within the walls. The city crowded onto the hill; larger buildings nearer the top were the official buildings of the city and the richer districts. These gave way to smaller buildings which formed the rest of the city and poorer districts.

They were arranged in an orderly fashion nearer the main roads of the city, but within their depths, the alleyways dove higgledy-piggledy: a labyrinth of passageways through the city. The great, fortified ramparts surrounded what was known as ‘the city within’, but these alone could not contain or sustain the population of Pandora, and so ‘the city without’ grew. Dwellings clustered close to the walls, spreading out and clinging to the lakeside.

Outside the walls were the docks of the city, a vital artery of trade that fed into the city mainly through the south-west gate. Here also, in the city without, was the farming might of Pandora. The plains around the city were ideal farming. As the dragons flew nearer, they began to cross over the sprawl of patchwork fields and open lands where the peoples farmed animals and crops for the residents of the city to consume and trade. Seeing the city in its entirety left Soren feeling proud of its beauty, order and peace. Yet, it seemed so small and fragile, he felt even more protective, knowing it was his duty to preserve it.

By prior agreement, they angled for the South gate, circling in great, descending loops over the city. It took surprisingly long before they were noticed; cries and screams rang out over the city, as the three dragons were low enough to leave yawning shadows under them. Guards on the wall began to raise a clamour, bells rang out, and everywhere they could hear the sounds of the city stirring. The portcullises clanged as they shut and the gates boomed as the city was sealed. The dragons at last announced their presence, roaring as one, deafeningly – joyously.

Myrkdaga landed some few hundred metres from the city gate, out in the open, followed by his clan members. Soren untied his hands and slid down from Myrkdaga's back, as Edmund dismounted from Feldith. Feldloga shed their possessions so they could retrieve their swords and armour from their bundles.

Shielded from view of the walls by Myrkdaga, they donned the light armour – Soren wished for something far more substantial. Belting on their swords, they stood and regarded each other for a moment in the calm before the unknown ahead of them. Soren tried to smooth and flatten his tangled hair.

They took a deep, simultaneous breath, turned to the gate and began to pace forward. Soren knew longbow men stood hidden upon the walls and prayed that they would not shoot. The city fell quiet as the people crowded on the walls alongside the soldiers watched them advance. As they paced, the ground shaking weight of the dragons shadowed them and their scaly tails slithered on the dry earth.

Watched by the hundreds, if not thousands, of people craning for a glimpse of him, Soren felt insignificant in comparison, despite having three of the most fearsome predators he knew any of his people would ever have laid eyes on flanking him. He tried to keep in his mind the words the strange fey woman had spoken to his mind to give him confidence and strength in the face of the adversity before him.

“Fear not, for although you face perils beyond your imagination, if you cannot unite the kingdom, no one can.” Her voice, so hard to forget, swam into his mind. Her words had etched themselves into his memory. “Ride into your city not with an army, but with honesty.”

Luke

“Eve!” cried Luke. He threw the soldier in front of him aside to rush to her, as Nolwen stabbed the man Luke had engaged with through the back. Nelda dispatched the very last soldier. The gurgles of the dying faded. Silence fell. The scene was carnage. Bodies lay strewn over the corridor. Blood pooled around them and spattered over walls and rent armour.

Bruises, grazes and cuts covered Nolwen, Nelda and Luke. Nelda, pale-faced, had suffered a long and deep gash on one arm, which Nolwen bound for her with a rag torn from the bottom of his borrowed tunic. They rushed forward to join Luke who knelt with Eve cradled in his arms. He felt for a pulse and listened for any sign of breath. Her skin felt boiling to the touch as if she was raging with fever.

“She’s alive,” Luke said, weak with relief.

“We need to go,” said Nolwen. “Now.”

Luke picked up Eve as gently as he could whilst Nelda shouldered Irumae and together, swords still drawn, they raced as fast as they could out of the dungeons and locked the door on their way out to conceal the destruction. Back down the corridors they fled, fear making them run faster than their sore bodies ought to have allowed.

Shouts rang out in the distance and they sped up, not knowing the cause. Luke hoped they were not about to be set upon. His priority was to make sure Eve was safe. Back down the round staircase they jogged. They reached the bottom. All was silent. The portcullis remained locked. The guards remained on the floor, sprawled where they had fallen.

They chanced it, barred the gate behind them and darted across the open area into the boat. Nolwen climbed in. Luke passed Eve to Nolwen, clambered in himself, and then received Irumae as Nelda followed. There was not enough room for five of them in the boat. It sank dangerously low in the water, but desperation fuelled them.

Quickly they were away, back through the tunnel and its clinging darkness, out into the fragmented moonlight. They rowed past the marinas, not daring to stop so close to the city, until their limbs shook, their mouths were dry with dehydration and the pain began to take control of their bodies as the adrenaline faded.

Finally, they pulled the boat to shore on a small beach well out of the reach of the dock area. The three sat in silence for a few minutes to catch their breath, before continuing on foot carrying their still companions with them.

It was still dark when they stumbled into the woods and it was the last spark of their energy that enabled them to find the horses and the camp. The horses nickered and strained at their tethers in greeting as they lit lamps to illuminate the camp.

Nelda rolled out blankets and they set Eve and Irumae down, side by side. Irumae lay unresponsive, though faintly warm to the touch. Luke felt Eve’s forehead in concern. She was still consumed by fire; her skin seemed too hot to be possible. Nolwen and Nelda hovered over both of them, muttering to each other and checking both of them over for injuries in more detail.

Luke – who knew he could not help Eve – tried to distract himself by packing the horses. They nuzzled his hands for treats, but he had none to give them. As he finished, Nolwen and Nelda stood up.

“We do not think it will be safe to venture out on the roads at this time of the night; we could be seen. Do you agree?” Nelda said to Luke, who nodded.

“Good. Instead we shall move deeper into the forest; we are too discoverable here. We do not know what scale of search they will mount for the princess, but our reckoning is that it will already have begun. We need to be as far away as we can before we may chance some rest.”

It took hours of leading the horses on foot through the wood south and east away from habitation, whilst Irumae and Eve sat propped up on horseback. The sun had almost fully risen when they stopped in a depression that led to a small valley with steep sides.

It was the ideal place to spend a few hours, their position hidden from the forest above. Nolwen volunteered first watch, having had more sleep than the others the previous day, and without bothering to so much as undress or lay out bedding for themselves, his sister and Luke sprawled out and fell asleep.

Exhaustion trapped them there that day, unable to go on and unable to go back. Nolwen washed his cuts and nicks in the brook at the valley floor to clean them and said words of healing in the old tongue over them. Nelda healed her own wounds in the same fashion as her brother, though her arm took much longer for her to repair. Luke cleaned his cuts in the running water and bound a large gash on his shoulder with a strip of fabric, refusing the help of the Eldarkind.

The two men kept a distance as Nelda checked over and bathed the two unconscious young women by hand. Luke found himself tempted to turn around to watch whatever Nelda was doing and so stormed out of sight but not hearing, so he could not give in to the temptation. Eve had various grazes, cuts and bruises over her body that needed cleaning, including a patch of matted blood on the back of the head where she had struck the wall. Her raging fever had subsided and as Nelda beckoned the men back over, she said one word to her brother.

“Soon.”

Luke didn’t understand, though Nolwen seemed to. He knelt by Eve helplessly, thinking about the strange events of the night before, whilst Nelda and her brother sat by Irumae and discussed how to cure her. Luke did not comprehend most of it, though they were courteous enough to speak in his tongue.

“I have sourced the cause of her ill,” began Nelda. “Deep within her blood there is some strange substance. The rest of her body is healthy, however these tendrils seem to have slowed her body to a sleep like status. Her mind is closed and dormant. I think it will take both of our skills to remove this from her body; I have not encountered this before.”

“Nor I,” mused Nolwen. “Very well, how do you propose we perform?” They continued to throw ideas back and forth as Luke grew more frustrated.

“Stop!” he cried in exasperation. “Aren’t you going to explain anything to me?”

They paused, confused.

“What happened last night? The light that I saw – was that real? Why won’t she wake?” Luke gestured at Eve.

Nolwen returned Nelda’s cautious glance.

“The light you saw was real,” Nolwen said slowly, “yet it is not for us to explain it. Eve will have that choice when she wakes. Worry not though. She is fine, excepting the obvious knocks from last night. Does that ease your worry?”

“Partly,” said Luke, “I just wish I understood.” He felt foolish for his outburst. “I’m sorry for being rude. I know you are trying to help the princess, I just...”

“We know,” said Nelda with a faint smile. “Try not to worry. She’ll be fine.”

It was several minutes later when Luke, focused on Eve’s face, gasped. The Eldarkind paused once more. Eve’s eyes flicked open as she breathed in a great gulp of air, as if she had just surfaced from swimming underwater.

“Eve!” Luke bent over her.

“Luke,” she said, more strongly than he was expecting. “You look... different.” She gazed around, puzzled. “Everything looks different...”

“Different how?” said Luke, worrying that the knock to her head had caused more damage than Nelda had realised.

Eve

“Everything seems – I’m not sure. Brighter.” She continued to look around, drinking in the sights around her, which seemed brighter and richer, when she felt it flicker through her mind, like a light caress. All at once, she realised why, as the night before rushed back into the forefront of her mind.

“What happened last night?” she addressed Nolwen and Nelda. She propped herself up on an elbow. “The light; what was it? I thought I was about to die. I thought I did die. What happened?” she repeated, confused, not daring to accept the dawning realisation.

“Perhaps we might explain to you alone,” Nolwen said. He glanced pointedly at Luke.

Eve looked between them. “Alright,” she agreed.

Luke stood and withdrew from hearing, without a word.

“Last night, we think you awoke magically,” said Nelda. “You must have been so desperate to survive that it unlocked the way to your power. You threw up the barrier of white light; it was pure energy. It threw you back into the wall, and the knock to your head combined with the dramatic cost to your energy that the light cost you caused you to collapse. You’ll be pleased to know that your opponent was thrown about twenty feet away into a wall. He broke his neck.”

“I killed a man?” she said almost stupidly. She could not comprehend it.

“Well yes, but it meant you kept your own life and that of your cousin,” replied Nelda. “Do not dwell on it.”

Eve still did not understand, so for the moment she set the thought aside.

“Do you feel anything different inside you?”

“I feel it in my head,” whispered Eve.

Nelda and Nolwen broke out into broad smiles.

Why are they smiling?

“Then we are right, cousin,” Nolwen addressed her informally for the first time. “You have awoken. Congratulations!”

“What does it mean?” she asked, as they drew her up to each kiss her on both cheeks.

“It means you are who you were born to be,” replied Nelda, though that made little sense to Eve. “However it is a big responsibility. You now have access to the force which sustains the world and our power. You have the power to change life for better or worse and you simply have to reach out to that power and voice your intentions in the old tongue to access it. Do not fritter it.”

Eve realised that not only was the strange caressing touch there, but also a whole new language, hovering over her own in her mind as familiar as her mother tongue.

“I think I understand,” she said to her companions in the old tongue, as easily as if she were speaking her mother tongue and they laughed in pure delight. A sense of warmth and belonging settled over her. I’m one of them. She felt a tentative sense of reassurance.

“You need only ask us for guidance should you want it, cousin,” said Nolwen in the old tongue.

Eve thanked them. She went to find Luke, leaving Nelda and Nolwen to begin their healing of Irumae. He was not hard to find, but appeared a little restrained and there seemed to be awkwardness between them.

“I’m so glad you’re well,” he said after a long pause. He stepped forward, gathered her into a tight hug, and buried his face in her hair. She froze, taken by surprise and rested her hands on his sides until he released her.

She saw he had tears in his eyes and looked at him in concern.

“I’m sorry, I’m just so glad you’re alright,” he laughed and wiped his eyes on the back of one hand. “I thought I’d lost you; it was a black moment.”

“It’s alright. Are you well?” she asked him. “How did we escape?”

They perched upon a fallen tree and he recounted the night’s events to her. They fell into companionable silence when he had finished.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said once he had finished. “I cannot imagine how hard it was.”

“You’re not that heavy,” said Luke, wrinkling his nose, “but it was hard. I still feel tired even after a sleep. I ache everywhere, especially my shoulder.” He explained how he had been slashed on his upper arm from behind when he had raised his sword arm to strike.

“I might be able to help you,” said Eve, “I’d have to check with Nolwen and Nelda first, to see if it’s possible.”

“What do you mean?” said Luke.

“Nolwen and Nelda explained the light to me just now,” said Eve. Luke tensed, unblinking. She repeated much of what they had said; but she struggled to describe how everything appeared slightly different, the strange language in her head and explain how perhaps she would be able to heal him with her new abilities.

Luke was stunned. “I can barely believe it, but it would explain why the pair of them haven’t got a scratch on them after last night,” he said after mulling over her words. “How did you kill a man like that?”

“I didn’t mean to – it just burst out! I feel so conflicted!” she admitted to him.

“Well, talk to me then.”

She hesitated for a moment, but realising she had no one else to confide in and did not trust anyone else as she trusted him, spoke quietly, feeling dismal.

“I couldn’t kill him,” she said. “I feel so ashamed. I saw his desire to beat me and I knew he would not spare my life given the chance. Even so, I had an opening to best him and I could not take it, although he tried to kill me a second later. I did not want to take his life. I never thought it would be possible to feel that way about someone who wished to kill me.”

“You’re too kind hearted,” said Luke, after a long pause. He slid his hand along the tree trunk to cover hers and she did not withdraw from him. “It’s not a bad thing, but it doesn’t help you now. Sword practice at home is a long way from fighting for your life.”

“How did you do it though? You killed last night,” asked Eve.

“I did it because you needed me and the man in front of me was stopping me helping you. I would have killed a hundred men if it meant I could keep you safe,” Luke said, more open in that moment with her than he had ever been before. “I would do anything to protect you.”

Eve’s stomach fluttered as she tried to comprehend the depth of what he had just said. “Truly?” she met his eye.

“Truly.”

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

“Now? Of course I will, why?”

“No, I mean after now. I mean, do you trust me? Now that what Artora suspected has come to pass?”

He hesitated as he tried to find the best way to reply. “I won’t pretend, I don’t understand it Eve.” As he said her name it sent a thrill across her. “If I’m to be honest it scares me a little. Maybe a lot. I don’t know if it will change you, but I know you and I trust you and that is what I will hold on to.”

She dared to lean into his arm briefly and he took her under it in a warm hug. “Thank you,” she murmured to him, though the words seemed to express her gratitude inadequately.

Her heart beat faster as she studied the wood around them with her fresh eyes, admiring the beauty that seemed to leap into new focus from everything her gaze touched. Her senses seemed invigorated and infinitely sharper; the colours brighter, the sounds more diverse, the touches against her skin tingling. She lost herself in the moment, feeling invigorated, as Luke sat with her in quiet contentment, resting his head atop hers.

Eventually he moved, infinitesimally. Eve sat up straight. Luke released her, his touch lingering across her back. He looked at her with eyebrows raised and his cheeks flushed, as she stared searchingly at him.

“Do you think you can help me become more ruthless?” she asked.

“I’m not sure if it can be taught,” Luke said. “Besides, it’s not all about being ruthless, or heartless or cruel. Sometimes you just have to be able to do what is necessary.”

“Well can you show me if we practice together?” He agreed and she went back to camp to collect their swords and check on Irumae. Nolwen and Nelda were hard at work still over the immobile girl and looked up with a cursory glance as she left the camp with the two blades.

She returned to Luke and tossed him his sword in its scabbard and they drew blades and circled each other.

“I need you to beat me,” said Luke. HE flung the empty scabbard to one side. “And instead of being polite about it, you need to push me to the edge. Show me you’re the best; be hard.”

“Fine, don’t go easy on me though,” she said. “I want it to be fair.”

“Done.”

They came together with a smash of steel, both going for the head on attack. Luke had the advantage; he was taller and heavier than Eve. I’ll have to play a cleverer game, Eve realised.

They danced back and forth and around the trees, always keeping the fallen log in sight so they would not get lost. Each gained and lost the advantage, but Eve never pushed when she could have bested him and Luke grew frustrated.

“You’re not trying hard enough!” he growled at her, red faced after he called a halt. “You’ve had at least five chances where you could have caused me damage and you didn’t press it far enough!”

“We’re just practising!” Eve replied, as red and out of breath. “I’m not going to try to stab you am I!”

“Again,” said Luke. “I’ll show you what I mean. I apologise in advance, but you told me not to go easy.”

He flew at her again in his head on style and as she stepped to sideswipe him, he surprised her by sidestepping too and slashed at her. She raised her blade to meet him, surprised by his ferocity and parried, but he caught her on the back foot and she could not gain the advantage. He beat her down and forced her towards an old tree.

Knocking into her, he tripped her backwards over a gnarled root. As she fell she dropped her sword and he pinned her with the full weight of his body against the ground. One of her wrists held in his hand, the other arm pinned to her side by his knee as he half straddled her, he rested his sword across her chest, near her throat.

“That is what I wanted from you,” he said between catching his breath. “Don’t just drop your sword and start a new round when you feel you’ve won. Push as far as you can.”

She lay under him, winded. She was not sure whether it was the lack of breath affecting her or the heat of the fight, but she felt a strange stirring within her as his warm weight pressed down on her. She had not been this close to him before, mere inches from his face. She could see for the first time that intricate lines of amber traced through his bright, warm, brown eyes, framed with dark curling lashes.

He was attractive, she had always known it, yet never realised that she might be attracted to him, nor just how comfortable she felt around him. Their close contact and sparring had lowered her defences. His mouth was so close to hers. She felt a sudden desire to kiss him and opened her lips. He must have felt it too for he bent towards her until they were almost touching, their eyes locked.

The only sound was of their laboured breathing until Luke gave an agonised groan.

“Don’t,” he said. He rolled away and sat up. To her surprise, he slapped himself around the face.

“Don’t?” she questioned. He ignored her.

“Again. We’ll fight again,” he insisted. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “I want you to be that ruthless with me. If you can do it to me I’m sure you can do it to someone who’s really trying to kill you.” He turned and stomped away, vigorously swinging his sword as he walked back to the fallen tree. Puzzled, she followed him, confused by what had just happened.

It took a few minutes of sparring to distract her. Luke pushed her even harder than before and she had to give it her all to keep up with him. Eventually, she bested him by ducking his guard and, to her shame, using what seemed like the only option of kicking him between his legs. He went down in a chorus of swearwords.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!” She panicked around him and dropped her sword, full of regret.

“No, don’t apologise,” he spat out in between curses, “that’s perfect. Not for me. That’s exactly what you should be trying to do; win in any way possible. I think we’ll halt there if you don’t mind.”

Their timing was perfect, for Nolwen’s voice rang out in the distance. “Eve!”

Luke, still on the floor, waved her away.

“Go on, I have some pieces of my pride to find.” He forced out a smile.

She laughed and apologised once more, before running back to camp, where Nolwen beckoned her.

“We’re about to wake her.” Nolwen gestured to Irumae who lay behind him, “and we need you to be the first face she sees; we don’t want to scare or panic her after whatever she’s been through.” Eve hurried to kneel by her cousin, feeling tense as she held one of Irumae’s hands.

“Awaken.” Nolwen imbued the word from the old tongue with power and a second later Eve felt Irumae’s hand twitch against hers. The young girl’s cheeks reddened to a healthy hue as she breathed deeply and her eyelids flickered for a few seconds before she opened them.

“Cousin Eve?” she said, confused, as she saw Eve. “Where am I? Why are you here?”

Eve glanced across Irumae’s head over to Nolwen, who had retreated. He shrugged and stepped further back to give them privacy.

“We are in the woods south of Pandora, Irri,” Eve said. She tried to smile. “We rescued you from the castle. What happened?”

Irumae sat up and gazed around their small camp – Nelda and Nolwen had now vanished – before replying.

“Men came in the afternoon, just before high tea,” she began. “I did not recognise their crests. They did not knock and forced their way in. I have no idea where my guards were. I tried to fight them and I tried to escape but there were too many of them! They held me down and made me drink a foul tasting liquid and that is the last I remember. What day is it?”

Eve paused, trying to work it out. “I fear I have lost count!” she admitted. “I believe we are a week into the sixth month of the year.”

“So late?” Irumae exclaimed. “Then it has been weeks! Perhaps some of my dreams were reality; I woke again and again in a small stone room. Pandora castle? Why was I held in the castle?” She frowned. “What has happened?”

A feeling of horror swept over Eve. It is my duty to tell her that her mother is dead, she realised, chills creeping down her spine. I cannot avoid it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to compose herself, moving to kneel opposite Irumae.

“Your uncle took the throne from your mother. He took it by force; he will have commanded the men who captured you no doubt. As far as I know, he also took your mother’s life in the process. I am so sorry, dear cousin,” she said, aching with sorrow as her cousin’s face registered mingled confusion, shock and sadness.

Before her eyes, Irumae seemed to shrink even further into herself. Eve reached out to embrace her. Her cousin did not resist and fell into her arms. Irumae clung to her and buried her head into Eve’s shoulder.

“What of my brother?” Irumae said, her voice still muffled, turned into Eve’s chest.

“As far as I know he lives.”

“Yet he has not come for me?”

“No, but Sir Edmund said that he wished to – greatly – and was most reluctant to flee without you. He will not have forgotten you,” Eve promised Irumae.

Her cousin fell silent. She did not weep – instead, she seemed altogether emotionless. However that night, despite being introduced to Luke, Nolwen and Nelda, who had all tried to distract her as best they could, the four of them could not fail to hear her stifled sobs as she lay in the dark. Eve rose to comfort her, but she was beyond consolation and so Eve lay down with her and held her close until the fits subsided and she drifted into broken sleep.

Soren

“Name yourself and declare your purpose.” The booming voice challenged him.

Soren stood as tall as he could before the gates of his city. The walls loomed over him, crowded with people. In his dishevelled state, he appeared no more than a pauper but he knew that he and his scaly companions would at least be an interesting sight.

“I name myself Soren, rightful heir to the kingdom and I challenge the unlawful rule of Zaki who I name guilty of regicide, high treason and murder! I demand his immediate abdication and arrest,” he shouted up to the men on the gate. The silence on the walls turned to instant noise; wondrous murmurs overtaken by cheering from the population. A horn blew and silence fell.

“You have been declared guilty of those same crimes,” the voice called. “An order has been issued for your capture, dead or alive. You will be arrested and held awaiting trial until His Majesty King Zaki returns.”

Boos and jeers from the crowd accumulating unseen behind the city walls drowned out the rest of his speech. The cries rang out from within, taken up by many voices; “The true king has returned!” “Long live the king!” “Loyalty to the dragon king!” “Down with the imposter!”

It sounded much like there was a riot unfolding within the city; the mood had turned sour and angry shouts rang out. Clashes sounded within the walls and Soren stood before the gates, unable to see what was happening within the city. At last he heard the faint cry calling “open the gates!” and unseen men drew up the portcullis, whilst Soren saw the gates inched apart, opened by the efforts of the city folk themselves.

Soren tensed, his sword hilt in hand, ready to leap onto a dragon should he need to flee. Yet the people before him were no soldiers, but ordinary, unarmed Caledonians. He was welcomed with cheers by the people, who surged out to line the way to invite him into the city.

“Ride me,” said Myrkdaga into his mind. “You should make the grandest entrance with what you have; let it be one the people remember.”

Soren was surprised. The great black dragon had seemed distant and aloof in their brief time together and he had not expected him to offer such a submissive gesture. He bowed to the dragon and thanked him.

Before he could climb up onto Myrkdaga’s back, a small figure broke from the rest and hurried towards him. The man prostrated himself on the ground a safe distance away from the dragons. As the figure rose up, Soren saw it to be the city’s steward; a middle-aged man with greying temples and deep wrinkles set into his face.

“You’re alive!” Soren said.

“Zaki could not kill me, Your Royal Highness,” said Lord Behan, beaming at the prince. “I obey different laws. Even he must abide by those despite my loyalty to your mother and to you.”

“I am most glad that you are well, Behan.” Soren strode over to grasp his forearms in a formal embrace. “Is it safe to enter the city?”

“Not safe, as such,” said Behan, “but the city is certainly with you, sire. The people forced the soldiers loyal to Zaki to retreat into the castle; many of them even threw down their arms declaring themselves no enemy to you. It would appear that many have been waiting for you to return.”

“Zaki is not here though?”

“You have missed much,” admitted Behan. “It would do well to update you on the events in Pandora, however yes, he is gone for the present time. Now please, it is time for you to return home. Whilst the castle is held against you, you may reside with me,” he said, to Soren’s agreement.

And so it was that Prince Soren returned to Pandora on the back of the black dragon Myrkdaga and flanked by two of his kin, with Lord Behan the Steward and Sir Edmund leading the way through the crowds of welcoming city folk. The enthusiastic welcome he received – and riding through the city streets on dragon back – felt altogether like an out of body experience.

Soren retired to Behan’s dwelling; a grand, detached townhouse, gated with its own guard, where he bathed and changed into spare clothes donated by the household. The dragons rested in large gardens under Behan’s pruned trees. Behan set on all the guards he had at the perimeter of his land, though there seemed no need. The people of the city took up their own vigil outside and the excited babble and occasional rousing song filtered through the walls. Soren listened as he dressed in the soft, finely woven and most noticeably cleaner fabrics and savoured the feeling of the smooth materials over his newly scrubbed skin more than he had ever done.

He met with Behan and Edmund to dine, plot and find out what had occurred in his absence. As hungry as he was, the food before him lay untouched. Behan described what had happened from the day everything had changed, including Zaki’s movements and those of his men outside Pandora. Soren stepped in to fill in the gaps in Behan’s knowledge, relating in a few breaths how Zaki had destroyed the northern monastery in his quest to procure the crown for his coronation.

“What a monstrosity.” Behan’s eyes widened. “I had hoped that was nothing more than a rumour. It explains why he was crowned by his deputy and with a lesser crown. The abbot did not attend and the throne did not reveal itself at the opportune moment. By rushing to crown himself he could have doomed his own rule.

“Since that day, and perhaps even before there has been discontent growing. The number of disappearances and strange deaths of nobles grow daily; those who were open supporters of your mother, or who are less than discreet in their displeasure at the regime change. Zaki ordered the entire city be locked down in the week of mourning, so that it could be searched to weed you out.

“Of course, since the coronation fiasco, every tongue in the city is wagging with the most colourful rumours imaginable. On the surface, it is business as usual, although Zaki is keen to show himself as a strong ruler and has doubled the city guard with men loyal to him. However, in the shadows the people know that something is afoot.”

“Which are the most likely rumours?” asked Soren.

“Well perhaps you can tell me the truth about what happened the night that you fled and I can judge,” replied Behan. He sat back in his chair, food forgotten. “I hope that my faith and trust in you is not misplaced, sir. Despite the advantages of my independence in this position, Zaki will have my head for taking you in, if he can.”

Soren inclined his head, thanking Behan for the risks he was taking and told the steward what had happened to both him and Edmund on and since the night they had fled. Soren pulled from under his shirt where he always kept it, the letter still covered in his mother’s blood that Edmund had discovered from his spies. Behan read the letter. His mouth was agape by the time he had finished absorbing its contents.

“You must keep that as safe as your life,” Behan urged the prince, “for that will see him proved guilty more than any word of any man. I see that he is more devious and ruthless than I ever thought.

“In any case, the rumours of his guilt are truer than the people know. They certainly mutter that he cannot be the true king after such a poor coronation. I have also heard rumours that echo the sentiments of that letter;]. King Harad may indeed by sending forces as we speak. From the evidence we know, I suspect Zaki has gone to meet them at the border or perhaps even past it, so that he can guarantee them safe passage to Pandora.”

Soren, Edmund and Behan sat in silence for some minutes, digesting their realisation of Zaki’s plan.

“We cannot act if we do not know what opposes us. We should send out scouts to determine the size of any force,” proposed Edmund.

“Consider it done,” said Behan. He summoned the head of his household and charged him with overseeing a reconnaissance mission.

“What course of action should I take now in any case?” asked Soren. “Here I sit, in the city of my enemy, alone. I fear they will sweep out from the castle and that will be the end of my attempt to restore the monarchy.”

“Nay,” answered Behan. He regarded Soren through veiled eyes. “The people have not risen up as they did today in living memory. On the wind already we can hear them singing of bravery and honour and hope. I think they will be your greatest allies.”

“They can be my army,” said Soren.

Behan scoffed. Soren silenced him with a sharp glance. “See what a force they can be, Lord Steward; see how they repelled what remains of Zaki’s supporters. Yes, they are people of the city, but every man and woman outside is there because they have faith and hope.

“I have no army and I can call on few to support me as they would. They shall be mine and with them I have some hope of sweeping out Zaki from Pandora whether we fight with swords or farmers’ hoes. If King Harad sends forces north against us we must at the very least hold Pandora, if we are to have any hope of surviving or triumphing against him. I will go now to call the city’s people to my aid.”

With that, Soren excused himself from the table, his mind made up. It’s a desperate plan, but the best I have… Edmund and Behan scrambled to escort him as he belted on his sword and strode out of the dwelling to address the crowds, who cheered his appearance. In the small square in front of Behan’s house, there was no room to move. People backed up into main roads and alleyways alike, hoping for a glimpse of the prince.

Soren realised there was no way that he could speak to enough people in the small space. He ran to find Myrkdaga, who consented to bear him to the main square outside the castle; a much larger space where he could gain a bigger audience.

As the steward, whose duty it was to oversee city announcements, Behan emerged with a large hand bell and rung it until the crowd silenced.

“Hear ye, oh hear ye, citizens of Pandora,” he cried.

Soren drew his sword from its scabbard, from where he sat erect on Myrkdaga’s back and raised it in the air. He cut a striking figure in his fine new clothes with his gleaming sword pointing straight up.

“I fly to Castle Square and I summon you all to an audience the likes of which you have never known,” he cried out. The crowd roiled as people made the mad dash up the hill through the city streets to Castle square, whilst Myrkdaga took a great leap into the air and took flight from the open space before Behan’s house.

He landed in the large square that led to the castle and sat after the prince had dismounted. Soren climbed up on a great plinth bearing the statue of one of his ancestors to gain a vantage point as people spilled into the square to gather before him. When the space was full, he held up a hand and the people quietened.

Behind him, set back from the square, the castle lay closed and silent, though flashing glints of light bounced off the armour of soldiers on the battlements. The great mass of people before him stood eerily silent.

“People of Pandora, I return to claim the throne that is mine by right. I come to remove the usurper and murderer Zaki from it and restore peace and order to our city and our land. Even now, Zaki, who dared to murder my mother—”

Gasps rang out from the crowd.

“—and is responsible for the disappearance of my sister, many others, and murders of the most heinous nature, seeks to hand over our country meekly to the rule of King Harad of Roher who marches here with an army now.”

The biggest outcry yet rose up. The people shouted their defiance for minutes until he could speak once more, his confidence emboldened by their response.

“I say no to the subjugation of our great and historic land! I say no to the fear and instability his rule will bring to Caledan and the selfishness and cruelty with which he will rule. The truth of this you know in your own hearts! I say no to the false king who could not even crown himself with the blessing of his people or the great dragon spirit,” Soren roared out to the receptive crowd, who cheered his every point. He paused as they cheered and held up his hand to quiet them again.

“I cannot do this alone. I have the support of the dragons for my cause. I also need the support of you, my people, to ensure Caledan is protected. I call you all now, every man and every woman to take up arms for this just cause, to protect your city and your country from invasion and enslavement.

“I call every man and every woman to protect what is theirs, as is right and proper. I promise in return to safeguard every one of you until my dying day and punish those who have wronged us all. I promise to restore the peace that ruled this kingdom under my mother’s reign, God rest her soul, and rebuild Caledan if you should choose to follow me. Stand up and be counted so that you can change the course of history!”

The crowd erupted in roars that did not subside for many minutes as he smiled and waved out at the crowd, surprised that they were following him so willingly and wondering why. Perhaps Zaki has been especially neglectful or cruel to their wellbeing already, he pondered, or perhaps they loved and respected my mother even more than I knew and it has passed to my shoulders.

His reverie was broken as the steward’s bell rang out again. Red faced, Behan made his way through the square. Unable to reach Soren at the far side, he paused at the fountain in its centre and climbed up on its rim, followed by Edmund.

“Hear ye, oh hear ye.” Behan sounded his bell. “Go now to your houses now should you support this cause, inventory your armour and your weapons, be they swords or bows or spades or rakes and sign notice of your service at the steward’s house to count yourselves amongst those fighting for our true king! Even if you have no armour or weaponry, stand up and be counted and you shall be loaned what is required.”

His speech was less evocative than Soren’s, but the people dispersed with excitement. As they exited the square, members of Behan’s personal guard entered it to form a protective circle around the prince, Behan and Edmund.

“Sir!” said Behan. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed! I cannot protect you if you fly away on dragon back into the midst of the city – it is not yours to call your own yet!” he hissed in hushed tones at the prince, unwilling to cause a scene in front of the few city folk that had lingered in the square.

Soren felt a twinge of regret as he glanced at Edmund, who gave him a look of poorly suppressed disapproval.

“My apologies, Lord Steward,” Soren apologised. He realised he had to placate Behan. “It shall not happen again.”

“My presence alone is sufficient to protect the prince,” growled Myrkdaga into the minds of those who were present.

Behan’s face went white as he gazed up at the dragon. “Quite, great dragon,” he stammered in reply.

“Come,” prompted Soren, who stifled a grin. “We must return to your dwelling. Myrkdaga,” he gestured to the dragon behind him, “and his kin are hungry and tired after our long journey and we must be ready to take on the service of any city folk willing to assist me.”

~

That night as he lay down to sleep, Soren was restless. The bed – the first he had been in for some time – was sumptuously comfortable by any standards, but he could not find peace in the enveloping mattress from the thoughts whirling around his head. He had checked every guard position, trusting no one, until he was satisfied that the security of Behan’s house with the extra guards laid on was reliable enough to protect him through the night.

He hoped that the show of strength from the people earlier would cause his enemies to cower in the castle until he came for them. Behan had reassured him this would be the case, adding, “that it would not be prudent of them to act in Zaki’s absence on this matter.”

Nevertheless, despite his locked and guarded door, Soren lay naked under plump covers that night – with his sword by his bed and a dagger under his pillow. He was unable to sleep and shuffled at every noise. He was right to be cautious. In the early hours of the morning his window on the first floor, which had remained ajar due to the high temperature, emitted a tiny creak.

Soren’s eyes flicked open and he waited and watched, immobile. The air was hot, but still. That was no breeze… A dark form blended in with the shadows pooled around the curtains. Soren froze, not even breathing. The almost imperceptible sound of someone else’s breath filtered into his ears and he worked the dagger free from under his pillow as silently as possible, manoeuvring his arm under the duvet so that he could throw the covers back.

The shadow detached from the curtains after some minutes of waiting and crept across the carpeted floor. Soren had resumed breathing, to give the illusion that he still slept. Something flashed in the gloom and Soren’s heart seemed to rush into life, pounding so hard in his chest it deafened him. The figure had a blade. If there had been any doubt of the stranger’s intentions in Soren’s mind, they vanished now.

The shadow drew close enough. Soren threw back the covers with a mighty cry, “guards!” and launched himself at the man with his dagger pointing straight forward. The man drew back, but Soren’s dagger found him in the gut and he cried out as shouts from outside the room sounded and keys scrabbled at the door to unlock it.

Soren saw the shadow of the man’s head turn at the noise. He must have realised the suicidal nature of his mission then, for he aggressively assaulted Soren, who held his dripping dagger in his left hand as he dragged his sword out of its scabbard with his right.

The man’s dagger fell upon him and Soren roared in pain as the blade slashed his left shoulder, continued its downward momentum and sliced through his chest. Sword now in his grasp and his left hand in spasms, Soren threw the dagger behind him and advanced with grim determination on the man, still fighting a shadow.

The man backed off now that he knew Soren armed himself with a longer blade than his own. Key after key jangled in the lock outside – all were unsuccessful in opening it. Frantic shouts outside barely registered in Soren’s mind as he forced his opponent towards the door, away from the window. Stood by the curtains now, he wrenched them open, flooding the room with moonlight.

Black clothed the man from head to toe and Soren guessed that he did not have any armour weighing him down from how little noise he made and how easily Soren had stabbed him. Black cloths covered his face, obscuring his features, but Soren could not mistake the gleam of blood lust in the man’s eyes. Soren stepped to the side so his silhouette would not reveal him and rushed forward.

Just behind the man, the door shattered sending splinters everywhere as men battered their way through it to reach the prince and it distracted the assassin for a moment – just enough for Soren. The assassin’s guard went wide and Soren stabbed, up through his stomach, to bury the blade deep in his torso.

The man’s face twisted in a contortion of pain and hate as he struck out at the prince who was now within his grasp. However, before the dagger fell, arms grabbed the man from behind, pulling him back, off the sword still held by Soren and roughly onto the floor, forcing the dagger from his hand.

The man coughed up blood, now choking. Soren’s guards rolled him onto his side. It was too late. His lungs must have been punctured for he was struggling to breathe. He made a rasping sound and his face turned a mottled shade. As blood seeped out from his wounds and his mouth, he shuddered and was still. A guard checked for a pulse and shook his head.

Soren stood there; still, naked and dripping, sword in hand, tensed and not breathing. Edmund barrelled through the door in night robes, took one look at the wild-eyed prince and the dead man on the floor and cursed. It seemed to break the spell, for Soren stopped tensing and breathed once more. All at once, pain besieged him as he noticed his torn shoulder and chest. The gaping wounds stung angrily as boiling blood scalded his stomach.

If not for the creak at the window, he would have not have had warning of the man’s presence. If not for the creak at the window, he would be dead. The reality of the situation crashed down upon him. He sunk, dazed, onto the edge of the bed.

The following few hours passed in a blur of pain and tiredness. A physician cleaned and stitched his wounds in a neat process that seemed even more painful than procuring the wounds themselves. Soren left the physician after thanking him with gritted teeth as he pressed pain-killing medicine on Soren to take over the coming days. Behan rushed about his complex in a hive of activity.

Every room glowed with all available lights, lanterns and candles that he owned as his men scoured every inch searching for more intruders. Recovered by sombre colleagues were five guard men’s corpses; four of their throats were cut and one had been strangled. The path of their bodies showed beyond reasonable doubt where the assassin had entered, though no one had determined how he had found the prince.

It was clear to Soren that despite the heavy and obvious security, that he would find no sanctuary here. He was glad it was so brightly lit, for every shadow he glanced at twice and every man thrice, trying to determine if one would turn on him.

By dawn, a tired-looking Behan called Soren and Edmund to the breakfast room. Soren realised how ravenous he was and ate until he could burst before realising that Behan had sat in silence the whole time, his hands clasped under his chin. Edmund had barely eaten half of his plate.

“I apologise most humbly for the events of this night past,” said Behan, whose face was haggard. “Never did I think that this could occur. There were nearly three hundred men on my property last night. I do not understand how it is possible.”

“It cannot be attributed to you I am sure,” said Soren, though in truth he had no idea whether Behan could have been involved in some way. “It would seem others cannot be trusted. Have you any word on how he managed to find me, or who he was?”

“None whatsoever,” replied Behan, frustrated. “The man bore not one identifying mark on his body, his clothing, or his blade. For all we know he could have been acting on his own.”

“I doubt it, given the situation, but that is a possibility,” said Soren. “Perhaps I should become accustomed to such attempts now that I place myself in harm’s way.”

“In any case, we do not know where he originates from,” Behan said. “The fact that he came directly to your window from the perimeter would suggest that perhaps he or whoever owned his service compromised someone within my very household, which worries me. Until I can perform a head count of my full staff and their whereabouts I cannot guarantee to know them all innocent.”

“In light of this, I don’t think it safe for me to remain here or within the city,” said Soren. He looked to Edmund for guidance. Edmund agreed. “I would rather be outside it, where I can better see my enemies approaching.”

Behan protested until Soren held up a hand to forestall him. He winced as his stitches tugged.

“My mind is made up. I am well aware that poor sleep clouds judgement, however after last night, I shall not sleep at all here. I’d rather sleep surrounded by three dragons than three hundred of your men, Behan. I thank you for your hospitality, but if I remain, I may be a dead man and that is not part of my plan.”

“Sire,” Behan bowed his head. “I shall accompany you with men whose loyalty I can guarantee, in that case. It is the least I can do if you insist on leaving.”

The steward made quick preparations for them to leave within the hour, having procured a large pavilion tent as a favour from a local guild and spread the word, following Edmund’s advice, of the assassination attempt and Soren’s stand outside the city. Once more from the Castle Square and by means of his servants in the lesser squares, he called the city folk to the aid of the prince and called the list of great houses to formally declare themselves and their troops for the true king of Caledan.

~

Within hours Soren had set up a lavish camp half a mile outside the city’s south gate on a small hill by the royal forest, joined by throngs of people who flocked to see him and offer themselves, their men or their goods in his service. His solitary tent, surrounded by the three dragons, became one of many as first Behan and his soldiers set up tents nearby, and then makeshift tents sprung up all around as more men joined him.

Behan inventoried everything; every man and woman, every set of chain mail, every horse that joined them, and reported regularly to Soren. Soren, despite his tiredness and wounds, rode about the camp on a spirited stallion, loaned to him by Behan with his personal guard, also loaned by the steward, to meet and thank as many individuals as he could for their support.

He was surprised to find some of the great houses there, though more shocked by how few men they brought. When he spoke to them, they reported themselves still loyal to his cause despite many of their men already lying dead, massacred and killed in the fighting following Zaki’s seizure of the throne.

Soren did not know whether to be disheartened at the fact that so few men from the houses he had expected to be loyal were signing up in his service, or gladdened that any true fighting men had joined at all. Hiding his troubled feelings, he thanked their captains and lords for their support and promosed rewards and revenge for their help – hoping he could fulfil his words.

The most surprising contribution to his ranks was the swelling group of women from the farmers’ guild. As hunter-gatherers, they were strong and skilled in a wealth of useful talents from spear throwing to archery, in addition to having a bank of knowledge regarding local natural remedies and poisons. He found himself gladder for their pledges.

Many more ordinary citizens had joined his cause, including more women than he had expected; they seemed to relish the thought of having the chance to help. Despite his invite for women to fight alongside him, Soren turned away many a young boy eager to fight, specifying to Behan that he would not allow any boy under the age of sixteen nor girl under the age of eighteen to sign up. Soren returned to oversee his new recruits’ skills testing personally after a few hours riding around the growing camp of people, which Behan’s men conducted on a patch of land kept clear from tents and other people.

By sunset that day, the camp had swelled with people joining from the outlying lands of the city, those who lived in the city beyond the gates, and men from the great houses that were within the walls. Nearly three and a half thousand men and women signed up promising their service, with Behan assigning them tasks from fighting to cooking – and healing, knowing there would be casualties to come.

Night was fraught with anxiety for Soren. After the previous night, he did not much feel like sleeping. Edmund remained with him, as did Behan and a large personal guard within the tent. As awkward as it felt trying sleep surrounded by men, Edmund’s relaxed presence helped soothe his nerves and before he knew it, the sun had risen once more before he woke.

“Sire, wake up!” Behan called to Soren, who sat bolt upright at the noise and cast around for the source. “Riders approach from the city!”

Soren scrambled to dress, smoothed his hair down and rushed out of his tent to find Myrkdaga stood before it, facing the city. The dragon huffed as he smelt Soren, turned around to greet him and paced with the prince towards the north of the camp, which had grown even more since the day before. Men and women in a hive of activity paused with various expressions of astonishment at the prince and the dragon walking through the camp; a murmur followed them as they went.

A crowd of people stood behind the prince as he emerged at the edge of the camp. Fifty feet away a nervous rider stood, the horse’s anxious prancing mimicking its rider’s discomfort. He had good reason to be nervous. Several men had openly drawn swords and arrows already to the string on bows held ready to be drawn.

“Speak your business, rider,” stated the prince. The rider briefly regarded him, but did not dare keep his eyes off the glittering black dragon crouched beside Soren. The horse had its ears back, the whites of its eyes visible as it too fixed its rolling eyes on the dragon.

“I come under the white banner of parley bearing a message from the council, who rule the city in the King’s stead,” said the man, whose voice belied his youth. Although he wore the crest adopted by Zaki, Soren himself did not recognise the young man.

“The council order your immediate peaceful surrender and that of any armed man with you. You will all be taken into custody and charged appropriately for such treasonous rebellion against his majesty. Should you do so peacefully, the king will show greater leniency and mercy to all those but Prince Soren. The Lady Irumae will also be shown greater mercy if you comply, Prince Soren.”

He was jeered at then by those behind Soren and struggled to continue. Soren had stopped listening. They have my sister. She is alive. His eyes were wide and he was glad none of the men behind him, or the rider in front could see his shock.

“I demand the safe release of my sister before I will so much as consider your requests,” Soren shouted out in desperation. “If you have harmed her...” He left the threat unfinished, but the envoy knew his words were empty as he did.

“You are in no position to demand such things. Should you choose not to comply with the demands laid forth,” the envoy carried on as loudly as he could, “you will unleash the wrath of his majesty who will sweep down upon you with no mercy.

“Every house supporting you will be razed to the ground, with property and land being forfeited to the king. He will execute every man, woman and child of those families for treason. Your life and that of your sister will be forfeit, Prince Soren. You will also consent for your dragons to be restrained so that the king can deal with them as he wishes.”

“His dragons?” Myrkdaga rumbled with anger. “We are no dumb beasts to be possessed, you insolent rat!”

The rider’s horse squealed, an ear piercing sound, and bolted towards the city. Its rider clung on for dear life, as Soren’s men mocked him and cheered Myrkdaga. Myrkdaga’s two clan members dropped from the sky in front of him, as he roared as loud as he could in defiance, joining his voice with their own and creating a din that forced the men behind them to cover their ears and retreat some distance away before the noise was bearable.

Soren stood with his fingers in ears before his allies as he watched the south gate open and close for the horseman. I think he can guess our answer, the prince thought, distracted from thoughts of his sister.

Myrkdaga was quite literally fuming with anger; smoky tendrils twisted from his nostrils, as they strode back to Soren’s tent. In the space around it, Behan’s guards cleared the area so that Soren could hold a small, private council with Behan, Edmund and the dragons.

They unanimously decided to reject the surrender and with that formality over with discussed what their course of action should be. Behan and Edmund supported a swift attack with the element of surprise, and marching up through the city, which as yet appeared to be barely fortified; the majority of men barricaded in the castle according to the hourly reports from informants within the city. The dragons supported this, much more in favour of action than inaction.

Myrkdaga, riled still by the envoy, wanted to fly with his brethren over Pandora castle and set it aflame to rid them of their enemy, however Edmund, Soren and Behan protested against this, calling it needless destruction. Soren dithered over what to do; he was torn between supporting the strategically effective sudden attack suggested by Behan, but did not want to do anything that might cause his sister to come to harm.

Eve

The din was overwhelming – a roaring sound they could not identify. It broke over the camp startling Eve and her companions with various exclamations. Nolwen sprinted off in the direction of the sound.

“Where’s he going?” said Eve, confused.

“To find out what that noise is,” said Nelda, her eyes narrowed as she watched him leave.

“He’s going towards a noise like that? That doesn’t sound wise! We should leave as soon as possible, surely?” Eve replied.

“Hmm,” replied Nelda noncommittally. “We should pack.” Nolwen soon returned, crashing through the trees, his face flushed and his eyes alight.

“The dragons are here!” he crowed to his sister in the old tongue, who replied with exclamations and questions in the same language.

“What?” Eve exclaimed, open-mouthed. “It cannot be!”

Luke and Irumae burst out in a babble of enquiries, for they had not understood Nolwen’s words.

“The dragons are here, he said,” Eve relayed to them, distracted as she tried to listen to their fast-paced exchange. “What does this mean Nolwen?”

Nolwen related what he had seen in the common tongue; a great camp outside the city and three dragons at its centre by a large tent. His companions plied him with questions about what it could be. It was Nelda who answered.

“Take out your mirror, Eve. Scry the prince and I think you shall have your answer.”

Eve did as Nelda bid her to and the mirror revealed an astonishing sight. In the company of men and dragons was her cousin. Irumae cried out, and fingered her brother’s image on the mirror as if by doing so she could touch him.

“We must go to him at once!” Irumae said.

“Could it be a trap?” asked Luke, his brow furrowed with mingled confusion and suspicion.

“It is unlikely. Dragons are cunning. They are not creatures to be tricked,” replied Nolwen.

“Are they on our side?” Luke said.

“Undoubtedly. I believe Lady Eve will know I speak the truth?” Nolwen raised an eyebrow at Eve.

“The pact?” she guessed in the old tongue, knowing it to be a secret she should not reveal.

Nolwen nodded, grinning.

“I believe Nolwen to speak the truth,” Eve said with a little shrug to Luke, who didn’t look any less confused.

“It seems counter-productive to return from where we’ve just fled,” he muttered, not convinced, but the opinions of his companions outnumbered his in number and rank, giving him no choice but to agree.

They rode to the eastern edge of the forest through the thinning trees and were greeted by the sight of the camp outside the city, nearer to the forest than they had realised. The camp thrummed with life. Men and women went back and forth on their business. Randomly picketed horses stood chewing grass and straw, whilst armoured men wandered about.

Eve rode first with her arms clasped around Irumae who sat in front of her on the saddle. Behind them rode the Eldarkind, now undisguised and followed by Luke. They were worn and dirty, but Eve hoped they would be able to gain entrance with Irumae.

Guards exclaimed as they broke the cover of the forest, rushed towards them with weapons drawn ready and called for them to halt. Irumae stood up in the saddle, half supported by Eve as they drew near.

“Lay down your weapons,” she said with an authority that did not match the stature of a girl of twelve. However, as her face became visible to the men, they dropped to the floor and bowed, lowering their weapons and murmuring greetings to her.

More and more people approached and cheered when they recognised the princess; her absence in the capital had been notable and many had feared for her life. The din soon brought more attention as they made their way into the camp. Around the corner of a tent, Prince Soren himself ran towards them, his eyes glittering with hope at the news of his sister’s arrival, which had spread like wildfire to him, despite being in a private meeting.

Irumae threw herself down from the horse and rushed to embrace him with tears flowing down her face. He picked her up in his arms and swung her around before setting her down and kissing her on both cheeks.

“Dear sister, I have missed you so! I cannot believe I see you before my very eyes!” Soren’s smile could not widen any more across his face as he hugged his sister close once more. “How on earth did you come to be here?” he asked incredulously, still clasping her hands. Eve smiled at the sight, Soren’s joy infectious.

Irumae turned and gazed at her companions, who had dismounted behind her. Soren followed her glance. His expression caught when he beheld her strange company, recognising Eve under the grime and in her masculine clothing.

“Cousin Eve?” he said, incredulous. Eve guessed that he was trying to reconcile the grubby young woman in men’s pants before him with the polished and lady-like image that he had last seen at the royal court.

“Your Majesty,” Eve replied. She dipped her head, conscious of the strangers surrounding her; their attention and crowding presence stifled her after so long in relative isolation.

Soren caught the undertone implied by her formal greeting and swept his eyes around the crowd gathered by them. “Come sister, cousin and your companions to my pavilion.”

Soren led the way back to his pavilion, flanked by guards. At the base of the hill, in the wide, open area kept clear of other tents, waited the dragons, Behan and Edmund, in heated discussion. Guards held at bay the gathered crowds, far enough away to allow some privacy. Behan and Edmund froze, mid-sentence, as Soren strode back into the open space, followed by the rabble of strangers and horses.

Silence reigned for a moment and then chaos erupted. Behan and Edmund greeted Soren and his sister with delight, welcoming her and expressing their joy at her safety and good health.

Nolwen and Nelda bounded into the grassy knoll to greet the dragons in the old tongue with delight and offer them strange bows that were mirrored by the dragons themselves; bowing as low as they could and then, rising back up and arching their heads backwards to offer their necks to each other. Eve entered the space with Luke close in tow, making a mental note to ask Nolwen or Nelda the significance of this, but before she could take in anything else, a thunderous voice broke over her head.

“Eve!” Edmund’s eyebrows and the corners of his mouth slanted dangerously low as she froze and regarded him like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s gaze. He stormed over. “What in the blazes are you doing here?” he hissed so just she could hear.

“I came to rescue the princess,” Eve said as bravely as she could. She stood tall and tried to appear more confident than she felt, faced by Edmund’s wrath. Edmund frowned and glanced at Irumae, who stood huddled under her brother’s protective arm as he and Behan spoke.

“Be that as it may,” he said, seemingly put off by the unexpected answer, “you were supposed to return at once to your father after your visit to Ednor and promised to me that you would do so.”

“I promised to you that I would neither follow you nor seek out Soren.” She dared to correct him. “I am old enough to make my own choices and I felt strongly about my cousin’s plight.

“I felt she needed my help and look – I and my companions managed to secure her release from the castle, which wasn’t without its risks and dangers. If there’s to be an issue, let it be between my father and myself. I know I’ll have to answer to him.”

“I do not wish there to be enmity between us, Eve,” sighed Edmund, “I shall not pretend to be satisfied with your choices. Nevertheless, I am glad you are well and that Irumae is once more safely with us. It will help our position having her here.” He enquired as to how they had managed to rescue her, but at that moment Soren called them over to introduce his companions and for Eve to introduce hers.

Nolwen and Nelda seemed at home with the dragons but Eve felt more hesitant and she could tell that Luke was resisting the urge to draw his sword from the way he kept tapping his fingers upon its hilt. She had heard of the dragons from Artora and her Eldarkind kin; the tales did nothing to convey their impressiveness and imposing presence. She admired them with wide eyed and managed a steady curtsy and greeting in the old tongue after prompting from Nelda with a slight squeak to her voice.

Soren allowed everyone save Luke and Irumae to sit in on the council; he was of too low a rank and she too young. Eve looked apologetically at Luke as a guard chivvied him away, but he regarded her with an indecipherable expression before turning away. The dragons crowded in around them, forming an impenetrable barrier to the outside world and the meet re-convened with its extra guests in a circle on the grass.

Soren

Eve recounted her journey from Arlyn to Ednor, explaining some of her stay there and continuing with a summary of their journey from Ednor to Pandora before reaching the part of her story that Soren and his companions had been waiting for. In halting tones, she explained how they had rescued Irumae, though she omitted the fight with the dungeon guards in detail. Finally, Nelda picked up the tale of Irumae’s recovery, stressing that she was fully healed and would suffer no ill effects from her captivity or drugging. She finished with the moment that reunited brother and sister.

“You surprise me, cousin,” said Soren to Eve, his voice coloured with respect. “I cannot say how much I thank you and your companions for rescuing my sister. I find myself on the brink of warring with my own people and having her in my possession makes my position much more straightforward.”

Soren briefly explained the current state of play for their benefit before returning to his earlier discussion. The decision of what course of action to take seemed far simpler now that Irumae’s fate had been determined, but there were still issues to account for.

“He has no personal leverage to use against you,” said Behan, “so our advantage would be in the surprise attack. We should sweep through the city and press them back into the castle. If we can contain them there it will be easier than them holding the city.”

“And if they should run, through the royal dock for example?” replied Soren.

“Not many would chance it, fewer should make it and I dare say it; good riddance to the dogs, for there will be less for us to deal with.” Behan slapped the grass in front of him to emphasise his point.

“Are we not opening ourselves up to a vulnerable position in the city, though? The people of Pandora will surround us. Many have joined my cause, but there are still a significant number of people left in the city. What of their intentions?”

“I believe you should be heartened by your warm reception into Pandora,” said Behan. “Yes, many have joined you and yes many have not. However, my reckoning is that many are too scared of the consequences and wish to continue with their lives. I feel that if they do not support you, most of them will be at least neutral towards you.”

Soren considered this but had no definite decision as to the truth of Behan’s words, and invited Edmund to share his view. Edmund agreed with Behan. Behan’s knowledge of the city guard suggested that there were few left of those serving under Zaki to guard the city; many had gone with Zaki and he had sent out many more to guard the roads and search for the prince and Edmund. Behan’s sources within the city reported a skeleton guard left on the walls and gates with the small remaining bulk of forces holed up within the castle.

They lapsed into silence as Soren deliberated. If I don’t take the city now, Zaki may return… If I do, I might be able to hold him off… “I think we should take the city before Zaki returns,” he said at last. “Now that Irumae is safe, I have nothing to hold me back. We must not leave ourselves vulnerable inside the city though. How can we achieve this?”

It took until lunchtime to devise a strategy, send runners to the key noble houses and announcers to spread the message through the rest of the camp. As the camp readied itself, so did Soren and his companions. Upon noticing Soren’s wound, Nolwen healed it with a babble of words in the old tongue, dissolving the stitches and mending the torn flesh with precisely ordered words.

Soren flexed his arms and chest experimentally; there was the slightest tingling sense running across his chest but in appearance and feeling, he felt as if he had never been injured. Grateful, impressed, and a little intimidated, he thanked Nolwen and questioned him about his magic as they bathed and then dressed.

Eve

Eve bathed inside the tent – for the first time since Ednor – yet she was too angry to enjoy it. Soren had forbidden her from accompanying them, following Edmund’s wishes. She was furious and had argued with both of them, but Soren had made up his mind and dismissed her from his presence.

Hours later she lay alone in her borrowed tent on one of the two low stretcher beds, frustration at being treated so poorly draining away into blank thoughts as she stared up at the uniform beige fabric above her. Soren and his many men and women had marched off what seemed like hours ago and the camp was still and peaceful.

It was more pleasing for her than before without its hustle and bustle, although she still felt confined by the small space of the tent. Irumae was in the prince’s own pavilion, being bathed by one of Behan’s women and checked over by his personal physician. The princess was withdrawn after all that had occurred.

Wanting to stretch her stiff legs, Eve rose, pushed the tent flap aside so she could step out for a while and almost tripped up over Luke who lay across the tent entrance, asleep. As she stepped over him, he opened an eye and greeted her.

“Why are you here?” she asked him. “I thought you would have gone with Prince Soren.”

Luke shrugged. “It didn’t seem necessary when he already has so many following him. In any case, I’m in your service and not his. Where else should I be?”

Eve smiled as Luke rose to his feet and stretched. “Well I am glad to have some company, at least.” She frowned as he flinched. “How is your shoulder faring?”

“It’s alright,” said Luke. “I can’t complain in any case; it’s not green but it will take a while to heal.”

“Can I try something?” asked Eve.

Luke looked at her enquiringly.

“Nelda told me some things about healing using magic and I’d like to try them out. Will you be my test case?”

“You’re not going to make my arm fall off are you?” said Luke. He wrinkled his nose and leaned away.

“I hope not. I’m quite confident I can improve it,” she replied.

“Only quite confident?” Luke’s eyebrow rose. “Alright. You can try. It’s a good thing I trust you. I suppose I don’t have a choice if you want to anyway.”

“Oh, I forgot about that. In that case, I order you to let me heal you!” she said imperiously – and spoiled the effect with a giggle.

Luke shook his head at her and grinned. They circled back to the prince’s pavilion.

Irumae had retired to bed and the maid remaining in the pavilion excused herself when Eve entered with Luke in tow. She gave them both a telling glance as she passed them; it was clear what she thought they were up to. Both Eve and Luke blushed at the inference as she left.

The entire pavilion was furnished with sumptuous items that Behan had had transported from his house. He had even covered the grass in rugs; such was his attention to detail. Luke sat on a claw-footed stool after shrugging off his top. Eve allowed herself a glance over his form as he tossed his shirt aside – pleasantly athletic and well trained – before unwinding the bloodied bandage from Luke’s shoulder as she sat on a matching seat next to him.

She observed the wound from all angles, observing how clean the cut was and that it seemed untouched by infection. It was a neat slice through his skin and muscle, though not so deep that it had cut to the bone and she could see the different layers of his flesh. She placed her hands on either side of his shoulder, and rested her fingers by the wound.

Luke flinched at the touch, but kept his eyes fixed forward.

Taking a deep, calming breath, followed by several more, Eve reached for the energy that had caressed her mind with a distracting touch since the night in the castle and mentally rehearsed the wording that Nelda had taught her. She began to chant in a low whisper in the old tongue of muscle and flesh knitting together, focusing her attention on the deepest parts of the cut and then, as they healed, the shallower levels and finally, the skin itself.

Over and over again she chanted the same phrases, completely focused, as Luke could not help but watch with fascination as his flesh wriggled together piece by piece. It was just minutes later that she sat back to admire the remarkable change; where there had been an open, deep wound there was now closed skin, pink and puckered with an emerging scar.

Yawning, Eve felt overcome with tiredness, for the energy required by the act had to come from her life force as she had not the experience required to draw it from Luke himself, or their surroundings. “How does it feel?” she said, after another yawn.

“Well it itched the whole way through and stung at times too,” Luke replied, “but now it just tingles a little.” He raised his arm experimentally to flex in as many directions as he could; tentatively at first and then with more vigour. “It’s as if it were injured some time ago!” he said, impressed. “Thank you.” He donned his top after admiring her efforts once more.

Eve smiled back at him, feeling invigorated and proud through the wave of tiredness. That was amazing! I must ask Nelda if she will teach me more about healing. I’ve barely scratched the surface of the possibilities that this brings!

Soren

As the sun sank from its zenith, Soren led a body of men and women containing all of his forces on foot and horseback to Pandora’s great south gate in a thin, long line that streamed from his makeshift camp. He rode on horseback in shining armour polished by Behan’s men and looked every inch as grand as he ought to have done. As agreed, the nobles and captains took charge of ranks, organising them on the flat plains outside the city as they arrived in battalions of hundreds of people apiece.

The dragons volunteered for the task of breaching the gates with relish. Nolwen and Nelda both stayed with Soren at the front of the force for their part in unlocking the gates. The dragons wished to burn the gates to the ground and tear apart the portcullises; Soren refused without hesitation.

If he were to take the city and hold it against Harad’s forces, Soren would need the fortifications to remain intact. There would be no guarantee of any time to repair anything once he had taken the city before the invasion arrived. This battle would take great skill; they had to defeat Zaki’s forces whilst damaging as little infrastructure as possible.

Instead, the dragons flew around the battlements to harry the soldiers upon them and, judging by the screaming, crunches and thuds of impacts, and crackling of fires started by spurts of dragon fire, killing some as well. As they did this, Nolwen and Nelda dismounted and walked as close to the main gates as they dared, protected by the bows of the farming women who trained arrows on the battlements in readiness.

Holding hands the two Eldarkind raised up their arms and chanted in the old tongue. A wind began to rise and the earth shuddered. The gates groaned and creaked. Soren’s forces were still with awe as they watched. It was minutes, though it seemed like hours, when the gates began to shudder open as each individual locking bolt slid open and the great beam of wood holding the gates shut could be heard dropping, with the loudest thud yet, to the ground. The ratchet controlling the portcullis gears clicked away, and Soren knew it would be raising itself seemingly of its own accord.

Myrkdaga dropped like a stone from the sky inside the gates, his great bulk shattering the stone paving behind the gate and sending small shards of stone flying out from under him. With the strength of his shoulders, he pushed open the gate as his kin flew down to help him. Soren, on his horse behind Nolwen and Nelda, watched as the grass browned and withered around their feet. The opening gates revealed the dragons occupying the empty square behind them.

His forces erupted into loud cheers and Soren raised his sword and allowed them to move forward into the city. Ranks filed in through the gates, peeling left and right to comb the city from bottom to top for soldiers and spread Soren’s message of peace to the city’s inhabitants, warning them not to take up arms against his forces and assuring the citizens that they would not come to any harm.

Soren observed Nolwen and Nelda. Their shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but they insisted they were fit enough to continue. Through the centre of the city rode Soren himself, flanked by the Eldarkind up winding ways to the castle square, where he stood before the castle gates to declare his terms.

Around him, small skirmishes erupted across the city, but he was unconcerned. Myrkdaga and his kin offered him a bird’s eye view of the city and the unfriendly forces within it, and relayed events across Pandora to him.

After the assault on the walls by the dragons and the impressive size of his force, despite it being made up of common folk, the few soldiers left opposing him were in a panic. They fled in disarray to their homes, the castle, other gate: anywhere they could. It worked to Soren’s advantage for the way to the castle was not defended and for all intents and purposes it seemed as if he could walk in and seize hold of it.

He tried not to be complacent however, and waited until all captains had relayed to them that they had swept and cleared their sections of the city before approaching the castle. He sent a runner to set them to work emptying the armoury for his own forces in case they could not secure the city in one attempt.

The castle loomed above him and he could clearly see guards within the gatehouse. Once more, he called forward the women archers to cover him. Nolwen and Nelda also insisted on stepping forward with him. It was not clear why until after he had demanded his terms; the immediate surrender of all those loyal to Zaki and the return of the castle and city to his possession, or their capture and trial for treason.

An arrow whistled towards him from a slit above the gate as he finished speaking, but before he could react, it stopped dead in the air four feet in front of him and dropped to the ground with a clatter against the cobbles. He looked at his two companions.

Nolwen winked at him conspiratorially. “We really can perform some extraordinary and useful tasks with magic.”

“Fascinating,” murmured Soren, unable to discern a physical semblance to their barrier. “First rank, shoot!”

A volley whooshed over his head and bowstrings twanged, as his archers released a line of arrows over the castle wall and into its first courtyard. The clatter of arrows on stone sounded, though some found their intended targets as cries broke out. Once more, the dragons proved their infinite usefulness; they soared over the courtyard in a blaze of fire as they bathed the courtyard in blinding light and heat.

They landed, wreaking havoc with their teeth and claws, as Nolwen and Nelda chanted even faster than they had before to open the castle portcullis and gate in the same manner with the help of the dragons. After the second wave of exertion, they were almost grey and needed to eat sweet cakes before they regained some colour and energy.

Here, Soren executed the most risky part of his plan. Mingling in with the rest of his forces that massed around a wide part of the city’s highest levels, Nolwen and Nelda made their way around to where the high castle garden wall met the city at a point that was largely undefended due to the lack of weakness in that area.

Soren’s ensured his forces avoided this area, attempting to give his enemies a false sense of security. The royal garden had never been defended unless the need arose, and Soren was determined to make use of the vulnerability, however small it was.

Whilst he concentrated the main bulk of his forces on fighting their way into the castle, Nolwen and Nelda were to slip inside the castle itself and open as many gates and doors as they could to allow Soren’s forces easier access when they breached the main castle. Soren was well aware that without the dragons or the magic and skill of the Eldarkind, this was an attempt that would take much time and cost many lives, but by using their unique skills, he hoped to save an impossible amount of both.

As dragons gleefully rained down from overhead in spiralling, somersaulting dives picking off archers and guardsmen, Soren kept up his assault and sent waves of archers and infantry until no more could go forward. They kept this up for many hours until the forces opposing them fell back another level into the castle and allowed Soren access to all grounds but the private walled royal garden through which Nolwen and Nelda had entered.

The castle’s main door, made of heavy, thick wood and reinforced with metal, stood barred before his forces. Nolwen and Nelda were nowhere to be seen. Soren had no choice but to begin the assault on the home he loved. His heartstrings quivered every time a precious stained glass window was smashed and every time a dragon landed on a battlement and crunched the carved stone into pebbles and dust with their bulk and strength.

Arrows rained down upon them, some flaming, to bury themselves within his forces. Screams of the injured and dying lay before and behind him as the battle raged on. Soren felt as if he was in a bubble and separated from it all, as he concentrated on organising his forces.

One by one from his left, he heard his captains signal with horns that the way lay open before them, made possible by the Eldarkind. Soren kept up the pretence, delaying allowing his forces to surge inside the castle until the last possible moment. The alerts came close and closer until Nolwen and Nelda themselves appeared through his forces.

“It is done! We could go no further!” shouted Nolwen over the noise. He shook with tiredness.

Immediately, Soren grabbed a horn from the nearest source and winded it himself; three short bursts that signalled permission to move forward. With renewed vigour, his forces cheered and his captains swept into the castle on foot leading his forces surging through it. Their orders had been clear; once within the castle, show mercy to those who could be captured and kill those who would not submit.

Demara

“It already begins! You must flee, my queen!” Ambassador Delgado begged her.

Pale faced, Demara shook her head as her ladies in waiting paced nervously around them. It was daytime and yet dark – Demara had ordered them to shutter the windows and light the lamps. The sturdy castle felt paper-thin to her, as if her enemies could tear through the walls with their hands at any minute.

“I cannot flee, Tomas. A true queen does not flee,” she said, though she could not convince herself.

Ser Tomas made to speak but she continued.

“How can I leave in any case? Look at me! I am unfit, I am tired and I cannot come so far to lose everything now. What if I were to flee and lose my child?”

“What if you were to stay and lose the child?” he said, impassioned.

“There is no way to leave.” She shot his suggestion down. “Look at them. They crowd the castle like ants. Stay your cowardice, for we will win!”

“I am no coward!” Ser Tomas recoiled. “There is no one here to defend you my queen. We cannot win and will not last the day. I cannot let you come to harm, I wish to save you!”

“Be silent, Tomas! I will not go. I forbid you to go. You will stay and do your duty. We will triumph. Leave me now. I tire.” Strong backed and stern faced she stood before him.

He searched her eyes, but they were impassive. Without a choice, he bowed and left without meeting her gaze again.

Demara waited until he had left before she collapsed, sobbing. Her ladies rushed to her side to fuss over her and guide her to bed where they lay her fully clothed. Seline draped a cold cloth across her forehead.

“My lady?” Seline asked, as the other maids dispersed to a distance.

“Seline, I am so frightened!” Demara confided.

The girl grasped her hand.

“I even wish my husband were here to protect me. I fear Tomas is all I have and he has turned to cowardice!”

Soren

Soren’s forces swept through the castle like wildfire. Nolwen and Nelda remained with him; they were spent but refused to give up. Soon, the gate was unbarred and opened from within. Soren made his way to the great hall where prisoners were already being assembled, sat crammed together on the floor. It was the same, and yet different. Under Zaki’s banners, the hall seemed darker, and filled with stinking, bloodied men, it was overcrowded; an assault on the senses.

Soren set Behan’s men, whom he trusted more than most, to guard the gate, having ordered them to deny anyone exit. Behan stayed with him to help supervise his forces, whilst Edmund oversaw sweeps across the castle to search for anyone who remained.

Many soldiers had surrendered to them, but many of their leaders had not. As such, there were numerous bodies to lay out in the courtyard; some of whom had been prominent figures in the councils. Soren felt an unexpected twinge of relief at the large number of corpses; their deaths had at least spared him the decision of what to do with them.

Soren was forced to imprison those who had surrendered. He could not turn them free, but nor could he kill them in cold blood when they had willingly given their lives into his hands.

His most prominent prisoner came as the greatest surprise to him. Draped in the finest silks and glittering with jewellery appeared Demara, his uncle’s wife and the daughter of the southern king Harad. She entered, surrounded by guards who dared not restrain her, and held her head up as she surveyed the great hall with disdain.

She was beautiful in her own way, with bronzed skin and sultry eyes, but pride marred her face. Soren’s eyes widened as he beheld her. In none of his plans had he expected her to be here, but a blind fury overtook his surprise as he saw his mother’s favourite crown upon her head.

Soren struggled to suppress his anger as she glided forward to greet him as he stood upon the raised dais, in his armour, stinking and covered in dirt and blood. The hall fell silent as all; prisoners and his own men alike, turned to watch her entrance.

“Prince Soren,” she murmured, her words accented.

“It is rightfully King. Princess Demara.”

“It is rightfully Queen.”

He jumped down from the dais in a single leap, furious with her beyond words. He raised his hand, wishing to strike her – and snatched his mother’s crown from her head instead.

“How dare you,” he snarled at her. The crown trembled in his shaking hand. To her credit, she did not flinch, but stood regarding him through narrowed eyes. Soren stepped back and tried to suppress his temper, when he realised something was different about her. His eyes narrowed as he took in the curve of her stomach under the draped fabrics.

“You are with child,” he stated. She did not reply; she did not need to. Her bulging stomach gave away that she would be close to giving birth. Now, the timing of Zaki’s actions made perfect sense to him. Zaki was securing his future upon the throne in time for the birth of his child, replacing Soren as king even as he fathered a child that would replace Soren’s own line.

Soren felt sick. Here was a life he could not in good conscience end stood in front of him, though she carried within her the life that could be his downfall. I cannot kill Demara and provoke war with her father, yet I cannot let her live and bear her child to adulthood, for it will challenge me should Zaki fail. Soren was filled with dismay, unsure what to do with her.

A grim-faced Edmund emerged from behind Demara. Edmund must have seen the indecision in Soren’s eyes, for he took charge and arranged the detention of the princess within a small apartment in the castle. There, she would live in seclusion, with guards and women companions handpicked to watch her every move. It left Soren with a sour taste in his mouth; yet keeping her prisoner gave him a useful bargaining chip.

~

Pandora thrummed with life, a hive of activity since Soren’s return to the castle. The city itself was not badly damaged from the fighting and Soren was proud that little looting or vandalism had occurred. Nevertheless, repairs were still needed and so he sent out the city’s finest smiths and masons to repair all damage, funding the costs from the royal coffers. He felt too guilty to make Pandora’s residents pay for the damage, which he blamed himself for causing, and it even inadvertently curried him great favour amongst the people.

The castle was worse for wear. Smashed windows and shards of glass lay forlornly about, tapestries and works of art were torn, and priceless treasures in the vaults had managed to vanish altogether. What Soren felt most bitter about however, was the defacing and vandalism of his mother’s apartment. When he visited it as part of his routine examination of the entire castle, it filled him with such sadness that he had it sealed off, unable to deal with the distress it caused.

The first thing Soren did, when he had a moments reprieve, was visit his mother’s grave. He took Irumae with him. Naisa lay at rest in the castle cemetery under a stone carving of herself asleep, crowned with a stony mantle and everlasting youth on her face. They ran their hands over her hard cheeks and across the flowing forms in the stone, which had been roughly carved in the haste of its need, both wishing she had a grave more fitting for her. Compared to the graves of her forebears, it was shoddy.

Soren could not reconcile – still – that his mother lay under the impassive stone. Every moment he spent in the castle, he expected to hear her voice and smell her perfume, but all had faded. Out in the wilderness under the urgency of his tasks, the grief was something he had managed to lock away and so he thought, come to terms with. However, coming back to the home they had shared brought everything back. Soren had never felt less at home. In every corner lurked more grief. Brother and sister huddled by the grave for the entire afternoon, lost in their sadness as the city repaired itself around them.

The reprieve could not last forever and Soren soon threw himself back into overseeing the fortification of the city with renewed determination. There remained a fraction of the nobles and captains that had served under his mother; Soren used them all to try to ready the city.

In place of those who had perished, their sons and nephews stepped forward. Some oversaw improving the defences outside the city, clearing away debris close to the wall, whilst others concentrated on building siege engines from plans in the armoury.

Two trebuchets were constructed just inside the south gate by utilising the city’s many carpenters, who worked day and night. Many more, smaller catapults on wheels were produced that could be relocated anywhere in the city they were required. Soren gave special permission for them to cut wood from the royal forest itself for the purpose of restoring and fortifying Pandora.

Most were constructed on the top of the walls themselves; Soren noticed a great disadvantage of the city walls was a lack of ramps, only steps, leading to the broad walkways on top of them. Ammunition in the form of stones and rubble stood heaped in piles along key roads in the city and by the walls, with residents of the city invited to add anything they had that would prove useful missiles.

The camp outside the city dismantled as swiftly as it had sprung up, with residents cheerfully relocating themselves back within the city and taking up the defensive work with vigour. Normal trade had stopped within the city, with many shops closed as the people gave their efforts to Pandora, but Soren ensured the markets and dock stayed open, as well as the vital medical services, so the city remained well provisioned and functioning. The farmers returned to their holdings, to reap all the crops and grain they could from the fields and send it to be stored inside the city in case of siege.

In addition to the practical requirements of preparing for a battle, Soren knew he must also set strategies in place. He knew that Zaki would not surrender, especially with his father in law’s forces behind him and his pregnant wife under Soren’s control.

The dragons had settled in the castle grounds, and had taken to basking in the summer sun on the terraces in the private walled garden. It was here that Soren hosted his meetings with Edmund and Behan also and at Edmund’s suggestion, Nolwen and Nelda, who represented the dragon’s counterparts.

Eve

Eve found herself at leisure; not involved in the councils, the running of the city, or the battle to come. At first she was angry about being ignored and discounted, but as Nelda mentored her in the art of magical and non-magical medical treatments, her frustration disappeared, replaced by a fascination with healing.

There were many to heal after the taking of the city, both enemy and friend alike and Eve healed anyone she could, regardless of their loyalties or status. Nelda taught her how to alter the wording of her incantations slightly but significantly, so she could choose where to draw the energy required to sustain the magic from; herself, the patient or the surroundings.

Experimenting on many patients with a variety of ailments helped her broaden her understanding of anatomy and the rules of magic. Eve found that she quickly learnt, and could soon manage to heal many more people in a short time with better results and less of her own energy than it had taken to heal Luke, by using the magic in a different way; its subtleties fascinated her.

Luke accompanied her everywhere; he insisted on ensuring her safety despite Pandora now being under Soren’s control. He observed her work, now more intrigued than intimidated by magic. After each session, which lasted a few hours between mealtimes, he would question her about a certain task that she had performed and listen with interest as she explained what was required in order to fix or relieve the symptoms of the ailment.

Sometimes he could listen to Nelda’s tutelage, but sometimes not, as she chose to speak to Eve in the old tongue about matters of magic and the secrets of their shared race. Eve found satisfaction and fulfilment in the simple act of helping someone else that she had not experienced before. So it was, that after an afternoon at the healing houses, an idea began to form.

“I think I’d like to be a healer,” she said as she wandered through the castle with Luke. “I always assumed that I’d have to become my father one day, to fight and defend Arrow county and the country, but after what happened in the castle when we rescued Irumae, I don’t think I can be that person.

“Working with Nelda has been so rewarding,” she continued. “I think I’d rather heal people and leave their fate up to God to decide, rather than dealing out death myself. Why should I pass judgement on others who I do not know? How is that fair?”

“I play devil’s advocate, I hope you understand,” Luke replied, “but what would your father say? Who would defend the county in your name?”

“I’m not sure,” said Eve. “On the one hand he would be glad that I was safe. On the other hand I think he’d be disappointed to have no proper heir. I don’t think he’d like me to fight, but I think he’d see not fighting as a weakness, which would be exploited by others.”

“I think many others would share that view,” Luke replied, “and that it would plague you for however long it took to prove them otherwise. Who would defend Arrow, if you don’t take up the sword?”

“Well, my father wishes me to marry,” admitted Eve reluctantly.

“Marry?” exclaimed Luke.

“Yes. I’ll be expected to marry. I dread it.”

“You dread it?”

“Wouldn’t you? Who would enjoy spending their life with someone they didn’t choose?” Eve sighed. “I suppose it would leave someone to defend the county as long as Arrow remained under my guardianship. I won’t give Arrow to an outsider.”

“You’ll marry an outsider?”

Eve met his eyes, which were troubled under his wrinkled brow. “I have no inkling,” she said, uncomfortable. “Father hasn’t pressed the idea, but he soon will; I’m of age, as much as he doesn’t want to admit that. I don’t know where he’d find a suitable match though.”

Luke was silent. Eve did not speak – brooding. The idea of marriage induced many sources of trepidation and fear of the unknown into her and she sought comfort in the fact that her father was not seeking her marriage then.

“You should seek Nelda’s advice,” Luke said. “See what she thinks about you becoming a healer. I think it’s a fine idea. You’re much better at healing than you are at fighting. Although you’re skilled with a sword or bow, it’s not that which gets you through a real fight. I haven’t seen you so calm and at peace as you are when you’re healing.”

She answered his smile with her own. “That reassures me. Thanks for your ear, Luke. You’re a good friend.” She clasped his hand between hers briefly to communicate her appreciation. They walked around the first floor of the castle once more in companionable silence, before Eve bid Luke farewell and slipped into her chambers to bathe.

Nelda supported her idea wholeheartedly. “Taking life and causing injury is a grievous task that should not be lightly done. If you feel that your efforts are lent better to healing then I shall support you in this. I fight when I have to, as you have seen, but I too much prefer to heal and nourish and tend.

“Perhaps you should apprentice yourself to one of the traditional healers in the city to gain some knowledge of non-magical healing techniques. Go to the prince and ask him if this is possible.”

Eve followed her advice and that evening, after dinner in the great hall, approached her cousin for a meeting. He seemed withdrawn to her and she surmised that the demands he was under were taking their toll on him, so she kept it as brief as she could. His stern face softened when she explained her reasoning and once finished, gave his answer.

“I give you my blessing, cousin,” Soren said. “It’s good that you see the value of life. I wish that I could preserve, rather than take it too. I’m glad I now have a reason not to ask you to fight, as is your right; your father would never forgive me for placing you in such danger.

“You may have the freedom to do as you wish whilst you are a guest here. The healers would appreciate any help you can offer them. I need to be better informed about my casualties in any case; you may report to me with anything of importance.”

Eve returned to her apartment with a smile beaming from her face, although she was disappointed that her cousin seemed so distant with her. She knew she would still have to broach the subject with her father. Eve dreaded the moment, not least because there were other things that they would speak of first, but it was time for her to make use of Artora’s gift.

Her apartment door closed with a snap behind her and Eve turned the key in the lock, before retrieving the mirror from the bottom of the wardrobe. She rested the mirror on the dresser and stood before it, took a deep breath and then two more before feeling for the magic and uttering, “Leitha Karn”.

The mirror surface shimmered and rippled, but did not show her father; just the ceiling of his study. The magical link was complex enough to be above Eve’s ken, and it did not show him directly as any other scrying would, instead revealing the true reflection of his own mirror, wherever it sat.

“Father!” she called to the mirror.

There was silence.

“Let our voices pass through the mirror.” Faint sounds emanated from the mirror before her; background noise from her house. The familiarity of the sounds made her smile as she recognised them. She could discern the faint rustling of trees; the windows must be open for the light was bright and she could hear the neighing of horses and the blackbird’s song that woke her every morning.

“Father,” she called again.

Footsteps sounded and her father appeared over the mirror looking down into it, askew. She must have appeared upside down to him too, for he turned the mirror around until he could gaze at her eye to eye.

“Eve, where in God’s name are you?” His mouth tightened as he bent close to the mirror gazing at her and about her, trying to discern where she was. “Why did you not return? Are you well?”

“Father, calm down,” she said, holding a hand up to halt his tirade of questions. “I’m quite well. I chose not to come back.”

“I ordered you to return immediately, Eve! It was not your choice!” said her father. “How dare you disobey me and then vanish like this with some garbled message passed on to me. Have you any inkling of the worry and frustration this has caused?”

“I had many good reasons to justify my decision,” replied Eve. Colour rose in her cheeks. Could she have seen it, the slant in her eyebrows matched that of her father’s.

“That I doubt,” retorted her father, his eyes narrow.

“Firstly, Princess Irumae was being held against her will, so I decided I would rescue her, which I have done.”

Her father’s expression turned and his eyebrows rose from anger to disbelief. “Do not lie to me, Eve.”

“I do not lie!” said Eve, feeling hurt. “With the help of my companions, I liberated her from Pandora’s castle dungeons some nights hence. I lose track of the days.”

“Companions?” said her father.

“Yes father. I have travelled from Ednor to Pandora with Luke who has remained my faithful protector and two of the Eldarkind, who Queen Artora handpicked to accompany me.”

Her father covered his face with a hand and rubbed his temples with a frustrated sigh. “This becomes worse and worse,” she heard him mutter. “So now, Eve, I find that you have been traipsing across the wilderness with a man and two strangers not even of this race? How is this a respectable preoccupation for my daughter and heir?”

“You forced me to this, father,” said Eve in a brittle tone.

“How the blazes have I?” Her father exploded into rage once more. “I ordered you quite clearly to give my correspondence to Artora and return – immediately!”

“Why would I,” Eve said, “when you have lied to me for all these years? Why did you not tell me about my mother?” She raised her hands in the air in frustration. “Why did you hide from me what I ought to have known?”

Her father stepped back from the mirror until Eve could no longer see him.

“Father!” she called out, thinking he had abandoned their conversation, as more pent up frustration stirred in her belly.

“I am here,” Karn said in a muffled voice. Part of his forehead reappeared, but there was a long silence before he spoke. “I assume you now know of your mother’s heritage, her status and her… skills?”

“Magic, yes.”

“I did not tell you, because I wished to protect you,” Karn said. “Magic is a thing I do not understand, despite my years with Freya, for she hid it amongst our race. I always wondered if she died because she practised it, or because she lived too long amongst her people to be immune to whatever killed her. I had many ideas, but I never understood why the sickness took her.” His voice coloured with sadness.

“I did not want that same fate for you, daughter. I thought that if I raised you in the traditional way, as my parents raised me, that you would be better protected.”

“Your views nearly killed me, father,” said Eve. “Magic isn’t something you can learn, it’s in my blood and you can’t protect me from it. It’s awoken. By shielding me from it for all these years you have ensured that I am not equipped, as I should be, to manage it.” She saw her father’s eyebrows crinkle, the rest of his face still not visible.

“Neither of us has acted perfectly in this,” her father admitted. He sidled into view again. “You must return home at once; we have much to discuss.”

“I can’t come home yet – I’m needed here,” said Eve cautiously. She did not want to provoke him to anger again.

“Where is ‘here’?”

“I’m in Pandora. Much has happened since I left.” She summarised the events in the capital, including her own deployment in the healing houses as her father’s eyes widened.

“I had heard nothing of this. I assumed that Zaki had cut me off from the capital over recent weeks. I have been expecting an assault on Arrow, truth be told.”

“Soren is expecting a battle here. Can you spare any men? There are few enough who are well trained and I’m sure Soren would welcome more skilled soldiers.”

“Consider it done,” said her father. “I shall marshal my men and send as many as I can spare, on one condition.”

“Yes?” said Eve hesitantly.

“I expect that you come home to Arlyn with them once the capital has been secured.”

After a pause, Eve agreed.

“I shall tolerate no more disobedience on this matter,” warned her father. “Do not test me further.”

Eve did not reply to that. After exchanging awkward pleasantries, she called an end to their meeting, feigning that she was required elsewhere. Her father’s troubled face faded from the mirror until it reflected her own face. She sat staring at herself for some minutes, before packing away the mirror and writing a message to Soren to notify him of Karn’s assistance. Agitated, she returned to the healing houses. It was late, but she needed the distraction.

Karn’s forces arrived days later and Soren gratefully received the five hundred extra men into his ranks. Eve was glad to see that her father was not present; he had sent his deputy to command his men.

The captain greeted her with a show of deference but after the formality was done with, he sought immediate council with Soren, bypassing her authority. She was relieved not to have to manage them in matters of war, of which she knew nothing.

That afternoon, Behan’s scouts also arrived, exhausted and declared Zaki to be less than a day’s ride behind them. The city sprung into action as the news spread like wildfire and Soren ordered all forces to be ready and marshaled.

The city glowed that night; every inch of it lit by thousands of lanterns as men and women toiled to ensure all fortifications were completed in time and in working order. Had the city folk been able to see Pandora from afar, they would have been able to see it in its greatest glory; a city glowing gold and amber in the night.

Soren

Soren rose early after a sleepless night. Knowing that Zaki approached filled him with nervous energy. He could not eat, drink or rest and took to pacing around his apartment, relentlessly reviewing and rehearsing the strategies, though he could not improve upon them.

Day dawned cloudy and stiflingly warm: not ideal conditions. Such weather would hamper both sides and cause more injuries than were necessary due to exhaustion and heatstroke. Soren hoped that there would be no need to fight, but he knew that Zaki would not surrender.

Soren had visited Demara daily without fail since the taking of the castle; to quite what end he was not sure himself. Nevertheless, he deemed it a priority to try and understand her motives and provoke her to share any knowledge of her father’s or Zaki’s strategies, as any information she divulged could aid him.

Despite his attempts, she remained uncooperative and denied any knowledge of her father of husband’s plans. Soren did not know whether to believe her or not. She appeared to be an innocent and delicate woman; a pawn of the men in her life. Nevertheless, the prince knew he could not trust a woman with such dangerous connections, however harmless she seemed.

Impatient after the early visit, he abandoned the castle to ride out in the city, to check and double-check the defences with Edmund and a small company of guards who rode around the city with him. Finally, he was sure he could prepare no more and climbed up to the watch post on the south gate to join the surprised guards in their vigil and watch for the coming of his enemy.

The first sign of Zaki’s approach was a small dust cloud far to the south; the dried, powdery earth shook loose by his passage. Soren’s heart leapt in his chest and nervous energy coursed through him. Soren sent runners to every corner of the city to rouse and mass his forces.

As the group of men drew nearer, it solidified into a dark band on the horizon and grew larger by the hour, until in plain sight a vast force of riders galloped towards them in a wide line with their armour flashing in the sun. Soren watched them approach with the guards on the wall.

When they were a mile away, the sound of a grand, trumpeting tune floated towards them. The sound was strange and haunting, a southern instrument he presumed. Soren signalled for his men to blow the horns in response as normal; he wanted Zaki to think he was riding triumphantly home until the last possible moment, so that he was within range to take alive or dead if possible. One horn rang out, and then another, until they sounded from every gate.

Zaki’s forces led the group of men and also brought up their rear in their silver armour, whilst the men of Roher sandwiched between, armoured in golden metal that shone, even in the cloudy weather that morning. Before the bulk of the forces rode two figures, whom Soren deduced would be Zaki himself and King Harad.

They were almost close enough for Soren to make out faces under helmets and hands on reins when two standard-bearers and a herald came forward, raising their standards. One showed Zaki’s coat of arms, which had fluttered on flags around Pandora until Soren had had every single one ripped down and burnt. The other bore the coat of arms of King Harad; a rampant red lion and rose on a golden field, which Soren recognised from the wedding of Zaki and Demara two years previously.

The herald charged forward and blew his horn with all his might. “Open the gates!”

Soren gave the signal he had so long been waiting for in response, with a smile. He stood to look over the south gate crenellations at Zaki and Harad, who were slowing to a trot two hundred yards away.

At Soren’s command, giant flags were raised and allowed to unfurl in the slight breeze to reveal his mother’s coat of arms, which he had adopted as his own. The herald stopped dead at the sight of the billowing flags, before turning his mount and charging back to Zaki and Harad.

Silence fell. Not a man spoke on the wall, and no murmur arose from the forces massed so close to the city. All stood to attention and it seemed every man held his breath. Soren too waited in silence as the herald turned once more to return within shooting distance of the gates.

“His Majesty King Zaki commands the gate to open and for all non-authorised standards to be cast down at once!” the man called authoritatively.

“I reject his command, for he holds no authority here!” Soren called back.

“Who are you to speak so?” the herald replied pompously.

“I name myself Prince Soren, son of Queen Naisa and rightful heir to the kingdom of Caledan. I call for Zaki, the false pretender to the throne, who I name murderer, treasonous usurper and kidnapper, to surrender himself to trial by a jury of the people to attest for his crimes.

“The city and its people stand with me in this and you cannot hope to succeed against us. To King Harad, who I know not to be innocent in relation to these matters, I bid him take the most sensible course of action and retreat peacefully beyond our borders to his own kingdom.”

“You dog!” shrieked Zaki. “Seize him, I command you! I will double the reward for his capture!”

Not a man on the wall moved. Soren released his pent up breath in relief. Zaki sunk into his saddle as it dawned on him that he had lost the city.

“If you will not surrender him to me you shall all burn!” With that, he turned his horse away, shouting indistinct orders to his men. A large group broke off riding east and north around the city whilst Zaki rode himself with the main bulk of his men west towards the city without and the docks.

His intentions soon became very clear; fires sprung up in the hamlets and farms surrounding the city and the sound of fighting and screaming came from the docks as Soren’s men poured out from the dock gate to meet him. He made to join them, but King Harad’s herald called to him from before the gate.

“My master bids thee open the gates and speak with him under the banner of parley,” cried the herald.

“How can I know his intentions to be honourable?” Soren called back.

“He will approach alone if you will do the same. Come and speak to him before the gates, where you are still within the safety of the city if you will.”

Intrigued, Soren made his way to the gates. His men opened them with reluctance and crowded there with weapons drawn, should he need them. King Harad ordered his men to retreat a little further, whilst he himself advanced into the shadow of the walls, dismounting his horse and accompanied by the herald, who quickly took his reins.

Soren strode out to meet him, presenting as confident an exterior as he could, mindful of the danger he was placing himself in and relieved to have hundreds of men covering him from the city. He found himself wishing for Edmund’s reassuring presence; but Edmund covered the defences of the southwest of the city, far from his side.

Soren and the king greeted each other cautiously and coolly. Soren waited for Harad to begin, and observed what he could as Harad passed his feather-plumed helmet to his herald. Harad stood tall and proud, a little shorter than Soren and on the decline into the corpulence of middle age, although his physique was stocky and his armour had been shaped to complement and enhance his form.

He had thick black hair, greying at the temples and a dark, trimmed beard, flecked with greying hairs. Patterns too detailed for Soren to pick out weaved across his armour, recording untold hours of careful tooling. He must have been sweltering in the humidity, stifled by his ceremonial dress, but he betrayed no sign of discomfort.

“My daughter is in the citadel, yes?” Harad asked in a rich, deep voice. He glared at Soren with dark, inscrutable eyes under bushy eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“Is she well, and being treated as befits her rank and current health?”

“She is well and I treat her with the greatest privilege.”

“I am gladdened to hear this. Now that her husband and I are now here, will you release her into our care? It would be fitting of course given the delicate nature of her condition,” Harad smiled at Soren, seeming sincere, but his eyes were sharp.

“She is my prisoner,” said Soren flatly. “I will not relinquish her for any reward. I hope that her continued stay with me will ensure your good conduct.”

Harad’s mask faltered then with his surprise, before he returned to an impassive expression. “I have many daughters and sons,” said Harad. “What makes you think that I would value the life of one enough to cause me to retreat like a coward?”

“I would hope that you would not be so callous to your own kin,” replied Soren, “though I know that such things happen. However, given that she carries within her a babe that under my rule would be third in line to the throne of Caledan after my sister and uncle, I doubt that you would throw such a thing away.”

“It seems that I underestimate you.” Harad bowed his head to Soren. The gesture felt insincere and mocking, which riled Soren.

“You do,” Soren replied. He immediately regretted his words and took a breath to calm himself.

“You are however correct,” conceded the king. “Consider my forces neutral to you for the time being. I will cause you no harm if none is brought to my daughter or her unborn son. I will make you an offer you think worthy of consideration. If you release my daughter to me unharmed and a free woman, I will give you Zaki in chains to do with as you will and leave your land.”

Soren’s eyes widened in surprise. Here was a development he had not expected. “Why should I strike this deal with you?” he asked slowly. “I can crush Zaki myself without your help.” The sound of fighting came from the docks, where smoke rose from many fires.

“You may, young prince, but the cost in the lives of your own men would be a great price to pay and I will be forced to react hostilely if you refuse to release my daughter. I do not think you could hope to defeat my entire army in your present state.” The king smiled, satisfied with his position.

“If I am to agree to this, you will sign a treaty swearing never to invade my kingdom.”

“I will do no such thing,” refused Harad. “A life for a life is a fair trade.”

“Technically I am to trade you two lives for that of my uncle.”

Harad shrugged. “The life of the babe is not guaranteed. Childbirth is a dangerous undertaking, thus it should not be used as a bargaining chip. That is my offer. Take or leave it as you wish.”

Soren paused and did not reply, struggling with his conscience.

“The clock ticks,” murmured the king insipidly. “Every moment you dally a man dies.”

“I consent to the terms you have laid out,” agreed Soren. He sensed he had little other choice. He could see but two options laid before him; he could crush Zaki himself to then be faced with Harad’s might, or take Zaki with much less bloodshed and begin immediate preparations for the fortification of Caledan in the hope that he could repel Harad. In either case, he was sure that Harad would want to make a claim for Caledan’s throne.

Harad smiled at Soren’s answer, looking self-satisfied.

“It shall be done. Meet me at sunset at the gates with my daughter; you shall have Zaki then,” said Harad.

By the time Soren returned to the city, news reached him of Zaki’s outnumbered forces being routed by his own. Behan had swept out of the east gate and decimated the men who were attempting to destroy the outlying lands, whilst Edmund and the main concentration of Soren’s army were busy defending the most vulnerable area of the city by the docks. Soren gave orders for Zaki’s forces to be allowed to flee and efforts concentrated on putting out the fires in the city outside the walls to save as much as possible of the area.

Harad’s forces pulled well back from the wall and dallied almost at the spot where Soren had held his own camp. As Zaki rode out to meet them with what few men were left in his forces who were fit to ride, Soren knew that Zaki would be furious that Harad had not joined him. He did not know how Harad would take custody of his uncle – nor was he sure about trusting the Roherii king – but he suspected foul play would be involved.

In the ceasefire, Soren reunited with Behan and Edmund who brought their reports of the fighting. Losses had been significant, as had injuries, but not enough to cripple Soren’s chances of success if the fighting continued, given the numbers they were up against. Soren admitted the deal he had struck with Harad. Behan was surprised, Edmund annoyed that he had done so without consultation.

“I know the stakes, Edmund!” Soren replied to Edmund’s curt comments. “I’m not a child. I have made the best with what I have; I would rather have Zaki in my custody and Harad’s army at my door in the future, than not have him and have Harad’s army at my door today!”

Edmund acquiesced; deferring to him in a way that Soren had not seen before. He realised that his mentor, friend and ally would always be forced to defer to him. It saddened Soren, who knew the cost could be their friendship. He could have offered a concession to Edmund then, to soften the blow, but he could not think what to say.

Zaki

The horse squealed and sprung forward as Zaki dug his spurs into its flanks. He gave a great howl of anger and screamed for his men to follow him. To his surprise, the city without was deserted and the west gate closed and barred.

Buildings were burning before long as he charged through the empty streets, smashing windows and taking pleasure in destroying everything he could reach to vent his frustration at being outwitted.

Through the smoke he rode, straight into a line of pikes. The men in front of him screamed as their dying horses collapsed under them. Men darted forward from behind the pikes to cut them down. Zaki retreated as his men continued to pass him, battle cries in their throats as they met their foe.

The air cleared. Stood tall in stirrups under the gate he saw Sir Edmund, grim faced and shouting commands. An inhuman growl rose in his throat as he charged forward, but a horse drew beside him and forced him to a halt.

“Sir, stop! Stop, sir!” Reynard called, as Edmund met Zaki’s gaze, distracted by the call. “We lose the fight badly, sir, we must fall back!”

“I will do no such thing!” replied Zaki, his eyes still locked upon Edmund’s. “We cannot be losing – our numbers must be greater!” He broke eye contact with Edmund and realised the armour about him was all silver. “Where is Harad?” he demanded.

“He did not come,” Reynard admitted. He refused to release Zaki’s reins. “We must fall back, sir!” he repeated in desperation. “We will be overcome without Harad’s men.”

Zaki twisted away. Edmund had vanished. The tide of battle was turning as his men were pressed back step by step from the gates. “Sound the retreat.” He cursed Harad.

The horns rang out as he charged alone, ahead of his men, across the plains towards Harad’s camp. The king of Roher reclined under the shade of a pavilion when Zaki found him. Zaki leapt from his horse and flung his helmet away.

“What in God’s name are you playing at?!” Zaki shouted at him.

“You would do well to compose yourself,” Harad remarked in a benign voice, but this infuriated Zaki further.

“Compose myself! You abandoned me to a humiliating defeat! With your help we could be sitting in that castle – my castle – right now! You told me to crush them without mercy and yet you will not follow your own advice!”

Harad rose from his recliner, more swiftly than Zaki expected, and stood in front of him, fists clenched. “You will not address me thus,” Harad said, his voice iron. “You were too hasty in your attack. I will not suffer my men to die to satisfy your trivial ego when there are better ways to achieve our goals.”

Harad turned away and dismissed him with a wave as he strode into his tent. Zaki made to follow him, but the tent flap closed, and guards barred his way. He kicked the recliner in anger and stormed off to take his frustration out elsewhere.

Soren

Just before sunset that evening, Harad and Zaki, backed by a hundred of Harad’s men, approached the city gates where Soren still waited. He made his way down, flanked by Behan and Edmund. The gates opened as armoured cavalry waited in the courtyard where they would be visible to Harad.

“Greetings, Prince Soren,” said Harad, as Zaki dismounted to stand beside him. Their horses were led away to the side. Soren could see how close Harad’s men stood to Zaki in neat formation and could see the trap that would soon spring into motion, if Harad were to keep his word.

“I trust that my daughter is awaiting our arrival, yes?” Harad questioned, after Soren had greeted him in return. Soren and Zaki did not acknowledge each other. Soren refused to look at his uncle. He signalled Edmund, who gestured to the men by the gate to reveal Demara.

Demara dressed simply, shadowed by her maid and carrying no possessions. She stood in silence as she saw her father for the first time since she had married. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face. Soren admired her courage. He allowed her to approach closer so that Harad could see she was in perfect condition.

Harad smiled – a cold smile that showed no emotion at the sight his daughter. “She is well. I am glad. Seize him.”

The trap sprang into motion. Harad’s men overpowered Zaki, who had no time to resist. A man to each limb, they forced him to the ground, as he hurled abuse at them. When he rose again, supported by guards, his clothes and face were smeared with dirt where he had been pushed face first into the earth. His hands were bound behind him and his ankles tied together.

He continued to swear at Harad, but his father in law gazed around at Pandora’s walls as if admiring the fortifications. Last of all, a guard moved forward to shove a rag into Zaki’s mouth. The guard recoiled with a suppressed cry as Zaki bit him.

“Give up,” said Harad disdainfully. “You have lost.” Zaki stopped moving and glared at him with malevolence instead. “Take comfort in knowing your wife still lives and bears you an heir and be done with it.” Harad turned away.

Zaki responded with insults and curses, which were nothing more than muffed, indistinct sounds. He struggled against his bonds but he could not free himself. Soren dared to look him in the face as Zaki looked between Harad and Soren with such hatred that Soren was taken aback.

“My daughter, please,” requested Harad. He opened his arms.

“Zaki first,” Soren said, his eyes narrowing.

“As you wish.” A click of King Harad’s fingers and the guards dragged Zaki forward and sent him sprawling across the ground in front of Soren, where he lay writhing on the floor. Edmund gestured and five of Soren’s men ran forward. They grabbed Zaki bodily and rushed him within the city gates.

“My daughter,” said Harad. When Soren paused, the king glowered. “Do not double cross me, for it would be a grievous mistake.”

“I would do no such thing,” replied Soren, stung. “I wish you to reiterate your promise that you will leave my land peacefully and immediately, as we agreed earlier, in the hearing of all those present, before I release Demara to you.”

Harad surveyed the wall towering above him that bristled with armoured soldiers. Soren knew the king would be calculating his chances if they commenced a battle. The prince stood tall to portray confidence he did not possess. He hoped the bravado would cause Harad to retreat.

Slowly, Harad inclined his head. In his deep voice, he stated what he had promised earlier loud enough so that those present could hear it. Without further hesitation, Soren signalled for Demara to step forward. Her maid scurried behind her. Demara stood opposite her father, who helped her mount Zaki’s now abandoned horse. Without a backward glance, he mounted and rode swiftly off.

Soren called for the word of victory and the capture of the false king to be spread everywhere throughout the city and sent riders to share the news further afield. A great guard was set on that night, but when dawn broke, there was no sign of Harad or of his men. More worryingly, Zaki’s men had also vanished, though Soren could not spare much thought for them.

~

It took weeks of labour to make the city good once more; days flowed from one to the next as Soren oversaw the restoration of hundreds of houses and businesses destroyed by fire. He could do nothing to save the lives that had been lost, but he was determined to help salvage what was left for those who remained in whatever way he could, regardless of their status or wealth.

At first, the people were apprehensive and avoided him, unsure how to react to his presence amongst them. Yet, as his perseverance shone through, their affection and familiarity for him grew, for taking his time and spending his money freely to help them. In return, Soren found himself rewarded by their appreciation and his own satisfaction, not to mention a growing confidence from making so many new acquaintances.

The prince had not spared a moment of time for Zaki since his detainment, happy to be distracted by more pleasing things. His uncle’s trial had yet to be arranged and although the shadow of his fate hung over Soren, he buried the decision in the business of helping Pandora’s people, until the city was restored and he safely enthroned. He was glad to have what his senior advisers would agree was a reasonable cause to divert his attention. He still felt unable to confront the man – who was a monster in his mind.

He relied on Behan for support and guidance; the steward of Pandora was a respected and reliable figurehead for the people, with connections spreading like a spider’s web throughout the city. In truth, Behan’s wealth of contacts unnerved Soren. The man was powerful to be sure, but the prince was so desperate for allies that he grasped the opportunity.

Behan offered his help so freely for the present, which Soren appreciated, but there grew a suspicion that he would have a debt to pay to others, mostly Behan, sooner rather than later as a reward for their loyalty. Edmund also provided a source of constant morale, though in contrast to Behan, after their adventures and ordeals, the prince trusted Sir Edmund far more and spent much more time confiding in him than anyone else.

From the noble houses sprung up the sons of now-dead lords to take up his cause; with their youth they brought inexperience, though also vitality. Soren was glad that members of the older generation remained. Although few, they knew the ways of the world far better than their sons. To Edmund’s great delight, his son Dane appeared from the wilderness, emaciated and bedraggled – but alive – having travelled all the way to Pandora on foot after escaping his father’s occupied estate.

For all their enthusiasm, the naivety of the young lords saddened Soren; a few months ago, he had been identical to them in hopes and dreams, and their lives in a sheltered environment. Now he saw what a disadvantage that upbringing had been.

~

Meanwhile, Eve busied herself in the healing houses; the line of casualties was overwhelming. The infirmary was full, makeshift beds lined the corridors and the healers wore identical looks of exhaustion and dogged determination. Some patients died, some Eve healed, yet more would be there for longer stays.

Eve sealed away the grief of so much death and pain and focused unthinkingly on healing after healing. Luke shadowed her night and day to ensure that she slept and ate. She appreciated his constant care more than she could say – and they were both glad when she was no longer needed so much, and they could return to some normality in schedule.

~

Once Pandora had been restored, there was one event remaining to prepare for and it sparked joy in the city: Soren’s coronation. Pandora was cleaned and decorated from bottom to top, flowerpots and troughs liberally adorned buildings and streets were swept whilst homemade bunting, strung from roof to roof, fluttered in the breeze. Each citizen seemed more house proud than the next and the further into the city and the wealthier the occupants, the more extravagant the displays of flowers, exotic shrubs and other shows of celebration.

Guests and revellers poured in from all corners of the kingdom to join in the celebrations. Before Eve had had a chance to consider returning home, her father arrived from Arlyn. She had been dreading their eventual meeting, but her father greeted her with an unexpected embrace and betrayed no hints of anything other than genuine affection. For this, she was glad.

They dined and drank together as they always had at home, until it seemed that no time had passed and they had not ever parted. There was the slightest awkwardness in the occasional lull in the conversation that betrayed what remained unspoken between them. Eve knew they must soon have a reckoning, but the thought of it sparked dread in her heart.

To Soren’s surprise, Garth also appeared with his daughter Lindy in tow, atop Soren’s own horse with Edmund’s riding alongside. Soren greeted them with delight, astonished that the fisherman had returned the horses himself. He invited them to the coronation and gave them the freedom of the city for their help. Garth, typical of his gruff nature, which Soren had come to be fond of, shook off the thanks, uncomfortable with being made such a fuss of, but he seemed genuinely pleased that Soren appreciated his efforts nonetheless.

Once the city returned to business as usual, Soren’s mood became much lighter, as though he had been relieved of a huge burden. In the small family meals that he shared with Irumae, Eve, Karn and a few chosen others amongst his extended family and cohort, he almost seemed to return to his former self. He appeared carefree and witty in his conversations, although the dark shadows under his eyes, which had not quite faded, betrayed his continuing stress.

He was increasingly nervous about his coronation; he required both Eldarkind and dragon blessings to ensure his success. Neither race had yet graced the capital with their presence, although Soren had made sure that Nolwen had conveyed Soren’s invitation to his queen and ensured that she in turn, would notify the dragons.

A small group of the Eldarkind, sent by Artora, arrived two days in advance of the coronation and were welcomed into the city by its people, to Soren’s relief on both counts. East of the great lake, the Eldarkind were regarded with intrigue and reverence, being ingrained in royal history and folklore.

~

On the morning of the fifteenth day of the seventh month, the great cathedral in Pandora played host to the great event, bedecked in colourful decorations. Lords, ladies, clergymen, special guests and all those who could fit, packed into the huge building to see the spectacle of coronation as it should be.

Queen Naisa’s standard hung from rafters and balconies wherever it could be draped, spreading blue and gold across the grey stone and complemented by flowers woven into ornate structures adorning the columns and altars. They filled the vaulted space with colour, matched by the ceremonial capes of scarlet and white, fine fur adorning the shoulders of the highest-ranking parties there, who occupied the front rows of seating.

The Eldarkind stood in flowing robes of white along the central aisle that ran the length of the cathedral’s nave, as Soren entered dressed in simple but smart trousers and doublet, wearing the crown of the heir to the throne. Hador met him at the head of the aisle – as the new abbot, it was his duty to preside over the ceremony, but Soren was glad for his presence. He felt a bond with the monk after their shared experiences.

The Eldarkind sang as Soren entered and their melody floated into the heights as the ceremony began. Hador passed the crown of the heir from Soren to Irumae, who sat in a smaller throne by her brother, atop the huge dais. The abbot charged Soren with the fair running of the country and treatment of its subjects and Soren promised to govern it so. Two pages draped the purple mantle of kingship over Soren’s shoulders as he stood before the dragon throne.

Impassive, silent, motionless, it towered before him. He accepted the royal ceremonial sword that represented honour and chivalry. Then he took the golden sceptre and promised rule in line with the law and knelt to accept the blessing of the abbot upon his brow. Soren prayed under his breath. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Nowhere had he found the crown of the dragon kings and he wondered whether Brithilca watched over him.

The Eldarkind’s song increased in complexity; harmonies emerged through the melody that flowed through the summer air, bewitching their audience. Eve, watching on, felt a shiver down her spine and her hair stand on end all across her body as she listened to the magic infused words of the old tongue.

They sang for prosperity, wellbeing, good harvests and all manner of things to the sky, blessing the coronation of King Soren and calling their allies, the dragons, forth to do likewise. The sun brightened in the sky and flowers blossomed spontaneously, called forth by the magic of the song and radiant joy was mirrored on the face of everyone who listened.

As they sang, repeating the verses again and again, a piercing crack split the still air and then another, and then a rumble. All looked up in wonder as the stone dragon rose and spread its wings.

“You have proven your worth, young prince,” Brithilca judged to Soren privately.

Soren breathed again and a great smile crossed his face as the unrealised tension pent up in him released; he had been so terrified the dragon would not bless him, that he had not slept for days.

“All hail King Soren,” Brithilca rumbled, releasing a column of spectral flame into the air, before a great flash of light split the sky. The great dragon was once more immobile, now standing guard over the dragon throne with open wings. Soren knelt on the steps, with the weighty crown of the dragon kings pressing down on his head as the citizens of Caledan erupted into raucous cheers and applause around him.

“All hail King Soren!” roared the crowd as one. “All hail King Soren! All hail King Soren!”

In unison, the crowd bowed low to their new king. Soren sat on the throne as the nobility paid homage and swore their allegiance to him in a great long line, before proceeding onto the brightly lit steps of the cathedral where it seemed the entire city’s population was trying to cram into the square to see him.

The ceremony was not finished with yet, however. The crowds parted way for Edmund, who had slipped off to fetch a horse and now rode proudly dressed in full armour on a black stallion into the square, bearing aloft Soren’s standard and a black leather glove. He rode to the very centre of the square, where there stood a thin, square plinth raised to waist height.

“I name myself Sir Edmund Arransson, champion of His Majesty King Soren. Let all those who seek to challenge him fight me in his stead. Take up the gauntlet if you dare!” He cast down the gauntlet on the plinth where it lay, an open invite. Not one person moved; all waited in eager anticipation, until a man’s voice called from the back of the crowd.

“I’ll challenge you if you will give me the other glove, good sir!”

A ripple of laughter spread out amongst those in hearing and Edmund grinned and shook his head as he turned away.

As was customary on coronation day, the new king, adorned in his robes and crown, rode to the very gates of the city before walking all the way back up on the main road, to view his subjects and press a coronation coin into the hand of anyone who came to pay homage to him. There were so many people in the city that the prince required bags of coins, drawn in waggons behind him by horses sweating in the sun under their burdens.

Soren enjoyed the task of meeting his people, tiring though it was. It took all day to reach the castle for his coronation dinner, as he stopped to talk with many of the residents personally. He was surprised at how many people he now knew by face or name and even more so by how much he could relate to many of them now; be it the carpenter who had a similar sense of humour, or the smith’s apprentice with a fascination for swordplay.

Last of all that day, Nelda drew him aside, still dressed in the robes she had worn to his coronation. She led him to the castle gardens in the fading light until she reached the wall covered in honeysuckle ready to flower that led to the castle cemetery. He hung back with misgiving reflected in his eyes, but she beckoned him with a knowing smile. Through the gate, a dozen of her kind, identically adorned, stood waiting for her, barring the way.

“Your Majesty,” they murmured. They bowed and parted like water to allow him past.

“Our gift to you,” Nelda said.

As Soren stepped towards his mother’s grave, he saw that the tombstone had been replaced or reworked by their magic. Where there had been rough stone there now lay an intricate, lifelike carving of his mother. Veins and flecks ran through the stone and it was rose hued, giving a warm glow to the statue. Soren drew closer. He searched the face and gasped when he realised how perfect a likeness it was. Her eyes lay shut and her face was peaceful. Her hands clasped across her belly. Detail of lace and gold leaf inlaid in the form sprang out as Soren absorbed each minuscule detail of the statue.

When he could look no more he turned around. Nelda’s kin had vanished – he had not heard them leave.

“Thank you,” he said, though the words seemed unworthy. Tears pricked his eyes. “Thank you so much. Please tell them thank you.”

Nelda bowed her head and slipped away. After a few more minutes in solitude, tracing details of the statue with his fingers, he returned to the great hall to rejoin his coronation supper. He felt saddened, with the unexpected thoughts of his mother’s death creeping to the forefront of his thoughts, but glad that she had now been given a resting place far more appropriate and deserving than he could have provided for her himself.

The rest of the night passed in a whirlwind blur of food, drink, dancing and conversation that he could not remember much of later. When the new king retired to bed in the early hours of the following morning, he felt dazed by the experiences of the past months; a feeling not helped by the copious amount of alcohol he had drunk that night.

His last thought before sleep enveloped him from atop his wave of euphoria was that everything must be a dream. However, the blinding headache that greeted him as he awoke many hours later dispelled any notion that that could be the case.

Eve

“You agreed that it’s worthwhile returning to Ednor for training, so why won’t you let me go at once, father?” said Eve.

“Because you must return home to take care of everything else that has been neglected in your absence.” Her father’s thunderous expression would normally have caused her to back down, but her confidence had grown enough to assert herself since last she had been in Arlyn.

“Why, for you to never let me go?” retorted Eve.

“I am a man of my word,” said her father in a brittle voice. He was in a dangerous mood, not helped by her persistence.

“Well what other responsibilities do I have aside from my education, which is complete, and my training, which is a constant undertaking? You give me no other responsibilities from your own pool of duties, despite the fact I am of age and able to take them on! I am not a child anymore and it’s time you stopped treating me like one!”

“Do not disrespect me Eve!” thundered Karn. “Why should I give you such duties when you run off so lightly? Flightiness has ne’er been the quality of a good leader!”

“I was trying to do what was right and that has ne’er been a poor quality for a good leader.” She paraphrased him, scowling.

“You need to grow up and settle down,” her father said. His eyes narrowed at the mockery.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” retorted Eve. “I am settled, and maturity comes with age; will you make me wait until I am thirty before you deign to let me help you?” She folded her arms.

“No. You need to settle down and marry. I have already begun searching for a suitable match.”

“What?” cried Eve. “You can’t! I won’t!”

“I can’t? You won’t?” Karn’s eyebrows slanted in a dangerous ‘v’ shape. “It is my right to make such a decision, as your father and your lord, for the good of our county and you will do as I say.”

“Father I don’t want to marry! I’m too young, I’m not ready, and there is no one suitable!”

Her father softened at the panic in her eyes, but he remained firm. “You are well of age and there are plenty of suitable matches. Worry not, I will find you a good man. I would not give away my only daughter to a man who did not deserve her.”

His words did nothing to placate Eve. She paced in front of him, wringing her hands together and folding them close in front of her as if to protect herself. The thought of being in the power of a man she did not know terrified her. She knew what her wifely duties would be and the thought was revolting.

“I cannot father, please do not make me,” she asked him with desperation.

“I can make you, whether you will it or not,” said her father. “However I do not wish to be that kind of man. Eventually, you will see that I act in your best interests and eventually, you will thank me Eve, although I know it will be hard at first to see that I am right. I will make you a deal.”

Eve paused and turned to him.

“I will permit you to go to Ednor and spend as long there as you need to train you to control your magic, with not one word of complaint.”

Eve held her breath for what came next.

“I will do this, if you will marry the man of my choosing.”

Her breath whooshed out of her lungs, but they tightened and she could not breathe back in as panic flooded through her. She stumbled to a chair and fell into it “What if I say no?” she choked out, hunched over with her hands to her chest and her loose hair tumbling about her.

“Then you will return home with me regardless and I make no promises about if you shall go to Ednor, or when, or for how long I will permit your visit to be.”

“I am not your game piece to play as you will.” Her voice was muffled as tears began to roll down her face. She covered them with her hands.

“You will have to marry a man of my choosing sooner or later,” said her father. He turned away. His tone was level. From under her fall of hair, she could not discern his expression.

“You married for love! Why do you deny the same for me?” Eve’s voice caught as more tears fell.

“You will grow to love him,” said Karn, “and that should be enough. Who else would you choose? Who else would be good enough for you?”

Eve stayed silent and did not answer him from within her cocoon. Luke flashed across her mind. He was as close a friend as she had and she would not hate to be his companion, as she would anyone else’s. At least he was not a stranger. At least she knew him well and though she barely dared admit it to herself, she did find him attractive. She did not reveal that to her father, knowing he would be angered by such an unsuitable union. She feared that if she frustrated him further, that he would withdraw his offer to let her go to Ednor at all.

Karn took her silence for a no, and turned around to leave. “I shall give you time to think on this. I expect your answer by the time we are returned home,” he said, before departing.

It was the following day, a week after the coronation of Soren, that they departed, much to Eve’s growing dread. After a sleepless night, she had come no closer to a decision. The prize of going to Ednor for as long as she pleased dangled before her; but its worth was equal to the horror and despair of agreeing to her father’s deal.

Every man she saw in the castle who seemed to be her own age or older, she scrutinised, wondering if they would be the man her father chose. Luke, who still accompanied her everywhere, enquired as to her agitation. She shook him off and told him that she did not feel well.

With a heavy heart, she bade farewell to the healers, who had become dear to her in her time there. They were sorry to see her leave. The head healer thanked her for her help, wished her well and invited her to return to help, expressing that she would always be welcome there.

As they said goodbye to the new king and his sister, Soren and Irumae embraced them, with words of parting as affectionate as always, despite the blankness in their eyes that seemed etched there. Now that the festivities and whirlwind of events surrounding the restoration and coronation was over, they seemed to have slipped into a depression of sorts. It would take time for the grief to pass and Eve bid them good health and wished fervently for their happiness to return.

She smiled at Edmund as they parted – she had grown up with his presence from a young age and her father treated him like family. Eve was glad that Soren and Irumae had such a good man to guide them at the beginning of Soren’s reign. Her father shared a few muttered words with Edmund himself, before embracing him.

Nolwen and Nelda also chose that day to depart. Eve parted with them with reluctance, as her father and his men waited to be off. They took leave at the castle gate; the Eldarkind were to travel north, whilst the easiest way to Arlyn lay along the south road. She would have much rather travelled with them, but her father refused to dally and take the longer road.

Nelda and Eve embraced and Nolwen bowed low to her. She replied with a curtsy. She could not bow in return to him, not least because her father was observing her, but because he had also insisted she ride home in a ladylike fashion: in a dress and worse, a carriage. To placate him, she had agreed. As Nelda and Nolwen mounted their horses and rode out of sight, Eve could not delay climbing into the four-wheeled contraption any longer.

A seat wide enough for two people was affixed within it – no companion joined her. It felt like a prison. Painted black within and without, it had a covered top, solid front and back and a small window set into the doors on either side. It had been made with no thought for comfort or decoration, save the dismal seat pads that had been added later. The driver sat on a bench affixed to the front.

Eve would have much rather joined the men on horseback, where she could see the world flowing by around her and have the wind running through her hair and reddening her cheeks. In contrast, she resigned herself to a miserable return journey home as the wheeled cart jolted her from cobble to cobble and ditch to ditch and the clatter of hooves jarred her head.

She did not know where Luke rode within the group. From within the confining carriage she watched the small panel that was the world outside pass by through the window, agonising over her choice.

Soren

The halls of Pandora castle fell silent as guests who had flooded in now poured out to return home. For the first time, Soren had time and leisure on his hands and fell to brooding and apathy in the absence of other driving tasks.

Now the council had been restored and its numbers lifted again with younger men of the various houses, Soren found that much of the menial day-to-day running of affairs was accounted for, with Behan overseeing operations and managing the city. The steward was invaluable, but it did not help Soren stay busy.

Consequently, although Behan had accounted for everything else, it meant that one task remained a priority for Soren above all others, nagging and chewing away at his thoughts. It was time for him to deal with his uncle and he could not afford to put it off any longer. He sent orders for the trial to be scheduled the following week and held in the courts of law, before filing his evidence with the clerks.

The blood stained letter had been with him, tucked inside his clothes, since his flight from Pandora; he had even worn it within his robes during his coronation, such was his reluctance to leave it anywhere. It felt strange to part with an object he had kept so close for so long, but as Soren unwrapped the silk napkin he stored it in, he was glad he would not have the constant reminder of what had passed so near to him anymore.

“Guard it with your life and release it only to those who bear my seal.” He warned the young clerk, who nodded uncontrollably and looked at the letter before him as if it would bite.

Not one hour later the courts had confirmed the date of the hearing to him and, feeling grim, he sent a messenger to inform Zaki of his impending trial, still unable to face his uncle. Butterflies leapt in his stomach when he thought about what was to come.

That night, after consuming copious amounts of beer with the young lords who kept him constant company at the evening meals, Soren stumbled to bed in a heavy stupor. He was too intoxicated to hear the clamour that arose within the castle in the middle of the night, until alarm bells themselves sounded, a discordant clanging of metal on metal and metal on wood as men raised the alert to every corner of the city.

Soren awoke, groggy and slow, clambering out of bed and dragging on a dressing gown. Outside his apartment, there were at least two dozen extra guards crowding the corridor. All had drawn their weapons, including the two guards who stood either side of his door.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.

The guards looked fearfully at him and one dared to speak up.

“A prisoner has escaped, your majesty,” he stammered. “We were sent by Sir Edmund to guard your cham—”

“Escaped? Who?” Soren questioned. His mind cleared as anxiety rushed through him, but his heart sunk before the man had spoken, because he knew the answer. Why else would Edmund send so many to guard me?

“Zaki,” the man whispered.

“What happened? When?” Soren questioned.

The man turned to his colleagues. None volunteered an answer. “I- we do not know, your majesty. Sir Edmund ordered us to guard you and told us no more.”

Soren barrelled through their midst, his dressing gown flapping as he passed them and raced barefoot down the corridor. The guards leapt into action, sheathed their weapons and ran after him in full armour, clanking and grinding metal with every step as they fought to keep up with him; taken by surprise. The king ran to the great hall, where lights blazed, illuminating every single inch of the huge room. People came and went, scurrying like ants.

“Where is Sir Edmund?” Soren shouted. Every single person halted in their tracks and scrambled to bow low to their dishevelled king with his tousled hair and red eyes as they realised who he was.

“Your Majesty!” Behan bounded forward, having just jogged into the hall. He was red faced, out of breath and seemed to have travelled to the castle in his bedclothes. As he bent double, wheezing, Soren waited for the steward to catch his breath, leaning forward with impatience.

“Yes?” he prompted.

Behan ushered Soren aside as noise picked up around them and people once more resumed their tasks.

“He’s gone, sire – Zaki. You need to see this,” he gestured at Soren to follow him, and they started towards the dungeons, with Soren’s heightened guard in tow.

“What happened?” asked Soren in a low voice, not wanting their conversation to be overheard.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea, sire.” Behan was frank. “Every man you have is out looking for him now, including Edmund. I hope they find him, after what he’s done, but we don’t have any leads to start with.”

He glanced at Soren to gauge his reaction and mood. Still intoxicated from the previous evening’s antics and, feeling numb and tired above all, a dull glazed look seemed fixed on Soren’s face as he stifled the urge to yawn.

As they arrived at the dungeons, Soren understood why Behan had been so apprehensive. The entire area was crawling with officials and soldiers alike, who trawled for evidence and clues, and, for a few unfortunate folk, cleaned up the wreckage.

Zaki had been held in the depths of the dungeons, in the furthest, most hard to reach and most secure cell available to the castle. It was impenetrable; buried under thousands of tons of earth deep in the hill under the castle and accessible by one, windowless door. It was exactly why Soren had imprisoned his uncle here. Yet, the door lay in pieces about the fractured door frame. Black marks spread across wood and stone.

“He appears to have used some type of incendiary device, sire.” Behan looked about, his mouth set in a thin line. “We have no idea how he managed to procure or ignite it, but he made short work of his guards.” He gestured at the forlorn remains on the floor.

Two bodies lay on the floor, face down, burnt and covered in debris. As Soren leaned closer, daring to turn over the bodies himself, he retched and stumbled back. They had been hacked, stabbed and sliced multiple times, in what seemed like a frenzied attack. Soren eyed Behan in horror. Behan met his eyes with trepidation.

“He is a monster,” said Soren in hushed tones. And he could be anywhere... an insidious voice whispered from the darkest recesses of his mind. A chill settled over the prince. Weary and intoxicated, his mind remained slow. Listless, he gazed into the cell, which men had turned upside down in the fruitless hunt for a clue.

Everything he had fought for, all that he had gained and the price he had paid for his successes, seemed worthless and frail. Even when his uncle had been in his power, Soren had been outwitted. He did not even have the ability of thought at that moment to curse himself for underestimating his uncle – that would come with the harsh, grey light of dawn.

Despair filled him.

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The Brooding Crown: The Second Book of Caledan

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Soren

Talons pinned Soren to the bed, gripping his flesh. He twisted, crying out as he thrashed, but the claws did not relinquish their grasp. With great shuddering gulps, Soren surfaced from sleep to his dimly lit bedchamber.

Cautious faces loomed over him. The hands, not talons, which had held him down loosened. One of the hands stroked his own in comfort, whilst the other soothed his forehead with a cold cloth, wiping the sweat from his face. His clammy nightclothes clung to him, constricting his movements.

Soren’s breathing slowed to a weak flutter as he lay back into his pillow, his eyes slipping shut once more.

“Another nightmare?” Edmund’s voice sounded from his side.

Soren did not nod; the answer was obvious.

“The usual,” Soren murmured. “Zaki’s searching for me, hunting me through the castle dungeons. I try to run, but I cannot. It’s as if the air has turned to water and I’m drowning, but then all of a sudden everything turns to light and pain and fire searing through me. In that moment, I know he’s found me, and I know I’m dead.”

Soren opened his eyes as Edmund gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Edmund’s face was ashen with his own exhaustion. He sat with Soren, guarding him through the inevitable torture that returned every night.

“This will not last forever,” said Edmund.

Soren rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I hope you’re right. I cannot last on nightmares.”

Edmund did not reply, but Soren had a feeling he would be thinking the same. He had tried to send Edmund away for the man’s own health and sanity, but every night, when Soren awoke hyperventilating and in a blind panic, Edmund’s presence was the first thing he noticed.

With a flick of Edmund’s hands, the servants dispersed, though it took an extra shoo for the physician to retreat.

“You are safe here, Soren. Zaki is most likely dead, but if not, he would not be able to reach you.” Edmund shuffled to an armchair and sank into it with a sigh of relief. “It has been over two months since your uncle escaped. Rest easier in the knowledge that all of Caledan knows him for a traitor, a usurper… and a murderer,” Edmund added softly, his eyes flicking to Soren. “Zaki will find no shelter here.”

“I tell myself that daily, yet now I know what he’s capable of. The worst thing is not knowing where he is. I almost expect him to jump from behind the curtain or under the bed. Ridiculous, I know. And yet I cannot dispel the fear. I was so close to returning true peace and security to Caledan. He escaped so easily – what if he returns?”

“Zaki is long gone. The hundreds of armoured men crossing the border heading south, bearing no banner or crest, could only be him fleeing with his last supporters. The deserts will claim him before he reaches anywhere that he could survive.”

Soren could not help but question otherwise. Every shadow held his uncle waiting to leap out and kill him. Even at night, Soren insisted on the room being lit to give an extra shred of peace to his mind, for what it was worth, but the nightmares came as virulently as ever.

“What is it you fear the most?” Edmund’s hooded eyes regarded Soren thoughtfully.

Soren stirred, pulling the cover closer around him, despite the insufferable warmth it created. His eyes drifted closed again. They ached with such a fierce throb that it hurt to open them. “I’m not sure.” He’s a monster, and his absence only makes him grow more terrible. Soren could not think of his uncle’s face, nor his name, without flinching.

“I fear that he will never give up, that he will return, that he will hunt me down and that there is nothing I can do to stop it. I fear that he will kill me – I fear death.” Soren shivered as he thought of the blackened and contorted bodies left behind by his uncle. “I fear how he will kill me, what dark weapon he would use against me. Castle walls feel as thin as air when I know that he could escape from such a prison.”

“The entire kingdom hunts for him, Soren. He could not pass our borders, let alone reach Pandora or you. You have nothing to fear.”

“Yet Roher supplies him with military technology – so how sure can you be that he will seek to come alone?” Soren’s voice rose in pitch as his breathing quickened again.

Edmund paused. “I do not understand it myself. Lord Behan’s intelligence suggests that the incendiary device used in your uncle’s escape was almost certainly developed and produced within Roher’s borders, yet we cannot be sure Harad supplied it. Harad has remained true to his word: he left peacefully and has not returned.”

“Yet,” Soren said. The word hung ominously in the air.

“Perhaps Harad will return. However, think of the journey Zaki would have to undertake to even reach Roher’s borders, let alone its capital city. Why would Harad assist him, after trading him with us? Surely, he is a lost cause.”

Soren did not answer. His gaze drifted from the stone walls of his chamber to the flickering light of the candle on his side table. Once more, he wondered how fire could break stone. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Edmund.”

Zaki

The golden-domed watchtowers of Arrans, capital of Roher, blazed on the horizon under the punishing sun. Zaki ached. A deep-seated, dull, pulsing ache that encompassed his entire being: his bones, his muscles, even his head. At last…

Beside him, Reynard sank to the ground. “Thank you, Lord God, for blessing us with your divine intervention, by showing us the way to our salvation.” Reynard murmured fervent prayers to himself, his bobbing head bowed over shaking, clasped hands, and his eyes scrunched shut.

Zaki looked at him through narrow eyes, disdaining the wreck of a man kneeling at his side, but Reynard was still in a better state than most of the others who had survived the torturous journey. There is no God, you fool. After all ‘God’ has done to me, he cannot be. If he exists, then he has wronged me and should be damned to hell himself.

His eyes flicked back to drink in the vista before him. Where they had tramped for endless weeks through desert, now grass grew beneath their ruined feet. With every step they took, the land became lush, green and hopeful.

Before them stood the red stone walls of Arrans. Topped with triangular crenulations, they stretched into the distance, encircling the vast city within their protection. They snaked over the five hills on which Arrans was built, even spanning the river that carved through the city’s belly.

On each of the five hills stood a great watch-tower, a hundred and fifty feet high, an unlit yet blazing beacon reflecting the light from gilded brickwork and mosaic patterns. He could not see the detail he knew to be there – they were still miles away – but the flash of colour atop the closest towers was visible. Below the golden sun of Roher flew the banner of his father-in-law: the red rose and rampant lion of King Harad the Third.

Zaki’s only other visit to the city – to meet his bride-to-be and formalise their wedding – had been a grander and more pleasant occasion. Instead of a harsh journey through the desert, they had sailed to Bera, the sea-port and travelled at leisure to Arrans from there. The men had ridden in upon horses, with the ladies riding in palanquins, fanned by servants. All had been cheered into the city by rich and poor alike who lined the streets up to the royal palace at the top of the tallest of Arrans’s hills.

In contrast to the well-fed prince entering Arrans in triumph, Zaki was now a pauper and passed for a different person. His eyes had sunk into his burnt and weathered cheeks under unkempt, shaggy hair, and his soft skin had been hardened by the long duration of rough travel. His clothes hung off him – he and his men had long eaten all the horses, surviving on nought for days – and his body, which had been so well trained and fed, had melted away to a toughened, wiry frame.

They had little left – no money between them, nor armour. In the blistering heat, it was an unnecessary burden. Even Zaki’s royal armour, worth more than the annual earnings of all his men put together, had been dumped. Instead they survived like bandits, thieving food, drink and luxuries like blankets from those they passed, either through force or by silent theft in the night.

The sight before him made him forget the weeks – or it could have been months, he had lost track of the endless cycle of night and day – of hardship. Spurred on and reinvigorated by the sight he had so longed to see, he drove his men on, commanding them through cracked and dried lips.

His men followed in silence like sheep behind a shepherd. They had little energy to talk and no desire to rejoice after everything they had lost. More than one had died along the way through illness, starvation, dehydration or because their mutinous words and discontent had reached a ruthless Zaki’s ears. But Zaki was no shepherd. He watched them all like a wolf over prey. I will not let them betray me.

The hard, dry earth pained Zaki’s feet; they tingled and spasmed with every step, but he pushed on. It was still hours before they reached the gates. So huge were the towers and walls from afar that they seemed closer; a cruel illusion. But when he stepped under the cooling shadow of the gate at last, it was no vision.

The gate was open, but men barred the way with a makeshift barrier across the entrance to the city.

“Quis est iste?” one of them asked him. “Vade, pauper!” The man shooed him away, but Zaki stood his ground.

“Caledan,” Zaki said. “Do you speak Caledonian?”

“Caledonian?” The guard sneered. “Nulla. Non Caledonian.”

“I must see King Harad,” Zaki emphasised, wishing he could speak some broken words of their language, or they his. “King Harad – take me to him. I am King Zaki of Caledan. King Zaki.”

“King? Regis? Quod homo petit esse rex!” The guards burst out laughing, taking great pleasure in their amusement.

“Regis Zaki!” One bowed mockingly to him, sweeping his hand before him in a grand gesture, as the others continued their raucous laughter behind him. His balding head gleamed in the sun.

Zaki stepped forwards in anger, drawing his sword, the one weapon remaining to him.

At once the merriment ceased. The Roherii drew their own blades.

“I am King Zaki of Caledan. I command you to take me to King Harad immediately, or I swear upon my crown I will kill you all where you stand.” His sword point wavered before him as his arm shook with the weight of the blade, but Zaki’s blood boiled with fury at being so treated. After all he had endured, he refused to be turned away at the gate like a commoner. He stood, glaring at them, with his legs planted upon the ground and his free hand clenched.

Their leader looked him up and down, frowning, his eyes lingering over Zaki’s sword and the gold signet ring, which out of vanity Zaki could not bear to part with. Zaki tilted his ring so the gold flashed in the light, revealing the imprint of his crest upon it. The man turned to his companions, his expression one of doubt.

“Non certus sum… sed ut homo vera praedicat… Vide annulum? Vide viri eius?”

Zaki looked between them, but he did not understand their words. The man pointed to his hand and Zaki lifted it, showing his ring to the men, who were quieter and shifted upon their feet whilst sneaking uncomfortable glances at each other.

“Yes,” said their captain in accented Caledonian. He beckoned Zaki and his men forward, firing a rapid babble of orders at the Roherii men who scattered, their eyes wide. One returned, leading two horses – one for the captain and one for Zaki. He was thankful they had a mounting block, but even then he struggled, trying to conceal his involuntary grimaces beneath his hair.

His men remained on foot, limping along behind him, as they passed along one of the main avenues, bustling in the pre-evening rush. Men, women and children rushed about, some with baskets and packages, others with guards in carriages, but most on foot, weaving in-between each other.

The guards cut a column through the maelstrom before them. Zaki worried they were causing a spectacle and he slouched, flopping his hair across his face. He did not want to be recognised, but he need not have been concerned. Few batted an eye-lid at their passage – fewer stopped to stare. Zaki glanced at his dirty skin and tatty clothes. I look just like one of them. His lip curled with distaste.

The noise and smell of the city was overwhelming after weeks of near silence and nothingness. Zaki’s ears filled with an unbearable level of sound, worsening his pounding headache. The smells turned his stomach, especially the stench from the sewers and waste piles, and even the scent of food made him gag.

At last Zaki entered the palace compound, stopping for a moment at the gate as their guide spoke in hushed tones with those guarding the way, throwing many glances back towards the Caledonians. Zaki was beckoned through the gates, which clanged shut once his men had entered.

Peace returned. On the hill, away from the poorer districts of the city, the wealthy lived in quiet contentment, overlooked by the sprawling royal palace. Vast gardens opened up, and although the wealthier district’s streets on the slopes were more spacious than the crowded roads through the valley-bottom slums, the space in the palace grounds was most freeing.

Fountains babbled amid birdsong. Thirst rushed to the forefront of Zaki’s mind. He licked his lips in frustration, longing to dive into one of the gurgling ponds to drink, cool himself and cleanse the disgusting amount of grime from his body and clothing. It felt so ingrained Zaki feared he would never be purged of it.

They were led to Harad’s throne room, announced, and ushered through the golden doors. Zaki ignored the frescoed walls, the metal-plated and gem-studded marble carvings, and the rich tapestries. He did not even look up to the high ceiling, painted with scenes of the creation as told by Harad’s religion: it was a practice that worshipped many deities, which was strange to Zaki’s mind. Instead, his attention fixed on the figures at the far end of the room. Servants surrounded the king, who sat upon his grand throne.

They had last met in what felt like another life. Unbidden, Zaki recalled the moment when, stood before the gates of Pandora shoulder to shoulder with Harad, his father-in-law had betrayed him. Subdued and shackled like a common prisoner, though he tried with all his might to break free, Zaki had been handed over to Soren in exchange for the freedom of Zaki’s wife, Demara, and her unborn child. Instead of ascending in victory to Caledan’s throne, he had fallen to the deepest dungeon. Despite Harad’s assistance in Zaki’s escape, Zaki had not forgiven him that.

“Your Majesty.” Zaki was forced to greet Harad first, though he longed to stride up to the man and stab him in the gut for his betrayal.

“Your Royal Highness.” Harad returned the greeting.

Zaki felt a hot stab of anger. He dishonours me in public!

“Welcome to Arrans – at last! Let us refresh you,” Harad continued before Zaki could react. He clapped his hands: a sharp, short sound that reverberated around the large space.

At once his servants dispersed, returning moments later carrying trays piled high with sweet and savoury morsels and small glasses of pale yellow liquid.

His men fell upon them, so desperate were they for sustenance. Zaki longed to do the same, but forced himself to stand, waiting, until he was offered something, trembling as he suppressed his desire to move. He waved away the food, not trusting himself to eat with reserve, but he could not refuse the drink. I need a feast, not these pathetic scraps.

Zaki took – with meticulous steadiness – a glass between his forefinger and thumb, tipping its entire contents slowly down his throat, all the while with his eyes fixed on Harad. The liquid swirled around his mouth and swam down his throat, cool and refreshing. Zaki took another glass, and then a third, touching his lips with shaking fingers and savouring the wetness there. He waited for Harad to speak, to make the next move.

“You do not look well,” the king remarked, regarding him with veiled eyes.

Zaki could not control his temper any longer. “How dare you! How dare you betray me – abandon me to my death and pretend all is well!”

“I welcome you, do I not? I offer you good food and drink, no? What is past is past.”

“I nearly died! Look at me! I have travelled for who knows how many weeks or months through that God forsaken desert trying to stay alive – we ate every last damn horse and it wasn’t enough,” Zaki raged, storming around with frustration. The delicate glass shattered in his clenched fist and he paused, swearing. He dropped the shards to the floor and sucked his bleeding palm before he continued, his hand throbbing.

“My men are dead. My hopes are dead. You have crushed everything. You have stolen my future when it was there for me to take. I have nothing – and it is all your fault! And now, when I arrive here, starving and a wreck, you have the nerve to offer me sweets?” Zaki slapped a tray from the hand of a nearby servant. It smashed upon the floor, food and glass cascading everywhere.

Harad stood, snarling. Thunderous eyebrows sunk over narrowed eyes as his guards moved forward in synchronisation. The king waved them away with a slash of his hand and they melted into the shadows.

Around Zaki, a flurry of servants crawled upon the floor, picking up every last morsel in blank-faced silence.

“Take these men away to bathe, eat and rest,” Harad commanded, gesturing at Zaki’s ragged band. They were led away. Harad stepped down ever so slowly from his throne, though he kept a distance between himself and Zaki.

“There was no successful outcome for us that day,” Harad said as the door shut behind the last of the Caledonians.

Zaki didn’t need to ask which day. Us? Zaki noticed Harad’s choice of word.

“I made the best decisions I could based on the moves we could have made. You are lucky that I helped you to escape.”

“This is not a game, and your fire device almost killed me in the process!”

“Then you are lucky; I admit it is not perfected. However, I disagree. It is very much a game – of strategy – and that day, whatever had happened, we would have lost had I not acted thusly. I would have lost – and Roher does not lose. Roher is strong and Roher is feared. And why do you think that is?

“Because I always choose the battles we will win. We could not have won with the men we had that day. Yet, if I had retreated with you, my daughter and her babe – the heir to your claim – would still be in Pandora, and Roher’s reputation would be ruined.”

Zaki looked up, his eyes wide and mouth open. “I have a son?”

“No. You have a daughter.”

Zaki growled, an inhuman sound. “I did not risk my life for a daughter!”

Servants scurried away from him in fear.

“You have much to learn if you dismiss the value of a daughter,” said Harad. “In any case, you still have a wife to give you many sons. Stay, and recover. There is nothing to say that Caledan’s throne will not someday be yours.”

Zaki was thrown by the offer. He regarded Harad with suspicion. The older man seemed genuine and caring in his offer, which made Zaki more distrustful. Harad never gives something for nothing. But there was little to consider; no man in his right mind would choose to turn back into the desert, away from such a haven. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Harad shrugged. “You do not. I helped you escape with a gift of our newest and most expensive warfare technology, experimental as it may be. Make what you will of that. But you have my assurance that you will have a chance to redeem yourself here in Roher. I am impressed that you have made it so far.”

~

Zaki splashed absentmindedly in the bath; it was a huge depression carved in the floor of his room and lined with polished stone – a novel concept compared to Caledan’s wooden tubs. The warm water filled with oils soothed his aching body, and he could have fallen asleep there, drowning in the enticing scents and the sheer comfort of such luxuries.

He ate from the snacks offered to him by the tiny serving boy next to the bath for the sake of it. Despite gorging himself on a meal after his meeting with Harad, he felt the need to eat after his enforced starvation, as if the supply of food might soon cease again.

Not concentrating on what he consumed, Zaki chewed upon the latest bite whilst contemplating his father-in-law’s plans.

Why would he have me incarcerated only to then help me escape in order to come all the way here? The device was a brilliant contraption. I wish we had such technology in Caledan. Perhaps he knew I would escape, that I would reach him here. Perhaps he seeks to help me regain the throne of Caledan with all of Roher’s might, not that poxy guard with which Harad and I returned to Pandora.

He relished the thought, but it was not satisfying. He still did not feel confident that he had a grasp of Harad’s plans. All I know for certain is that he uses me for his own ends. I must work this to my advantage. It may be a game, but it is not his. I must use his resources to take back my kingdom.

As he hauled himself out of the cooling bath, a maid hurried to wrap a towel around him. Neither the woman nor the boy spoke. Zaki took a moment to appreciate her slender form as her uniform pressed against his skin for a moment. It had been a long time since he had remembered the existence of women, let alone enjoyed one. Her dark skin fascinated him. His was burnt from the harsh sun, but hers glowed.

Thinking about the woman reminded him of his wife: a much less tempting prospect. Zaki sighed. A wife and a daughter. What use are women? I suppose I must visit her.

~

It was mid-afternoon by the time he had dressed and followed his guide to Demara’s chambers. He wore Roherii clothes, far different to Caledonian attire and better suited to Roher’s hotter climes. Loose fitting, the finely woven, light material slithered across his clean skin, sending it tingling with pleasure.

To have new shoes upon his feet pleased him more than anything. The soles were so soft that he sunk into them, his newly scrubbed and tended feet relishing the relief. All of his old clothes had been disposed of; they were not even worth cleaning to salvage the fabric.

The palace was as different to Pandora’s castle as the garb was to his own. Pandora’s castle was spacious, yet it held a darkness to it that daylight could not shift. It was a true castle, built for war and only later converted for living in comfort. In contrast, Harad’s palace had been constructed purely for luxury.

Spacious, high corridors linked the various quarters and private apartments within the building, which were given over to various branches of the family. The palace sprawled over a wide space, and in places was several stories high, extended as needed.

Instead of windows were giant openings with drapes hung on the inner wall and shutters outside to protect against sun or rain if needed. Arrans had certainly never known the same winter snows as Pandora.

The palace was constructed from the red stone that had built most of Arrans, but most of the surfaces were marble or polished stone. Floors were laid in patterns, some even made of the tiniest coloured tiles to depict scenes. Wooden floors were all of the highest quality, laid in intricate designs – all far from Pandora’s simple stone floors or wooden boards.

Open dining areas, large courtyards with fountains and greenery, and frequent open mezzanine levels held up by the columns that seemed to be a staple of Roherii architecture offered chance glimpses at the scenery over the city, the countryside or parts of the palace and grounds.

Zaki shook his head at such opulence in disbelief that such a place could exist, but he was also envious of the lifestyle Harad surrounded himself with. At last his escort gestured towards a door.

“Hic est. Demara.” The man knocked on the door, which was opened by the tiniest crack. A young woman’s face peered out.

Her maid. Zaki recognised her in a flash, though he had never bothered to learn her name.

Her eyes widened as she looked him up and down, her mouth ajar. The escort must have introduced him, for he heard his name amongst the babble of Roherish, but instead of being admitted that instant, the lady withdrew her head and called into the apartments within. A muffled voice replied and the door opened, the lady moving to the side to allow him to pass. Zaki strode in, his guide following.

Before open doors that led to a stone edged balcony sat his wife. Demara held a babe swaddled in layers of colourful fabric and gazed into its face adoringly. As she looked up, her smile faded and her face closed.

“Husband,” she greeted him.

“Wife.” His reply was just as awkward, yet it was as if nothing had passed between them, that he had not endured the last months and she had not ridden away and left him to his fate. Her face showed no emotion at his unexpected return. Does she care? he fleetingly wondered.

She gestured for him to sit and he perched on the opposing chair. Silence fell.

“Would you like to see your daughter?” Demara asked him after the lengthy pause, shifting the babe in her grasp.

Zaki nodded curtly. If I must.

Without a word Demara passed him the girl. She was tiny, made huge by the cloths swaddling her, and so young he could not tell her gender. Would that you were a boy, he wished. He stared at her, but could not see the attraction that had caused Demara to gaze at her with such open love. It’s a baby. Unremarkable. He sighed.

Tiny eyelids fluttered open, revealing brown eyes matching her mother’s. They bored into him.

“She is called Leika,” Demara volunteered, shifting in her seat with agitation as if she wished to take the child from him again.

Zaki looked down at his daughter and thrust her back at Demara.

“Do you not love her?” Demara asked, indignant. She clutched Leika to her chest, stroking the cloths.

“She is a girl.”

“She is your daughter.”

“Yes, a daughter. What need do I have of daughters? None. I need a son. A daughter is nothing more than an insult.”

Demara’s mouth fell open at that, and her eyes flashed with rage. “You dishonour me with your callous words. Get out!” She stood and turned away, dismissing him with her body too.

“I will not,” he replied, incredulous that a woman should give orders to him.

But the maid stepped forward to add insult to injury. “Please, this way, sir.” She gestured towards the door.

Zaki stood. He prowled towards the girl with menace.

With no fear in her eyes, she clapped.

From seemingly nowhere, several guards appeared.

Zaki’s eyes flicked around the room.

“Please, this way, sir,” the maid said again. Her next words must have repeated her sentiments to the guards in Roherii for they crowded Zaki, forcing him from the room.

The moment the door shut in his face, he struggled against the guards, but to no avail.

“She is a woman! How dare she order me about! I command you to let me back in.”

The guards moved him along, blank faced, as if they could not hear him.

When he was alone in his own chamber, he stood white-faced, his entire body shaking with fury. How dare she! My own wife, ordering me around and throwing me out! He stormed around the room in a chorus of curses.

Eve

The door opened before her without a sound and her father beckoned her in. Eve entered with deliberate slowness, wishing she could be anywhere else.

“Have you made your decision?” He sat forward in his chair, his eyes fixed upon her expectantly.

“Yes, Father.”

“And?”

She took a deep breath in and exhaled. There’s no going back from this. The decision made her miserable, but there was no outcome she would be happy with. At least this way, I’ll get to go to Ednor. There, she could practise controlling her magical abilities, which had blossomed a few months before in a confusing incident while she had been rescuing King Soren’s sister Irumae from captivity. She could also visit her mother’s – and her own – ethereal kin: the Eldarkind.

Eve swallowed. The deep breath had done nothing to still her jumping heart or her shaking, sweaty hands. “I’ll do it.”

Her father raised an eyebrow, but did not speak.

He wants me to say it. Ice cold shivers crawled down her spine. “I will marry the man of your choosing,” she forced herself to say. It came out in a monotone, but she could not have managed any more. To say it was torture enough.

Her father broke into a wide smile, relaxing back in his chair, and then stood to embrace her. He clasped her to his chest, but she was wooden in his grasp and he soon released her. “Good, I’m pleased. I already have some suitable matches in mind. I will begin preparations.”

Her father’s uncharacteristic excitement was tempered by her growing feeling of nausea. I have to leave. She bade her father a quick farewell and rushed to the stables to saddle Alia, knowing a ride would calm her and clear her head.

Alia whinnied in greeting as she entered the stable. It was cool and quiet – a reprieve from the hot summer sun – but the darkness and enclosed space did nothing to ease Eve’s discomfort. As she fumbled with the saddle’s buckles, someone entered the stables behind her. She turned, expecting it to be one of the stable boys.

Luke. Damn it. She had avoided him in the days since returning to Arlyn. Her heart quickened.

“Eve,” he said, moving towards her. “Are you well? I haven’t seen you for ages. I’ve been worried.”

“Thank you, I’m fine,” she said. “I’m going for a ride.”

He scrutinised her face. “I can tell when you’re lying,” he said after a pause. “You know you can talk to me.”

I wish I could tell you, she thought to herself, leaning her cheek against the cool leather of the saddle.

“Eve?”

I suppose he’ll find out anyway.

“My father is arranging my marriage,” she said.

“No! It cannot be true.”

“It’s true.” She sighed. “I had to promise him. It’s the one way he’ll let me return to Ednor. I either agree to marry the man of his choosing, and he will permit me to go to Ednor to train, or I do not agree, but he will make me marry anyway, with no certainty of visiting Ednor.”

Luke frowned, shaking his head. “Lord Karn would never-“

“I don’t know anymore, Luke. At least this way he’s promised me that I may go – for as long as I need to – to be trained in controlling my… skills. I don’t understand them well enough. Sometimes I worry they’ll burst out of me again. There’s no one I can ask for help here. If they discovered my abilities, they’d shun me.”

“Please don’t do it,” Luke pleaded. “There must be another way!”

I wish I didn’t have to, she wanted to say, but instead she answered, “I don’t have a choice, Luke.” She made to move away, but he reached out to grasp her hand. She flinched as he touched her, but did not pull away. His hands were warm and clammy, matching her own.

“If you have any feelings for me, Eve, please don’t do this. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

She did not answer, closing her eyes to block the world out. Don’t make this harder for me, Luke!

Even the few days apart had left her feeling lost after they had spent so much time together in the months before. His sudden appearance had removed any notion of indifference. Nevertheless, her feelings did not mean she could change her father’s mind.

Even so, she still found herself stepping forward to lean upon his chest. He took her in an embrace, his warm arms surrounding her and hers encircling his waist.

“I know that you have feelings for me too,” Luke said, “even though you don’t want to admit it.”

Tears flowed from Eve’s eyes. This is so unfair! Why can’t I make my own choice, like Father did! “I wish things could be different,” she croaked.

“I’ll ask for your hand instead.” He leaned back, catching her eye before wiping the tears from her cheeks with a soft touch of his thumb. “If you don’t marry whoever your father wants you to. I will save every penny I have to raise a house and provide for you.”

“There’s no way he would agree to that. He wants me to marry at least a sir, if not a lord,” she said, and the tears poured from her cheeks as she held back sobs.

“I’ll try anyway,” Luke said. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles.

Eve pulled away. Grabbing Alia’s reins, she ran from the stable without a backwards glance.

~

Her father had invited her to dinner; a worrying sign that meant something serious was afoot. He never eats with me. What does he want?

Eve slipped into her chair, opposite Karn. They were not in the main dining room, which was too large for the two of them, but instead in the small dining room, which gave beautiful views of the forested mountains.

The smallest smile flitted across her lips as he greeted her with unusual cheer, but it did not reach her eyes. She tried to covertly scrutinise him.

“I have something to discuss with you, Eve,” he said at last as they finished the main course.

It was her favourite meal – chicken breast wrapped in salty bacon rashers and served with sweet, roasted potatoes and vegetables – but she had not been able to enjoy it, worrying what her father would say. Please don’t let it be about marriage, please, she prayed.

Her father cleared his throat. “I have found a suitable match for you.”

No! Her heart sunk and her face fell in dismay.

“I am happy to announce that you will be betrothed to Dane Edmundsson of House Arendall. It is a good match, do you not agree? A familiar face to you – and Edmund, of course, is like family to us.”

Eve was silent. Dane Edmundsson? She couldn’t remember him well. It had been many years since she had last met him.

“What do you think?” her father prompted, his smile fading.

“Isn’t he really old?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Eve!” Karn stifled a chuckle. “You should not say such things! He is older than you, yes, but he is not old. I believe he is about thirty-two. I forget when his birthday is. A fifteen-year age gap or thereabouts is not so great, and not as large as it could be! Despite what you may think he is still young, but well established upon his lands and from a good family.”

Eve had stopped listening. Fifteen-years different! That’s almost double my age. She tried to imagine his face, but her memory of him was so incomplete that it was Dane’s father Edmund’s face she visualised.

She stared at her plate, which was still half full. The vegetables were growing cold but the chicken steamed. The meaty smell wafted into her nose, but she felt nauseated and pushed back her plate, taking a great gulp of water to empty her mouth of taste.

“Aren’t Arendall lands far from here, in the south?” Eve asked, realising the implications.

Karn nodded.

“Then we won’t see each other much?”

Karn frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ll be here and he’ll be there, won’t he?”

“Oh, Eve.” Karn shook his head, smiling with a tinge of sadness. “You will be expected to accompany him wherever he desires, perhaps to his own lands, to Pandora, or even elsewhere, should he so choose.”

“I’ll have to leave? No! Please, can’t I stay here?” Please don’t make me leave Arlyn! Eve’s heart pounded with the force of a horse kicking a stable door, and her mouth dried as though parched for days.

“It is the way things are. You will return. After all, these are to be your lands, but it may not be for some time.”

Eve swallowed, wetting her lips. “Is there no one closer?”

Her father shook his head. “You are worth far more than all the lordlings hereabouts combined. I would not have considered any of them.”

Eve slumped in her chair, wishing it would somehow swallow her up and take her to a land where she did not have to marry a stranger, and an old stranger far away at that. However, its wooden surface was hard and unyielding, offering her no comfort.

Karn continued to speak, but Eve’s eyes had glazed over as her attention drifted.

“Eve, pay attention,” he admonished. “Did you hear what I said?”

She straightened in her chair.

“I take that as a no. Within the month you will be betrothed at Arlyn chapel. The marriage will then be arranged at Pandora, or perhaps on Arendall lands.”

So soon. Eve’s belly lurched in fear. “Please may I be excused?” She stood up before he had finished giving his permission and ran to her bedchamber as swiftly as possible. She threw open the shutters, which the servants had closed, breathing in great gulps of the cooling evening air.

The room lay in the shadow of the March Mountains, and the familiar scent of pine wafting through the window reassured her. Her breathing slowed but her pulse was still erratic, and the fear coiled in her stomach refused to dissipate.

What have I agreed to?

~

Before long, the day of the betrothal was upon her; no amount of dreading could delay it. The dawn matched Eve’s mood. The weather was miserable. It was one of the first days heralding autumn. A deep mist clung to the ground, smothering everything with dew and coldness, permeated by drizzle.

It was dull, the sun too low in the sky and too weak yet to break through the haze, so daylight came late to Arlyn that morning. Eve woke, thick headed in the faint light, feeling as if she had woken in the eleventh month of the year, not the ninth. Shivering under the cooling water as she washed with deliberate slowness, she tried to steady herself for what was to come.

In the weeks since her father’s announcement, no amount of thinking and rethinking had managed to give her a solution. There seemed to be no honourable escape from her predicament. The fear she had felt that night over dinner had not vanished, instead returning with malicious glee to torment her again at whatever waking moment it could.

A dress had already been laid out for her. It was pretty, she could not deny it, but knowing what it symbolised made her want to burn it rather than wear it. Her skin crawled as the maid’s cold fingers buttoned it from the back. There had been no time to send for fabric to have a new garment made. Instead, an older dress had been altered, fitted with lace trims and resized to fit with perfection. I preferred it how it was. She fingered the lace with dislike.

Although the dress was not optional, breakfast was out of the question thanks to her roiling stomach. She turned away the plate, instead going to the stables – taking care not to catch her dress in the mud – to see Alia. Alia never failed to calm her, and, as usual, the horse moved to greet her with a gentle whinny, nuzzling her shoulder and nibbling at her palm for treats.

“Nothing for you today, girl,” Eve mumbled, leaning against Alia’s neck and closing her eyes.

Eve stayed there for as long as she could, until the inevitable occurred.

“Eve!” her father’s voice rang out in the distance. “Eve!”

“Wish me luck, Alia,” Eve whispered.

~

To read more, you can purchase a copy of The Brooding Crown from Amazon today.

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About the author

Meg is an author and illustrator living in Yorkshire, England, with her partner and their cats (overlords) Jet and Pixie.

Meg has her parents to thank for her vivid imagination – they fed her early reading and drawing addiction to the point where Meg spent years inhabiting the school library and hiding under the covers at night with a torch, unable to stop reading. The first story Meg remembers writing as a child was about a clever fox (but thankfully that tale is long lost). At school, if she wasn't reading a book under her desk, Meg was getting told off for drawing in her classwork books!

Mostly Meg is inspired by nature and great works of art and fiction. She likes to experiment with new ideas and finds being an author and illustrator tremendously exciting and motivating! Meg usually works best when fuelled by earl grey tea, margherita pizza and characters who won't do what they're told. Generally, Meg prefers to live in her own or other peoples' fictional worlds (where bills and chores don't exist).

In the real world, Meg has a BA (Hons) degree in Primary Education and previously worked in accountancy after leaving school. She has completed a variety of private commissions and personal design projects since 2004, mainly digital fantasy/semi-realism paintings. In her spare time, when not writing, reading, drawing or fulfilling her other duties, Meg enjoys recurve archery, hiking, sleeping and cooking.