Chapter Two

O rion surveyed the rolling, foggy hills that surrounded him from atop his horse. He and his companion had stopped to admire the view behind them, to the north—the dramatic peaks of Beitar, their homeland, they were leaving behind. The craggy, ancient mountains seemed to shift suddenly into this landscape of softly rounded slopes. Orion found it unsettling after a lifetime amongst Beitar’s peaks.

“I think I see Mulhouse on the horizon; we should try to make it there before nightfall,” Solon said, interrupting Orion’s train of thought. He nodded and urged his horse forward.

Mulhouse was a small but important town just on the border between Beitar and Ichorna. They would not be staying long—only passing through on their journey to the Ichornian capital of Lucinne.

“Are you ready to be the furthest away from home you’ve ever been?” Orion asked Solon.

“Are you? You’re the one who’s been dreaming of it your whole life,” Solon answered with a chuckle. “I just hope the food is good.”

“I’m sure it will be; they’re famous for their bread. Makes sense with all those fields,” Orion answered.

“I intend to try at least one of every type of pastry I can get my hands on,” Solon said. Orion smiled at Solon, who was about the same age as Orion’s father. Solon was usually so formal with others, but Orion felt lucky to really know Solon. Their journey would be long indeed if Solon refused to engage in meaningful conversation.

Since the waning of Beitar’s magic had begun a few centuries ago, the various kings had kept the people on a tight leash because a lack of magic made all of Beitar vulnerable amongst the other nations of Domhan na Rùin—each one a magical powerhouse in their own right. Journeys outside the borders were strictly limited to diplomatic trips once a decade. Even imports and exports were handled directly on Beitar’s border and only at sanctioned trading posts. Orion, despite all his studies, could never fully understand their rulers’ desire to remain separate. Protection alone did not seem reason enough for this total isolation.

He loved Beitar; would never tire of its wild, dramatic beauty. Its cold winds and shades of white and gray, a crackling fire in a massive hearth, the shadowy gothic halls of the university—it was home.

But Orion had spent his years dreaming of seeing the rest of the world. His love of folklore and magic had led him to devour every book he could get his hands on from the moment he could read. For the first time, he was faced with an opportunity not just to imagine, but to experience.

Orion could hardly believe he was about to set foot on Ichornian land.

The damp air seeped into Orion’s heavy cloak as his dappled gray horse, Maisie, carried him down the southern side of another rolling hill.

Before he and Solon had departed, he had gone to his parent’s home outside the Beitaran capital city of Sgùrdruid, where he lived and worked. Their cottage was perched high up the mountainside at the end of a winding road of steep switchbacks. The walk was nerve-racking, but the view was breathtaking.

Over dinner with his parents, Orion had explained the official reason for their journey: they would attend the celebration the Ichornian queens were hosting to celebrate the turn of the millennium. His father hadn’t had much to say, only clapping his son on the shoulder and nodding in approval. His mother, on the other hand, had fussed over him, making sure he had enough warm clothes for the journey and had packed a basket of baked goods to send with him.

Orion was grateful to be on such good terms with his family; he knew many were not so fortunate. They had always been supportive of his dream to work at the university in Sgùrdruid, though they did not always understand his motives.

After a few hours of weaving around and over seemingly endless foothills, they came to the edge of Mulhouse. It was a hardy town made up of buildings of stone with massive exposed timber beams and thatched roofs lining the wide gravel streets. Despite its geographic significance as the northernmost town in Ichorna, it was not particularly affluent. Its people worked primarily harvesting lumber and tending sheep.

The two Beitarans made their way through town, catching curious glances from the townspeople as they went. They found the Inn on the southern end of the small town square. They left their horses with the stablehand, paying him well for his services, before entering the Inn.

He and Solon agreed they would prefer rest over conversation for the night, so they asked the innkeeper to send dinner up to their rooms. Orion peeled off his slightly damp clothes and laid them out near the small fireplace in his room to dry. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for his own hearth back home.

Sitting on the plush rug, he crossed his legs and let the steam from his bowl of stew brush across his face. He stared into the flames, feeling exhausted and something else—he felt on the precipice of something. That uncanny feeling, like a premonition, sent a wave of adrenaline through his veins.

Orion knew the true purpose of their trip—a truth that only he and Solon trusted one another with. He had no doubt they would not have been allowed to go if the king had even the slightest suspicion of what they planned to do, despite it being in Beitar’s best interests.

He supposed the feeling was just anxiety. He was going somewhere new, doing something unprecedented; he only hoped that they would be successful. Beitar’s magic hung in the balance.