Chapter Two

BARE FEET SLAPPING SLATE mined in the Witherhorn range, I nearly skidded past the glass and wood door to the southern solarium. Two guards stood on either side of the richly detailed doors, looking at me through their helms with only mild disdain.

“He waits,” the taller on the left of the door informed me.

“My thanks,” I panted, placing a hand on the left door and giving it a gentle push.

The hinges were silent, the left half of the ornate door filled with stained glass bearing the bright red tones of the Stillcloud crest easing inward. I stepped inside, inhaling the dry, hot air as I did my best to block out the unhappy emotions each potted plant and tree in here exuded like pheromones. The room was large, bigger by far than the other solariums in the keep. Several long, thin plaits slid over my shoulder. I hurried to gather them into a knot and tie them at the base of my neck. Since only the nobles here were permitted to have long hair, my braids were considered a slap in the face of those who housed and fed me.

“Come closer, boy,” I heard Umeris call from the farthest corner of the room. I moved among fronds of plants that needed more moisture in the air. Each one I passed, I touched, sending some tender care into the plant. Many grew new shoots at my touch, the sight easing my upset at their less than stellar care. “Be quick. I have a full docket to tend to today.”

“Yes, of course,” I softly replied, easing past a large plant with pink flowers the size of a mammoth’s foot. The stamens, bright yellow and covered with pollen, turned to me. I touched them gingerly, then moved a step to rub my now sticky fingers on the eager stems of another flower. There were no natural pollinators in here as insects were considered dirty and distasteful. And yes, many were, some carried sickness, but not all should be banished from the castle. Surely, a few bees entering the keep would bring no harm, but what did I know? Casting my eyes to the domed ceiling internally, I walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, my eyes catching the splatter of bird droppings on the hem of my robes. I lifted my hands and gasped when I spied dried white shit on my palms.

“Do not dawdle among the plants, boy, come forth now,” Umeris barked.

I hurried to shove my hands into the pockets of my robes, my fingers diving into soft bits of herbs, leaves, and some moss that I had picked in the garden for my potions. I stepped into the light of the sun as it fell on the silver head of the patriarch of Renedith.

Umeris was an aged elf, well into his seven hundredth year, and was just now starting to show the effects of his advanced age. Elves aged quite slowly in comparison to humans, dwarves, or the yeti we shared our world with. Much like the stone folk of Witherhorn, we are born as infants and grow at a rate comparable to them. We reach adulthood physically at twenty summers, as I am now, but are not considered to be mature adults by our people until we are over one hundred. Although we still look as we did at twenty, for at that age, we cease to show signs of aging—other than the graying once blond, black, or brown hair—and the body does tend to grow a bit frail after seven hundred, we are able to live close to a millennium if we tend to ourselves well.

Dwarves do not live as long as we do. Many cite the dangers of mining as part of the reason. Many say it is just their way. Most pass at four hundred, but a few do reach five hundred summers. Humans are graced to see a hundred. None knew how long the yeti or Sandrayans lived.

“Come closer,” Umeris beckoned with a wiggle of two long fingers heavy with gold rings. I strode closer to where he sat on a plush chaise. His floor-length hair was parted in the middle and laid on the floor in a puddle. He was clothed in deep gray robes with red satin stitching shot through it. His lap was covered with a white pelt the size of my bed, the fur rich and thick. It covered him from chest to toes, his feet propped upon pillows, the tassels peeking out from under the pelt. Ah, so his foot malady had kept him from morning prayers in town. He had probably used the small chapel here in the keep and sent Aelir in his stead. I tore my sight from the fur and bowed deeply. “Did you just leave the rookery?”

“No, Your Grace, I was…” Stealing one of your birds and setting it free? “I was cleaning the bird cages in the gardens. The birds are plump but seem to be unhappy at being caged.”

“Do not bother me with the twittering of birds that should be grateful for the food and gracious living spaces they are given free from roaming cats.”

“Yes, Your Grace, I do apologize.”

“There on the desk is something for you to examine.”

I glanced up. Umeris studied me with blue eyes that held great wisdom, but also a spattering of what appeared to be mild concern. My eyes touched on an oddly colored raven lying on its back.

“Oh, a missive. Did the raven not return to the rookery?” I asked, confused about being summoned here to get a letter from home. I glanced at the table he referred to, a long one of sweet swamp oak, with a matching chair from where he usually did his paperwork.

“No, the raven was found along the furthest border of our lands where the tributary of the Vilhall River forks into the lands of the Mossbells.”

A cold shiver of unease skipped down my spine. A raven not delivering its missive was rare, but not wholly unheard of. Eagles preyed on the ravens as did the giant vultures that soared over the Witherhorn range. In the days of the house wars, when the Stillcloud, Mossbell, and Dewfall houses had fallen into bloody battles over land, ravens would be shot from the sky. But today the elven noble houses were living in peace, although they bickered quite vocally at the yearly meets. “Go and see what you think, druid.” That use of my beliefs caused me even more alarm as he rarely liked to discuss the fact that I was a nature mage. I turned from the old elf, padded to his desk, and gawked at the raven statuary lying atop a folded table linen. My gaze flew from the stone bird to Umeris. “That is not a statue. That is a raven. There was no missive attached to its leg, but it carries the band of the wood elves of your tribe.” I reached out to pick up the poor creature. “I caution you not to touch the bird as the scout who did so is now with the healers battling valiantly to save his arm.”

Fear, dark and frigid, settled in my stomach. The bird was perfect in every aspect down to the mites on its feathers and legs. Yet, it was not a bird at all. Not now. It was stone, cold and unalive, where once a living creature had been.

“There was no missive?” I asked, my voice shaky and weak. The bird stared at me with dead gray eyes, its beak slightly open, the pointed tongue within stone as well.

“No, the messenger cited it barren of any news from the regions of your people.”

My head spun. I placed my hands on the desk to bolster myself. “But why would a trained raven leave our lands without a letter?”

“That I cannot say. Perhaps it escaped or whoever sent it assumed it would relay information to you.” Umeris paused. I felt the guilt he wielded so well against his grandson fall on my back like a cat-o’-nine-tails. “Of course, you have not taken the liberty to avail yourself of my gracious offer to learn beyond the rudimentary wild spells and homemade hag potions your people are so fond of, so if it did contain any news of import it would not have been able to convey any urgency.”

I bit back what I wished to say. What good would it do to anger the man? Pointing out that I had requested some spell books to aid me in advancing my skills to help me speak with beasts and birds among other druidic magicks had been denied by Aelir’s tutor, who, I was sure, had been given blessing to do so by Umeris. They would not wish the heir to be exposed to such backward teachings after all. Not that I planned to teach the lad, I just wished to teach myself.

“I must go back at once,” I choked out.

“I agree. If this is a plague of some sort that is overtaking the Verboten woods, then it must be stopped there. The king sits just a moon cycle from the furthest edge of your forest and as he has no heirs or inclination to produce one, we must ensure that no sickness of the Rhaes reaches him or the borders of the civilized communities.”

Rhaes. Civilized communities. Wild spells and hag potions. All at once, it all seemed too much to bear. I turned on the man seated so regally in the warm rays, my hands balled into fists, anger seething inside like a kettle on a raging fire.

“We are not uncivilized or strange. We’re people just like you. We are you!” I shouted loudly. Umeris cocked a slim brow. The ivy that climbed ornate trellises began to grow and snake outward from the finely worked metal lattices toward the reclining advisor to the king.

“I would warn you to temper yourself, boy.” Umeris never batted a lash at the outburst. I waged a fierce battle for a moment. Then the anger that had flared up so unexpectedly fizzled out. The ivy retracted into its mother plants. “Now that you are in possession of yourself once more, we will continue this meeting. Since you are a fledgling in druidic crafts, I have arranged for you to meet and travel with one far more educated than you. An archdruid of some renown for even my court mages suggested them when this oddity was shown to them.”

I grimaced internally. Traveling with a decrepit old woman who had not bathed for a millennium would surely be an ordeal.

“A wise decision,” I earnestly replied. My magicks were that of a novitiate. Whatever kind of magicks had taken the bird, and perhaps stricken my clan, was beyond my meager skills.

“We pride ourselves on wisdom, young man,” Umeris reminded me as if I would have dared to forget. “Take what you need from the keep and head out. You may have one raven to take with you for communication. I expect daily updates. I have provisioned you one of our horses with enough food to last you for a tenday. You will carry a Stillcloud crest showing that you are a diplomat of the vills and liaison to the Rhaes, so you may claim whatever food and lodgings for you and your steed during your journey. Seek out a temple of Danubia that sits along the Black Lake. There you will find Beirach Dreyath. He has been appraised of your impending arrival. When you reach the village and you find the danger has passed, let me know.”

My fingernails pressed into my dirty palms. “What will you do if the plague has spread?”

“We are not without our own medicines and magicks. Now go. My foot throbs.”

I thought to yell more but took my leave, bowing deeply before stalking from the solarium with abject terror riding on my shoulder like a snowy falcon.

I knew full well what Umeris meant with his final reply. The humans had witnessed the magicks that the elves could unleash on a sickly town. There would be no survivors to bring the plague into Melowynn, for everyone who appeared ill would be incinerated, their homes burned to the ground, and their bones buried under magically sealed cairns. No burial trees where the departed could feel the rain, snow, and wind on them as they waited for Danubia to return them to the world.

The mere thought of such a thing made me feel ill.

I had to get home. As soon as I could. And I had to ensure that whatever it was that had claimed that raven had not taken my family or my people.

Packing for my journey was easy yet difficult.

I owned little clothing that was suitable for such a lengthy trip. Most of my attire were robes for daily wear—and those were well past their prime—and more elegant clothing for when I went to the capital with Aelir and Umeris. My brother had worn good leather armor crafted by one of the skilled leatherworkers in our village on our pilgrimage here, and so had I, but my old armor was far too small. I would need something for protection on the journey. Not that I foresaw any troubles on the busy roads leading into and out of Renedith.

The larger routes were well-maintained and guarded. Even the smaller lanes and footpaths were outlaw-free until one reached the edges of the vast Verboten woods. Small bands of robbers roamed the forest as did large and hungry beasts. I had no worries about finding an armory. They were plentiful. I had a goodly amount of coin saved from my monthly allowance from Umeris and would purchase some as I left the city confines.

What was proving difficult was choosing what to take and what to leave behind. I may well be gone for a very long time, and while I had few possessions, what I had I wished to keep. The books that had been gifted to me would have to remain until—or if—I returned. That concern was for a later date.

I had a bag already packed. In it were a few of my potions and a healing kit, a bedroll, and the white birch carving of Danubia that my mother had given me the eve before I had left. The details of the goddess’s face were rubbed off from my caressing it while I said my prayers before bed, but I cherished the smooth figurine just the same.

I stuffed some trousers and shirts into a cloth bag with my undergarments, balms, and tonics, sighed at the small parcel, and then took a moment to drink in my room. The shrine in the corner was cleared of the candles, feathers, and berries I placed in front of my now carefully stowed carving of my goddess. The bookshelf stood as it would, tomes on the shelves, next to a chair I had plucked from the discard pile bound for a bonfire. Many an evening I had spent there, reading to Aelir about nature and its wonders as was my job, but also one of my greatest joys.

Aelir was a bright boy, infinitely curious, and well-tempered, prone to stopping to pet the stray dogs that roamed the streets instead of kicking them as many upper-society children did. It would stoke my ego to no end to say that my teachings had given him such respect for nature, but I suspected it was due to his fine genetics more than my input. I would miss our nights by the fire with a book, the walks we took through the gardens, and our shared pilfered treats.

Heart welling with melancholy, I plucked my travel bag of worn woven wool, hoisted it to my shoulder, and went to the rookery. The caws of the ravens were comforting. They were chatty birds, speaking to each other all day long, and the sound had quickly become a familiar one.

I stepped into the large area, placing my boots along the small walkway that led into the room. The walls were filled with small alcoves, each one fitted with roosts that held a large black bird. The floor was thick with droppings, the smell pungent. The ravens knew me well. Several had become rather close friends during my lengthy stay here. One, a male I had named Nin, cooed at me.

I held out my arm and he left his roost to land on my forearm. “I have need of a friend to accompany me,” I told him, his ebony feathers shining blue in the bright sun streaming through the wide open thresholds to the sky. “Your job will be one of great import. Would you like to journey with me?”

The bird cocked its head, studying me, his emotions calm, thoughtful. He cackled at me, a craggy sound that I felt meant he was willing. Bonding mentally with the bird meant he would be able to find me anywhere in Melowynn. That was a small but not inconsequential talent I possessed, passed to me from my father. Someday, perhaps, we could communicate wholly and our bond would be that much stronger, but for now, his ability to locate me would be imperative. There were those in the druid ranks, much more advanced in speaking with bird and beast, who said the birds that migrated used the sun and stars to guide them, much like our fearless elven sailors. Those outside our clans scoffed at such things, but if my father, a wilder warden, claimed it to be truth, then I accepted it as such.

“Excellent.” I stroked his back, and he took to wing, leaving the rookery to soar into the air. He would observe from afar, I suspected. The ravens here were semi-domesticated. They knew they had a good life here, with food, water, and shelter, so they lingered. Still, they carried a glimmer of the wild in their breasts, a sparkle of Danubia in their gaze. They were too clever to allow people to strip them of their wild nature entirely, but they let us think we had tamed them. I knew better even if my skills didn’t allow me to speak with them.

With Nin at the ready, I made the long, lonely trip down the tower to the inner bailey. Wagons filled with food for the castle sat inside the walls, farmers and guards talking and unloading provisions. Oxen and mules that had pulled the laden carts over the drawbridge lowed and brayed. The air was thick with the smell of animals, wood fires, and sweat. A normal day at the keep. Nary a soul knew, or would probably care, about a possible sickness among the Rhaes so far away. Widow Poppy argued with a fishmonger. Pretty maids worked on scrubbing clothes while the guards made numerous passes of the women. A gaggle of amber geese, fat and sassy, waddled about honking at whomever dared to get too close. It seemed as if nothing was wrong in the farthest reaches of Melowynn. I was relatively sure Umeris was sitting on things until he had more news. There would be no point in panicking the people if only a few strange elves fell ill and died.

Bitterness left a rank taste in my mouth.

Across the way stood Aelir, his chin high, bright blue eyes shiny, holding the reins of his lovely dapple mare, Atriel. Beside him stood V’alor, his copper armor gleaming, his spine straight.

My heart clenched seeing the boy. I hurried to him, uncaring of the sideways glances tossed my way. I dropped to my knees to hug the lad. He released the reins to melt into my arms, his breath choppy as it flitted across my neck.

“I had hoped to see you before I left,” I whispered, eyes closed as I held him close.

“Grandfather told me over the midday meal that you were leaving,” he replied, his voice tight and thick. I nodded. He burrowed in more closely, much as he used to as a toddler when the summer storms would roll into Renedith. With no mother to soothe his fears, he had come to me. Danubia knows Umeris would not have given the child succor. He would have berated him and sent him to his rooms without supper. “I don’t want you to go. The badger cubs are about to be born. You promised we would venture into the woods to check on them in their burrow.”

I eased away from him. His golden hair clung to his wet cheeks, so I thumbed it behind his tapered ears.

“I said we would venture to the burrow to see if Mother Badger felt we were kind enough to see her kits. Badgers are not known for their eagerness to befriend…well, anyone,” I replied and got a gruff chuckle from V’alor. “I am saddened that we will not be able to make the trip afield, but I must leave. My people may be falling ill.” I cupped his chin so he would look at me and not the buttons on my shirt. “I will return.”

“Truly? Do you vow to return? I would see you make your promise.”

And so, kneeling in the mud and donkey shit, I pledged to Aelir that I would come back to him in one fashion or another.

“I vow that I shall return to this keep when I am able,” I said, placing a fist to my chest and dropping my chin.

He seemed placated. If I could return to the castle I would, not only because I was goddess bound to do so but because I wanted to ensure that the future ruler of Renedith grew to a man knowing that all elves were good, strong, and equal in all ways. He already had a great love of the wild things and their homes. Even cranky badgers.

Aelir bobbed his head, sniffled, and stepped back, taking the reins he had let go of to hand them to me.

“Atriel is a good horse, surefooted, calm. She’s always liked you, so I think you should ride her home.” Aelir glanced at V’alor and got a curt nod. His wobbly lower lip grew firmer. “We’ve placed things in her saddlebags for you. V’alor found you some armor in the armory as well as some daggers that he would not let me test out.”

I peeked around the side of the horse to see two bulging bags secured behind a finely made saddle.

“Thank you both for your kindness. I’ll take great care of everything you have loaned me and promise to return all of your gifts as they were given to me,” I said, smiling down at the boy and up at his guardian. “Keep a close eye on him.”

“Always,” V’alor replied, his tone softer than usual. “And you keep a close eye on the wilds. They run deep, dark, and dangerous.”

“The wilds are my home. They will welcome back their wandering son with grace and affection.” V’alor, also city born and raised, seemed unsure but he said nothing to the contrary. “Do not let him venture off to the badger burrow until I return. Mother Badger will not take kindly to him poking his nose into her nursery.”

One side of V’alor’s mouth ticked up, a large hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “I shall do my best.”

I placed a hand on Aelir’s head, bowed to my liege, and then swung up into the saddle. Aelir moved back as I settled into the supple leather that would cradle my skinny backside for a long time.

“I have permission to pull a man from the ranks to accompany you,” V’alor said as I bent down to pet the mare’s strong neck while letting my emotions flow over her. She whickered softly in reply.

“I have companions that will enjoy the trip far more than anyone forced to venture into the Verboten. But thank you all the same.” I brought my attention back to the boy. “Aelir, I shall see you soon. Keep reading the texts of the old ways while I am gone.”

“I will, I promise.” The boy reached out to touch my left boot resting in a stirrup. As a child I had ridden before without bridle or saddle, just a blanket, but when in Renedith…

I patted the mare. She shook her head, brown mane tightly braided as was the way here in the city, and headed to the main gate without any lead from me on the reins. When her hooves began to strike the wood of the main gate, I turned in the saddle slightly. Aelir was close to V’alor’s side, head high, waving. I lifted a hand, sucked in a shaky breath, and rode over the moat as a raven circled overhead.

The long journey back home had begun.