Egnever healed the deep cut in Aeolwyn’s arm, and inadvertently healed his saddle sores also. He was glad that he didn’t have to ask the mage to heal them. They had been so painful that even walking had started to become a chore. Now, he felt like a new man.
After some reconnaissance, they all widely agreed that they were in Wickshire and had planned a route through the forest that would avoid any of the elvish towns. Even village elves were wary of outsiders, and especially humans. If they, as humans, got caught on this side of the border, their deaths were all but certain.
For the last three days they hadn’t seen a single soul, save for squirrels, a rabbit, and a few deer. They were all very cognizant that the elvish population of Wickshire wasn’t their only danger. Goblins, and worse were known to prowl anywhere humans weren’t.
Aeolwyn had taken to speaking to Reiva as often as he could. Neither Egnever nor Galafar approved, but he felt it was their best chance to get the information they wanted from her without resorting to something distasteful like torture. No matter how much he wanted to know who sent her, he refused to even consider torture.
So far, she hadn’t revealed much information. She still claimed to be from Gavinholm Isle and ended up in Camulan by way of Tambryne. He didn’t entirely believe that, though it was a plausible answer. There was something about her accent that sounded a little off. If she were from Gavinholm Isle, she would still bear slight traces of that accent, and hers was 100% Tambrynese
She admitted to following the caravan of soldiers immediately after their departure from Teorton, but would say nothing else, save for agreeing that was where she was hired. He didn’t pressure her for the information and hoped that his efforts to build up her trust would reward them in the end. If not, they would either have to kill her or turn her over to General Alaric’s men for questioning, and he didn’t want to do either of those things.
He wasn’t sure why. She had attempted to kill him, and by all rights he should just put his knife through her and be done with it. But there was something about her that softened his heart. Her acrobatic skill with a blade suggested there was more to her than a simple assassin.
At the end of the days’ march, they didn’t have much camp to set up, so he and Galafar spent a good deal of time practicing sword forms and sparring against each other. Galafar asked where he had gotten such a fine sword and what he had named it. He was embarrassed to tell him that it didn’t have a name.
Like horses, all the best swords had names, from Arfyl’s Fire to Antraitul to Kalibar. If he wanted to be a warrior that people told stories about, his sword would have to have a name as well. He thought on it but hadn’t been able to come up with something he liked.
Aeolwyn had countered that all the named swords he knew of were magical, and his was not. Therefore, his sword shouldn’t have a name. Galafar told him that its lack of enchantment shouldn’t preclude it from having a name and that if Aeolwyn didn’t name it, Galafar would.
So, he was thinking of a name.
They came upon the ruins on the fifth day, near what they judged to be the border of Wickshire and Camulan. They couldn’t say for certain where it was, so they had to guess. They knew that the Darkwood Forest ran along most of the length of the border but thinned out as it went southeast.
As they cleared the last of the forest, they came into a region of rolling hills. If they had properly kept their heading, they were in an area known as the Torfenn Hills. As they traveled further south, they would come upon the Camulan Plains, and they would be out of Wickshire for certain.
In all the maps of the region Sir Jom had made him study, there was no mention of any ruins like this, and he had studied them a lot. His mentor insisted that he know every inch of terrain where he might end up fighting the kingdom’s enemies. Something as important as the ruins of an old city would seem to be important enough to notate on a map.
Large pillars and towers erupted from the earth like giant stone trees. Based on their sizes, they descended extremely deep into the earth. Large vines worked their way up the moss-covered structures, covering them in shadow, even in the noonday sun.
“Who built these?” Reiva sked in wonder.
Aeolwyn was just as awed. Even though the stones weren’t as clean or as beautiful as the stone structures in Teorton, the scale of them was unbelievable. He could have fit ten of his father’s palace inside the courtyard that the pillars marked out.
“We did,” Galafar said. He had his face right up to one of the pillars and was staring intently at it. One finger wiggled its way through the fine mortar line. The stone, where it was not covered by moss and vine was pitted and pock-marked from years of neglect.
Egnever shot him a glance. “What do you mean we?”
“I mean men. This is neither elven nor dwarven construction techniques. Whoever made them, they were human.”
Aeolwyn walked to the far side of the building, where a vine-covered square stone box erupted from the dirt. It bore a resemblance to the square stone houses that many peasants favored, but it had no thatched roof. Instead, it had a flat roof made from stone. Though weathered, the stone was still in fairly good shape, and the mortar joints were intact.
As he walked around the structure, he had a sense of foreboding. It wasn’t exactly a feeling of impending doom like when the Star Children had caught him. More like a sensation of things to come. Destiny may have been the right word, but it didn’t quite fit. It felt more like destiny, but only if a thousand things went right.
It was then he found the opening. It was hidden among the crawling vines and shadows. If he hadn’t been running his hand along the pitted stone, he would never have found it.
“There’s a door here. Should we go in? Maybe there’s treasure inside!”
“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Reiva said. “Unless you want to get killed.”
Egnever shot her a glance, “No one asked you,” he said.
Reiva shrugged. “Your choice, but can I at least have my knives back?”
“No,” Egnever said. He held out his hand, and a small blue light appeared just above it. Wielding the light like a sword, he stepped into the opening. Aeolwyn followed. Galafar was next, dragging an unwilling Reiva behind him.
The room was small and damp, with seemingly no exits anywhere. It contained no treasure, save for the silken threads of thousands of generations of spiders. The webs covered nearly every surface, and the insects they contained created a grisly, tiny graveyard.
“Here!” Galafar called out, pointing to a small staircase in one corner of the room that had been hidden in shadows. The crumbling stone on the narrow stairs didn’t invite a lot of confidence as they descended into the darkness, but Aeolwyn wasn’t afraid. He climbed down, Egnever’s light following just behind him.
The bottom of the stairs opened up into a room. Most of it was plunged into darkness, but there seemed to be a stout wooden bench that went from one end to the other set in the middle of the room. It was slightly shorter than his shoulders and had an opening on its left. A freestanding metallic doorway framed this opening, but no door was set into it. The only other exit to the room was on the far side of the bench.
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They cautiously made their way through the room. Aeolwyn kept his hand on his sword, ready to unleash it at any sign of trouble. He wasn’t sure what good it would do in these closed quarters, but it made him feel better to hold it.
Galafar stopped and took a peculiar interest in the metal doorway. He paused as he walked through it, running his hand along its smooth rust-free surface. At its base there appeared to be some kind of thick, rope-like device coming out of it that disappeared into the wooden half-wall. Galafar tugged on it, but it was fastened tightly to whatever it connected to inside the wall.
“This looks like Shielder work,” he commented.
The next room was as empty as the first two. It appeared that if they had come here looking for treasure, they were going to be sorely disappointed. It was of a similar size to the previous room, only instead of a half-wall running the length of the room there was a stout table in its middle. Along the walls were empty racks of a type he had never seen before. They were like the racks that stored swords in the palace armory, but they were strangely shaped and wouldn’t hold any sword that he’d seen before.
On the wall to their right a person sized opening had been carved out of the wall. Since it was the only place to go, they all followed Aeolwyn as he entered. None spoke. Aeolwyn couldn’t tell whether it was from fear of alerting any strange creatures that may inhabit the place or for other reasons.
The next room was beyond Aeolwyn’s understanding. It was square and made of stone like the others but had been filled with furniture of unknown use. Along one wall was something that looked akin to a cabinet, though there were no doors. It was made of a material he couldn’t identify. It was smooth and polished to a shine like the metal doorway but didn’t feel like metal to the touch. It was stiff but gave way slightly under enough pressure, then would spring back to its original form.
Where the doors should have been, was instead a series of panels with strange colored crystals on them. In some places the panels had been shattered and a mess of thin colored strings showed through. Inside the hole in the cabinet, Aeolwyn could see what appeared to be glass bottles attached to a green plate with black bits and bobs surrounding it. The bits appeared to be connected to the surface of the plate with thin metal wire like what his chainmail shirt was made of, only much thinner. Thinner than even the best jeweler could make.
“What is this place?” Egnever whispered.
The rest of the cabinets were made of a similar material to this one, only instead of a series of tiny colored jewels, they only had a square piece of glass that looked like a windowpane, excepting that it was completely opaque.
“It’s some sort of a Shielder outpost,” Galafar said. He pointed to a strange sigil on one of the panels. “I’ve seen this before.”
The sigil, engraved into one of the end panels appeared to be a heraldic shield with a pair of globes connected by a series of lines in its center. Aeolwyn had never seen such a shield before. It wasn’t one that the Shielders now used.
They heard some rustling in the next room. Before Aeolwyn even realized it, his sword was out of its scabbard. The dagger was in his other hand. Slowly he walked through the opening. A fire burst forth in the center of the room forcing him to shield his eyes from the sudden light.
Whatever the room had contained before was all smashed beyond recognition. In one corner was a dirty bedroll with equally dirty blankets. Scattered around the room were a variety of glass vials and cups that held various liquids.
Animal carcasses tied by leather strings hung from the ceiling. Some of them swayed slightly as though moved by an unseen breeze. A half-eaten meal lay between the fire and the bedroll.
“Welcome,” a thin, raspy voice said.
Aeolwyn spun towards the voice, and out of the darkness, a tall thin man appeared. Behind his thick beard, his wrinkled skin gave his face a gaunt appearance. The long hair on his head had thinned to almost non-existence, making his pointed ears more prominent than usual.
“An Elf!” Galafar said, stunned.
Aeolwyn had never seen an elf before; he had only seen images of them in the tapestries in the palace. He didn’t know what to expect when seeing one in person, but this creature wasn’t it. Elves were supposed to be tall, thin, and gallant in appearance. They were said to have eternally smooth skin and dressed in elegant silk gowns, not tattered robes like this man had.
“Fear nothing from me,” he said. “You may stow your weapons.”
“Who are you?” Aeolwyn asked, “What is this place?”
“I am called Xabat,” the elf said. He gestured around the room. “As for this place, I don’t know. It was destroyed when I moved in.”
“You live here?” Reiva asked. “Why?”
Xabat chuckled. “I had nowhere else to go. I was run out of Wardenshire after the Daal lost the A’Lon’co’kal.” The elf paused before saying, “The Holy Arrow.”
“What’s a Daal?” Galafar asked.
“He’s the king of the elves,” Aeolwyn said. He was suddenly glad that Sir Jom made him study more than just the sword. “You knew the Daal?”
“Indeed I did,” Xabat answered. “Or, I should say, I knew his father, the previous Daal. After your grandfather tool the Holy Arrow from him.”
Aeolwyn was suddenly alarmed. He tightened his grip on his sword and pointed it at the elf’s chest. “You know who I am?”
“Of course. You are Aeolwyn, son of Llarwyn. I know all of you. I wouldn’t be much of a soother if I didn’t.”
“A soother?” Reiva asked.
“A folk magician,” Egnever answered.
Xabat grinned, showing long teeth, a few of which had been sharpened to a point. “Not exactly,” he answered, “But close enough.”
Galafar came to stand beside Aeolwyn. He didn’t think he needed support of this went badly, but he was glad for it. Something about his friend standing close to him gave him courage.
“Sooth us then,” Aeolwyn said.
Xabat nodded, stretching out his arms. He suddenly glared at Egnever, staring at him intently. Egnever stood his ground, staring back angrily at the old elf.
“Egnever of House Thaed, do not despair. You are exactly where you are meant to be.”
Egnever’s mouth dropped open. Though everyone except for Reiva knew of his displeasure at his current situation, there was no reason for Xabat to have known. It seemed to be only a passing comment, but his friend looked unsettled at hearing it.
Xabat ignored the shocked look on Egnever’s face. Instead, he turned to Reiva, only giving her a passing glance. She hid from his gaze, trying to disappear into the shadows. It made no difference. She could not hide from the soother.
“Reiva of the Spires,” he started. Aeolwyn thought he heard her gasp. “Your cousin’s actions will not rule you forever. One day, you shall take the ring.”
Ring? What ring? What were the Spires? That was not on any map Aeolwyn had ever studied. He realized that despite all his conversations with her the last few days, he knew absolutely nothing about her. He stared at her as though seeing her in a new light.
She had stepped from the shadows, mouth agape. In the flickering light of the fire, he suddenly realized how strikingly beautiful she was. Her soft cheekbones framed her deep brown eyes. Eyes he could get lost in.
She stared at him. He looked quickly away, realizing what he was doing. She couldn’t be beautiful. She was an assassin sent to kill him. One day soon he would have to make the hard decision of whether to interrogate her or kill her. He didn’t want to, but they needed to know not just who wanted him dead, but how it was she was hired.
“Who hired her to kill me?” Aeolwyn asked suddenly. Maybe if Xabat told him she wouldn’t have to.
Xabat frowned, looking angry. He brought his shoulders up, making him look taller. He was already much taller than Aeolwyn. Now he absolutely towered over him. The prince took a step back. He hoped it wasn’t about to get violent. He was starting to like this old elf. He didn’t want to have to kill him.
“My comments are for the listener alone,” he said. “Her secrets are hers to keep.”
“What about him?” Galafar asked, gesturing to Aeolwyn.
“Not yet,” Xabat responded. His face relaxed and he seemed to shrink, reverting to his normal height. His gaze fixed on Galafar.
“Galafar, son of Boreon, though you may live long, you will never gain the acceptance you seek in the hall of your people.”
Galafar suddenly stumbled and collapsed to the floor as though struck. His sword clattered to the stones as he hid his face in his hands. He was weeping.
Xabat turned to Aeolwyn.
“Aeolwyn, son of Llarwn-“
“Stop!” Aeolwyn cried. He looked at the shocked and saddened faces of his companions. Whatever his future held for him, he would face it when it came. Having foreknowledge of it would not change whatever came. “I don’t want to know,” he said.
Xabat nodded. “The wisest of all of your companions,” he said. “Just a warning then.”
That sounded safe enough. “Go ahead.”
“Have a care,” Xabat said. “You are being followed by someone much more dangerous than her.” He gestured to Reiva, who was doing her best to console Galafar. She tried to help him to his feet but the manacles made it difficult.
“Who? Who is following us?”
Xabat just smiled and retreated into the shadows. As the darkness covered his face, the fire suddenly went out, leaving the Aeolwyn and his friends groping in the darkness. Egnever’s light had gone out, and he couldn’t relight it. They were forced to blindly make their way back out of the ruins.
Reiva leaned close to him as they climbed the narrow stairs and whispered, “No one kills you but me.”
Even though her comment should terrify him, somehow, he found comfort in it instead.