Mortaza made his way to the main entrance of the Emerald Castle, where he had instructed Jasper to meet him before they were to have the audience with Orynien Soryn while the ball took place. As he let himself lean to the side, his arm against one of the expertly carved marble pillars that erected the tall ceilings of the grand entrance, the footfalls of every servant or guard echoing off the walls, announcing anyone who would be near enough to hear him. Not that he cared much, the angel king had always held himself in a respectable manner when attending any of the other king or queendoms in Galoahar, though few invited him since the war, he never refused an invitation to be free of the mundane paperwork of Brina.

The elven king for instance, his longest trade partner, practically Ascended at the same age, they worked together to coordinate shipments and sometimes even sent letters just to discuss local happenings, including personal letters between them discussing how the lands were fairing, Mortaza sometimes asking how the elven prince, Elwe, was fairing in his studies. Anything to save Mortaza from the ache in his heart that he had long ago attempted to bury deep down. How long had it been since he last tried to find her? Two… no, maybe even three years now? He sighed at the thought. A fool’s hope.

Jasper appeared through the doors and Mortaza did not bother to keep his feelings from him. He had been there when Mortaza had learned of Malia’s pregnancy, their struggle to find safe shelter for her while she endured the pregnancy, even acting in the place of a healer when it came time for Malia to deliver. Every moment of it Jasper was there, keeping secrets, checking on things for him when Mortaza could not escape his crowning ceremony to be with her. When the workload became so much that he could not slip away to see her, Jasper went in his stead, without a word of objection or argument.

Jasper’s eyes told enough, he knew that Mortaza was stuck in a loop of memories, and gripped his friend's arm tightly to pull him out of it.

Mortaza blinked at him for a moment and took a breath to encourage his emotional mask in place. There was no time for this. Whatever Orynien Soryn had summoned him for went far beyond the festivities he could hear down the long hallway. This was a serious matter, and he needed to conduct himself as such.

“Mortaza, there is something I want to speak with you about when this meeting is through, if you would allow me the freedom to speak my mind afterwards?” so cordial, it was as if they hadn’t grown up alongside each other.

He nodded politely, “Of course, now, to other matters. What do you suppose this meeting is about? The rumors have to have some merit, almost every tradesman I speak with now has had something to say about Oryn’s forces. I hope this meet will set things straight, for all of us. The confusion is enough to make tensions rise,”

Mortaza watched Jasper roll his shoulders with discomfort, these wraps were poorly made and constricted far too tightly for his liking. It was as if his wings were being strangled to death. They would both do well with a good fly after all was said and done.

The guard who led them down the winding halls of the castle to the meeting room was posh and proper, straight as a stick, almost marching with them in tow. Stiff clown… Mortaza thought bitterly as he and Jasper entered the meeting room.

The room was dimly lit, two torches lit in either back corner of the small space, a singular bare table lay between them and the Elven King, who seemed to be barely awake. The dark bags under his eyes were deep, and his eyes were lightless, as if the man could fall asleep at any moment. At his side, leaning into one corner of the room was a guardswoman. Young. Came Mortaza’s half thought as he methodically took in her slim face, and contrasting musculature. Her dress was simpler than most, but Mortaza noted the bow slung over her back and attributed the leather vest and bracers she wore to be partial armor for the meet, though Mortaza had made a point to leave any weapons they carried on their journey secured in his bag in his assigned room. A long simple braid went over her left shoulder, her brown hair seemingly dull in the torchlit room, and her arms crossed firmly in front of her. Though as Oryn greeted them and Mortaza nodded in response, quickly relaxing himself into the stiff wooden chair he knew that this guard’s eyes would not leave them for the duration of the meeting.

No need for theatrics here, it was clear that the elf’s goal was to keep them uncomfortable during this meeting, and Mortaza wished it to end with every ache of his bound wings, “It is rare that you invite me to such festivities Oryn, I assume this is not a meeting to discuss trade, otherwise you would have sent a messenger,”

Mortaza could feel Jasper’s eyes casually assessing the response, though it was barely needed, Mortaza could already see that Oryn was sleep-deprived, and barely putting energy into keeping himself straightened and kingly, opting to lean forward and rest his hands on the table, anchoring himself, “I assume the rumors have circulated through Brina about my recruitment as of late?”

Mortaza fought to roll his eyes at the observation, of course it has you old fool! It was all anyone could talk about for months! He narrowed his eyes at the elven king, and nodded, bringing the barely familiar feeling of coaxing his child to continue a story, to which Oryn thankfully continued, “The Mother has granted me visions as of late, of a battle that will come for Etecia,”

Very well, Mortaza thought, he could play along with this attempt to string him along, “Word has been growing about your recruitment across all of Galoahar, Oryn. It is no secret that Etecia is growing a formidable army. But many of us are left to question why that is? You have been more secretive than usual,” Though when had the elves not been secretive to the point of frustration in the past? If it weren’t for some careful prodding, Mortaza never would have known that the young prince Elwe had lost a child a few years ago. Nor would any other have known. But why would the man be so evasive of his attempted contact in the past month to discern why Oryn was growing his forces in the first place? He knew that if need called for it that his people would be first to lend aid to Etecia if they truly required it. Again he would state the obvious in an attempt to glean more information from the stubborn man, “So is that what this meeting is about? You called me away from my people to ask for my aide in the battle to come? To sacrifice my people for a battle we know nothing about?”

The scowl that Mortaza was met with was insulting and Mortaza imagined bitterly washing it from his face with a soaking of cold ale. His next words made Mortaza wish to be alone in the room, to knock some sense into the delusional elf’s head, “Far from it actually,” Mortaza watched as he twisted an ornate emerald ring on his finger as he spoke, “I asked you here to inform you I know of your plot, and that we are prepared for you, Mortaza,”

Mortaza turned to Jasper for a moment to make sure he had heard him correctly. The shock and confusion on Jasper’s face nearly matched his own, and he nearly laughed at the preposterous notion! Prepared? For what? He met Oryn’s eye firmly, “Prepared for me? Pardon my words, but what visions has She offered you Oryn? We have no ill will towards you or your people. Whatever this is, whoever you have been shown, it is not the work of my people,” If it were one of his own he would sooner have them shipped to Summersea for evaluation, their healers no nonsense approach would dispel any insubordination in as soon as a month, if they even lasted that long with the strict regimens. No one like that deserved another moment in Brina without just consequences.

Orynien’s voice raised with his conviction of what the Mother had shown him and the angel king fought to keep from mocking his friend’s blind obedience, “In every vision I have been granted this past week, I see a flurry of wings and a chorus of my people’s screams. I see an army of your kind! Not the glimmering fangs of Aiyana, or the boats of Aetis. Not the swordsmen of Nydeamar, or the cart riders of Cealian! I see the wings of angels. Your people! Whatever plot you have for us, we are prepared for you,”

Mortaza scoffed and shook his head, so this entire meeting was due to the man’s visions, which could change at the drop of a coin. Or become exacerbated by any manner of things, including sleeplessness! What a waste of time! “Your visions are clearly clouding your judgment my friend,” the elf king scoffed back which made Mortaza raise his voice slightly, hoping to get some point across his thick mindedness, “I have no such plan, or reason, to start a battle with my best trade partner. It would destroy the livelihood of so many of my people, and leave them in a state that would be unrecoverable!” So many miners and tradesmen would be destroyed financially and mentally by the shock of it that such an act would be the fall of Vohabard altogether! Whatever these visions were, the Mother was clearly misleading him in some manner, as she had with his own repeated dreams of a grown daughter, with his eyes, wings and wit, Malia’s hair and face, “The Mother is never clear in her visions, you know this as well as any elf who shares your gift. Please reconsider this meeting, and let us return to the ballroom to accompany your guests,” He had to try to turn the topic, anything to evade this barbaric meeting! He had brought him away from his people over a vision?! Over something so fickle that could change at a moment's notice!

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“Your Highness,” the guardswoman’s voice cut the air like one of her blades Mortaza noted in her belt, a calmness in the growingly tense room, “Perhaps we should not come to conclusions so hastily. It is clear that Mortaza, and his guard, know nothing of what you saw. Perhaps it was a false vision?”

Orynien turned to his guard so quickly that Mortaza could feel Jasper tense with instinct beside him, “Have you ever heard of a false vision?” came his barked question.

She frowned back at her king Mortaza could not tell if it was from defiance or a place of reason, her brown eyes flickering gold in the torchlight, “Just because we have not heard of it does not mean it cannot be true,”

“Precisely,” Jasper agreed, gesturing his hand with emphasis to the woman. By the Father could he not just have kept his mouth shut? “We have never heard tales of a false vision, but that does not mean that it cannot happen. Please reconsider your-,”

Mortaza raised his hand, wishing it was not improper to backhand his right hand man, “Jasper…” came Mortaza’s sharp warning, Orynien turned back to them as Mortaza stood, fixing the creases in the sleeves of his dress shirt that irritated old wounds. He coaxed the sharpness from his voice as he addressed Orynien as calmly as he could, “It is clear I cannot change your mind my friend. But I urge you to reconsider your perception of Vohabard’s involvement in this. We only mean to aide you, and that will not change,”

Orynien said nothing at first, and Mortaza watched his eyes flit with uncertainty before he spoke again with that ridiculous authoritative tone, “I would advise you and your ilk,” he spat the word as the elf’s eyes fixed on Jasper for a moment and they both held a tense glare, which boiled Mortaza’s blood, “depart from my kingdom when the festivities have ended, and do not return. If you do, you will be met with swords. I assure you that,”

Mortaza seethed quietly and turned his back on his friend, Jasper following suit, making his way to the door. He spoke with a coldness over his shoulder exactly what he was thinking,“Saving face in front of your people? So be it,” he fixed some creases in his sleeves, ignoring the instinct to rub at his scars “Good luck, Oryn,” Mortaza nodded to Jasper and they departed the room, both making headway to their room to collect the few belongings they had brought along.

Mortaza sighed as he and Jasper walked the distance to a thick wooded area of Etecia, taking in the scent of the trees to make an attempt to calm himself. He loosed the tied dress shirt and slung it over his shoulder as he pulled the pins that kept his bindings in place, allowing his wings to stretch, aching from the discomfort of that horrid seating arrangement. Mortaza stretched his arms back, letting the ache in his wings be soothed by it, and placed the bindings and his dress shirt alongside Jasper’s in his pack, which Jasper soon looped through his belt and tied off twice, no need to lose those just yet, they were new enough.

Mortaza tenderly rubbed the tight, scarred skin on his hands and forearms, “We fly for the Pass, Jasper. I did agree to let you speak your mind after the meeting, you can say what you wish when we arrive,” Mortaza fanned his wings.

Jasper nodded in agreement and his black wings fanned in response.

Mortaza nodded in acknowledgement and they took to the air.

Mortaza flew straight and true, his eyes set on the jagged mountain range in the distance. A smile flitted across his face as he saw the torchlights illuminating the streets of Brina below them. He let out a shrill two note whistle through his teeth that Jasper echoed behind him, which was met with a chorus of return from down below, some young ones waving up at them as they passed high overhead. Some were yelling up at them but Mortaza could not hear what they were saying.

Mortaza raised his hand and Jasper paused beside him, “Are you sure you do not wish to go home Jasper? Your family must miss you terribly,”

Jasper was silent for a moment before responding, “The girls will be fine, they know to look out for one another when I am on business. But I worry for the amount of rations we take up, perhaps it is best that I consider speaking with the eldest girls about finding their way in the world without me,”

Mortaza understood and they continued on. There were twelve of them, almost all near the same age his own daughter would have been. Eldest were the ones that Jasper had first taken in, days after the accident. Jasper’s heart only wished to help him navigate his grief, and until they found Apondra, or at least a body to bring home, it seemed he would not give up the hope that Mortaza had long lost. Mortaza’s heart sank with remorse, these girls did not ask to be plucked from their place in Galoahar, but all efforts back then were in pursuit of his own daughter. Jasper's heart was larger than Mortaza knew as each of the girls who was found to not be his own were given shelter, food and a loving home by Jasper rather than being returned to the streets they barely survived in.

In truth Mortaza had given up hope years ago that she had escaped the fire intact, accepting that the curse had already claimed his daughter.

As the jagged peaks of the mountain came into view so did the gaping maw they had set out for. Rhodarian's Pass. Such a spiteful name for what was once a well used trade route. To name it after the ancestor that was rumored to have brought this damnedable curse in motion hundreds of years ago. Mortaza and Jasper came down at the center of the Pass, where shadows concealed them well.

The men both took a moment to catch their breath, while the flight had only taken a couple of hours at a leisurely pace it still took a lot of energy to make the trip.

“So Jasper?” Mortaza finally caught his breath enough to address him, “What was it you wanted to speak with me about?”

Jasper seemed to be treading lightly for some reason as he removed his pack and set it down, starting and stopping his thoughts, getting lost in thoughts that Mortaza wished he could read. This meeting had been exhausting enough, he did not need Jasper to add to it.

After what felt like minutes of humming and hawing Mortaza snapped at him, “For the love of the Father, Jasper! What is it?!”

Jasper blinked at him and finally sputtered, “I-I think I m-may have… found her, Mortaza,”

Mortaza felt a familiar headache that always came on when Jasper went behind his back in something. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, “And what, praytell makes you think you have found her this time?!” his patience was long at its end.

He did not bother to look at Jasper as he spoke of a girl in the trainees tavern that he had come across that evening, who seemed to have an avoidance for the backs of the chairs as they did. Jasper began recounting the resemblances of Malia and Mortaza to the girl when Mortaza could take no more and cut him off with a back handed strike to the cheek, which unexpectedly made Jasper lose his balance and tumble into the sharp stones of the wall with a yelp.

“You dare go behind my back scouting the recruits that Oryn has in his possession?! Never mind scouting them so closely that you are deluded to think one is my own daughter?!” the rage that rose with every word shook the stones of the Pass, small pebbles coming loose and clattering down the jagged walls, “Did you see her wings Jasper?! Did you see her in flight? Or feeding on anything besides the food they served?! Did she even say her name?”

He watched Jasper rise, his face and arms cut from the impact to the rocks, blood speckling his wounds. Jasper could only say that the name that she gave him was Pond. Not a recognized name, or even nickname, that he or Malia had given her.

“Mortaza I was so sure of what I saw,” Jasper tried to explain, “The color of her hair, the shape of her face. They all reminded me of Mal-” Another slap silenced him once more.

Mortaza seethed, “Do not sully her name in this Jasper!” his chest tightened with the grief that he bore every night, and he fought and failed to keep tears from his eyes, his voice cracking with a held sob as he choked out,“Face it! Apondra is gone! Stop this witch hunt already! I cannot bear it!”

Jasper lowered his head in apology and said no more. Mortaza fought his tongue and clenched his hands at his sides. His fingers again traveled to the web-like scarring on his arms, his mind a blur of flashbacks of that night. He remembered the burn of fatigue in his wings as he pushed them to their breaking point, and the wind whipping his face as he flew in a blind panic to the cabin upon hearing news from a patrol returning from Aetis had seen smoke rising from a remote corner of the woodlands. The sounds… the silence.

He turned away from Jasper and raised his hand in dismissal, “Go home to your children, Jasper. Unless we hear word of this girl flying about the Etecian grounds do not speak to me of this again!” Mortaza growled, taking his shirt from Jasper’s pack, “I must return to Etecia, at least to save face and present myself to those prudes. I will return to Brina at dawn to see to anything that requires my attention,”

With that they parted ways, Mortaza left with a burning ache in his chest as he could not shake the dream visage of his daughter he had been haunted with these past months, all grown up.