Fourth of Artula

Year 1182 of Emancipation

It always seemed to end with a funeral. Though Belkai had sent a messenger to Svaleta to inform them of Rangir’s death, she knew that Loranna needed the closure. Besides, honour should be paid to a foreigner who gave his life attempting to save Narandir’s lord. It was only a small ceremony. Belkai and Davos stood over a shallow hole that she had dug that morning. Lithmae stood nearby, quietly singing Narandir’s traditional mourning chant. Loranna made her way through the low grass holding a Svaletan sword, the closest thing to a memento that she could think of to take the place of Rangir’s body. She came to her lord and bowed her head.

“He died with honour, as a soldier should,” Belkai said softly. “I am in his debt.”

Loranna had heard the message that Belkai had sent. Though Narandir did not have hoards of gold to give, Belkai had made it clear to Farhad that it would be a personal favour if Rangir’s family was provided for. She hadn’t asked for Loranna’s opinion. It was an act of pure gratefulness that was rare amongst rulers.

“He now enters eternal rest,” Davos added. “We bid him farewell until we cross that final border.”

Loranna knelt and lowered the sword into the hole, then filled it in by hand. She slowly stood and nodded.

“He is at peace,” she said quietly as Lithmae stepped forward and took her in his arms.

“His death is not your fault,” Davos told her. She pulled away from Lithmae and wiped a tear away.

“I know,” Loranna said. “But he was my responsibility.”

Belkai knew that burden all too well. She stepped forward and took Loranna’s hands in her own.

“He had a good death,” Belkai told her gently. “We could all hope to die seeking to save another.”

Loranna squeezed her hands and nodded. Davos knew her best, and understood that it was time to get her moving.

“Come on, Loranna, and help a cripple,” he said, clearly overplaying the pain in the arm that was strapped to his chest. “I need to take a walk.”

Belkai watched the two of them walk into the bushes, then smiled at Lithmae.

“I’m happy for you,” she said, and he had the good grace to blush.

“I am sorry if I am out of line,” he said. “I was married until last year. She died in a troll attack.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Belkai put a hand on his shoulder. “But Loranna is a good woman. You don’t need it, but you have your lord's blessing.”

Davos and Loranna returned, and Lithmae took his new lover into his arms.

“Treat her well, Lithmae,” Davos told him. “She’s one of the best out there.”

Belkai took his good arm, and the two of them walked east, towards their cabin.

“It has been a month to remember,” Davos said. “One day we will know peace.”

“One day.” Belkai smiled. “When we’re free.”

They turned as an elf came running towards them. “Milady? A man has come to speak with you. He is waiting at your throne.”

“Who authorised his entry?” Belkai frowned.

“Grais said that he recognised him as a Svaletan soldier,” the elf replied, and Belkai sighed.

“Let’s go.”

Belkai took her seat and looked up at the Svaletan man standing before her. He was certainly dressed like a Svaletan soldier, though he clearly wasn’t there on official business. He looked ragged, as if he’d been wandering for far too many days. A survivor of Arborshire? She wondered. He carried a heavy pack, and shifted nervously as he bowed low.

“Sorry I took so long,” Davos said as he finally joined Belkai on his own throne. He caught a glimpse of the man’s face, and Belkai felt a surge of anger run through his body. She glanced at her husband, whose knuckles were turning white as his fists clenched.

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“I know you,” Davos growled, and Loranna stepped forward with a hand on her sword. Lithmae was close by, his sword already drawn and hanging by his side. The elf had never seen Davos angry, but he knew Loranna well enough to realise that she was taking it seriously. The Svaletan man looked up at Davos with a blank expression.

“I’m afraid you do, Lord Davos,” the man said.

“Davos?” Belkai asked.

Her husband’s eyes were full of fury. “This is the Svaletan who drove the carriage after I was taken captive.”

Belkai looked deep into the man’s eyes and saw that Davos was right. Before she could say anything, he spoke again. “I was sent with a message to Narandir’s lord.”

He stepped forward and raised the pack. “For your eyes only.”

Belkai reached out carefully and took the pack. She nodded at Lithmae, who stepped close to the man. Belkai opened the pack and froze. Without looking up, she spoke two simple words.

“Kill him.”

Lithmae didn’t hesitate, a testimony to his faith in his lord. Before the Svaletan could respond, Lithmae’s sword sliced through his neck and his headless body collapsed, his head rolling to Belkai’s feet. Davos gently took the pack from Belkai and his eyes went wide as he looked at the severed head that lay inside.

“Who is it?” he whispered.

Belkai stared at the body before her and fought to keep her anger in check.

“That, Davos, is a man named Androv. My father.”

***

It was in the very nature of the Arcane to believe their own arrogance. Their followers had declared them gods in millennia past, and while acting the part they had slowly become to believe their own lies. Delorax had maintained power over the others for so long that he had forgotten that he himself was created, and that he only ruled by the will of others. Along the way he had forgotten many things, chief of which was the danger of underestimating mages. Magic had never been an impartial force waiting to be tapped into. Every mage drew their power from the Arcane planes, thereby creating a connection with the Arcane’s own power. Though still mortal, they embodied almost limitless potential should they ever reach a high enough level of understanding. Delorax was perilously close to pushing them to the point where they would need to grasp that power if they were to survive and protect the world that had been placed under their charge.

Arak was not the first to find Androv’s desecrated body, but by the token that he was the primary orc in the Brilhardem, he was the first to be officially informed. Everyone knew that Androv’s daughter was in the Silent Order, though few had made the connection between her and the new ruler of Narandir. The ones who did understand, as was typical of Ikari, stayed silent. Orcs were secretive by nature and saw no need to spread such rumours. The message, however, was understood – her reign was under threat. It was a cowardly move, dishonourable by Ikari standards, but fairly expected from humans, whom they saw as pragmatic to a fault. As soon as he had seen the body, Arak had sent a messenger to Narandir with the news, unaware that Delorax’s slave was already on his way with Androv’s head. Brimur was the next to learn of the assassination, and he had cursed the Arcane responsible. When he’d calmed, he had sent envoys to call for a meeting of the heads of the mages’ orders. Arak had thought it an overreaction at first, until Brimur took the time to explain his full reasoning.

On the day the messenger brought Androv’s head to Belkai, Arak sat on a stone bench in the Brilhardemcompound watching the sky with a parchment clutched in one hand. Belkai’s letter had been found in her father’s pocket, and the orc had a hunch that the man had never let go of his daughter’s words. Arak didn’t know if he’d written a response, but he certainly hadn’t passed it along to the Order. Nor had Arak read Belkai’s original message to her father. He wasn’t sure whether he would be violating her trust if he let his curiosity get the better of him. Certainly, until Ashelath she had kept no secrets from him, but a lot had changed once the Father of Serpents had gotten involved. He shook his head and smiled grimly. He had taken her under his wing eleven years ago, becoming the older brother that she’d never had. She may not have chosen to give him this letter, but she would not begrudge him his curiosity. Arak took one more glance around and began to read.

Father,

It’s been too long since I’ve written. I’m sorry. I don’t know where to begin. When I first joined the Order, I was angry. Angry at Mother for leaving, angry that you let her, angry that I couldn’t bring myself to follow your life. None of that was your fault. But I found in the Order a way to live and feel free. I feel like I was born for this. Does that make me crazy? I feel crazy sometimes.

Three years ago I made a mistake. Do you remember the stories that you told me about Ashelath? I met him. I joined him. To make a long story short, Father, I had to kill him. I killed an Arcane. I’m free of him now, but I don’t know what happens next. When you get this, speak to Brimur. I’ll bet he knows everything, even though I’ve told him nothing.

I’m sorry for everything – for leaving, for not staying in touch, for not being the girl that you raised. Please forgive me. I have a new course in life and I hope that I can make you proud.

I met a man, his name is Davos. He’s a Svaletan, but one of the half-elves that you used to joke about. You’d like him. He’s strong and brave like you. He saved my life. I love him, and I married him. I’m sorry that you weren’t there for the wedding, it was a strange situation. I’ll explain everything when I see you. I’ll visit soon.

I love you, Father. And I am sorry for everything.

Love, your soft petal.

Arak folded the paper and shook his head sadly. Belkai had nothing to be sorry for, he knew that. Did Androv? At least he had died knowing that his daughter loved him and was happy. That had to count for something. Arak whispered a curse as he stared at the dirt. Whatever Arcane was behind everything that was happening, he had spat on the face of the Brilhardem when he killed Belkai’s father. By extension, that was an offense to the clans. Brimur would ensure that this council of mages understood the new situation.

The Brilhardem and the Ikari would go to war for Belkai Androva, whatever might come to pass.