Page 8 of The Ivory King (Crowns of Melowynn #2)

THE VILHALL WAS LAPPING AT THE ARCHED brIDGE that led from Bickel’s Burrow to the edges of the Glotte woodlands. Our horses were edgy, their hooves slipping when they would strike the wet stonework. The flooding was going to be disastrous if this storm did not blow away in a northeasterly way as most of the typhoons did, weakening as it rolled into the Witherhorn and moving either into the Stormhold Sea or slog over the Gray Stone Peninsula where a small band of humans had built a lighthouse to help guide ships that entered or left the Stormhold around the cape into the warmer, gentler waters of the Silvura.

“We shall veer left after we cross, skirting the woods as much as possible,” Beiro shouted back to us. Pasil rode ahead of me but after Beiro, V’alor at my rear, and Tezen now huddled on Pasil’s shoulder looking quite like a drowned butterfly. To her credit, she did not complain. Much. Small trees were smashed into the side of the bridge, causing the water to divert in whatever way it wished. There was no holding back water. “Once we are near to the woods, we shall have to be vigilant. The beasts and bandits that reside in the forest do not mind a little rain.”

“Perhaps if I had fur, I, too, would not mind the deluge,” I mumbled to myself. Every inch of me was soaked through, aside from my back and chest. The beeswax coating on my cape was serving my upper half well.

“Nobles are soft,” Beiro called back as his gelding stepped carefully off the bridge, water swirling about the gray horse’s fetlocks. “Do not let fear plague your steeds when they come off the bridge. Many fear stepping into water for good reason. Bring your mounts closer to Hasulett, for he is used to walking through bogs and his calm will soothe your skittish mounts.”

I rode up on Beiro’s left, with V’alor behind and Pasil on his right. His horse nickered at us but plodded along, placing one foot and then the other into the bulging river. Atriel pranced a bit to the left and flung her head a few times as she tried to high step the murky water. Amazingly, it was not my spirited mare that took the greatest issue with their hooves sinking out of sight. It was V’alor’s war horse, Sirdal. I’d never seen the massive roan come apart as he did when he saw that small stream of rushing water.

He reared, slamming V’alor’s leg into the stone curbing. The horse, eyes wide and white with fright, nearly tipped over the side of the bridge. We all yelled for V’alor to let go, and so he did, toppling over the side as Sirdal, now free from his rider, spun and fled back across the bridge, where he stood under a tree as we leaped from our mounts.

“Where is he?!” I shouted into the wind and rain, jogging along the riverbank, my eyes locked on the water roiling downstream. Could an elf of his size wearing plate armor swim? Panic seized me and squeezed hard. “V’alor!!”

“There! He is there!” Pasil yelled, slipping around me to step out onto a boulder. I stood behind him, just catching a glimpse of copper as it rolled down the river. V’alor’s dark head could just be seen as he battled to keep his head above the churning flow.

I heard Beiro behind me shouting something to Tezen, who was unable to do much in this wind and rain. I spied a length of thin rope on Beiro’s belt, tugged it free, and tied one end to one of my arrows. Then I sprinted along the riverbank, feet going out from under me time and again, rain dousing me, until I found a tree still standing along the other shore. Knowing that the rope would slow the arrow, I rushed to cut a length free and tied it to the white willow shaft, nocked the arrow and pulled with all my strength on the bow. There was no time to aim with precision as there would be in a shooting contest, but I was rather proficient at shooting from horseback, thanks to archery tutors, so I aimed and let the arrow loose. It hit lower than I would have liked due to the added weight of the rope, but it stuck hard and true into the oak.

“Grab hold of the rope!” I heard Beiro yelling. Pasil appeared at my side, and we pulled the rope taut over the raging river. V’alor floated closer, his hands flailing about over his head, a smear of red coating his brow. V’alor pawed at the rope, getting one wet hand on it, then trying to pull himself up. The willow shaft snapped under his weight. Beiro appeared behind us. He took hold of the short end that remained and with the three of us grunting and heaving, boots thick with mud, we managed to slowly get V’alor close enough to the shore that Pasil could grab his forearm. Beiro and I took the other arm. My love battled to get a knee to solid land, and then another. All three of us gave V’alor a strong tug. He flopped to the ground, face landing into the slippery red mud, and lay there far too still for my liking.

“V’alor, by Ihdos, speak to me!” I cried, gently rolling him onto his back. He coughed up some murky water and then cussed at his horse. I cupped his face as he called his steed every foul name and some new ones. Gladdened into giddiness to see him still alive, I bent down to press my mouth to his. His lips were chilled. His hand came up to cradle my cheek as blood streamed downward into his eye. Just as quickly as he touched me, he withdrew his hand.

“You’re injured,” I said, kneeling beside him as Beiro dropped down next to us.

“Head wounds tend to weep strongly,” Beiro said, placing a small clump of green moss to the cut along V’alor’s hairline. “Medicinal hara moss. It will aid in slowing the bleed. Just hold it to the wound.”

“My thanks.” V’alor did as told, slowly sitting up to glower at the river. “My helm is on its way to the Silvura.”

“We shall find you another when we reach Tolso,” I said, my hands now resting on my lap. He spoke not of the kiss, which saddened me, but it was expected.

“We’ve not gone far and already I see that your party will be one that requires a nanny as well as a guide,” Beiro commented before rising to leave us sitting in dingy water that curled around our asses.

“I’m not sure I care for his attitude,” V’alor muttered while holding moss to his head.

“Surely with such an auspicious start to our journey, the rest of the trip will be serene,” I offered by way of encouragement.

“From your mouth to the ear of Ihdos,” V’alor replied as he glowered at his gelding, chewing on some sweet grass on the other side of the river.

I glanced skyward. A small respite from the storm would indeed be a blessing.

It seemed that Ihdos was not listening to the pleas of a bedraggled noble elf and his companions, for the rain did not cease. It continued to fall from the sky steadily, and the wind blew it sideways from time to time. It had taken several limp carrots and a long whispered discussion for Beiro to talk Sirdal across the bridge once more. As our guide led the skittish roan through the rapidly increasing overflow, he spoke continually. What he said remained a secret betwixt the red roan and the slim redheaded elf.

The first night was miserable. Beiro insisted we huddle together under the exposed roots of an ancient conifer. There was to be no fire, not that one would have stayed lit as band after band of rain moved over us. The horses stood sullenly under wet pine boughs. I felt much like Atriel, damp, disgusted, and dismal. V’alor and I had barely spoken other than short snippets of conversation dealing with mundane things. I’d tried to pull him into deeper discussions about us and our future, but he would not engage, which, upon reflection, as I lay curled into my cape as rain dripped through the roots to my shoulder and then down to my neck, was probably wise. What we had to talk about was highly personal. Also, Beiro had warned that the woods had not only eyes but ears. Bandits would like nothing better than to kidnap a noble elf after slaying his guards before his eyes.

I kept the fact that I was being eyed to wear the crown of Melowynn to myself. Yes, my personal guard knew, but Beiro did not yet. Nor would he if I could help it. What I knew of the distant man was that his family were bandits themselves, so if the temptation was too great—and with such a poor soul, how could a huge ransom not be—he might turn on us in the night. Or day. I knew not whom to trust anymore other than the three who wore the Stillcloud crest on their armor. A plot most heinous had been carried out in the capital. The king lay cold and dead. His food tester was imprisoned, I was sure, and the rest of the guests were going through a rigorous interrogation as I had before being able to leave. What if the assassin who murdered our king was now seeking other noble elves to slay?

I shifted slightly, rolling to my other side, unable to sleep as my mind whirled from one topic to another. The ground was hard. My body ached. I missed my bed back in Renedith greatly. I missed my love lying next to me even more than my thick mattress.

V’alor had sat down next to Pasil, Tezen huddled under his cape, as the four took turns on watch. Beiro sat in the branches of the tree we hid under. My gaze went to my beloved and lingered there until the pain of watching him sleep grew to be too much.

I slid out from the roots, took a piss on the other side of the tree, and then climbed up into the wet leaves. My hands slid off the wet branches once or twice, but before too long I was swinging my legs over a stout branch next to a dark gray form that, from the ground, could be nothing more than a low-lying fog cloud.

“You’re louder than a fruit-drunk sow,” Beiro whispered, his narrowed eyes finding me.

“I was quiet,” I replied as I looked out over the woodlands. Far off in the distance, a flash of lightning lit the sky. Our guide muttered something that I couldn’t pick up due to the wind blowing over the tops of the trees. “Should you be in a tree when lightning is so close?”

“It moves off to the north,” he stated. “Why are you up here?”

“Sleep evaded me,” I replied with honesty.

“Your noble ass cannot rest unless it is cradled on thick mattresses and regal coverlets, my lord Aelir?”

I winced at the sarcasm and disdain in his voice. The fact that he seemed to be right did not escape me.

“I have a great deal on my mind.” Beiro grunted but said nothing else. “You said that your grandmother claimed to be druid. Did she commune with beasts as well, or did her magicks take another form?”

His hooded head moved to the side so that he could study me. “What does it matter to you what skills my grandmother possessed?”

“I’m curious is all. I have two dear friends who are probably on their way back to Renedith now, or I pray they are…” I refused to think that Kenton would be held as a suspect due to his skin color but old prejudices ran deep sadly. “One is able to shift into an elk and has healing skills. The other is like you, with deep beast sense and speech. They would be delighted to meet you, I think.”

“I think for a noble you are far too smitten with the ways of the woods and its magicks,” he fired back.

“It is true that I find it fascinating how our cousins maintained their ancient elven magicks while the elves who chose to live in the city and worship Ihdos have lost all such powers. I consider it a great loss for the urban elves.”

He stared at me for so long that I feared he had fallen asleep. I was about to reach out to tap him, lest he fall from the branch, when he spoke.

“You’re an odd noble. I’ve not met many of you, mind, but the ones that I have would sooner spit on us than speak to us. Us being poor people but the wood elves get lots of spittle on their cheeks as well.”

“They do, and that is one of many things that I hope to help change when I step into my rightful place.”

A moment passed. Rain fell, softly now, the pitter-patter of droplets on wet leaves and saturated soil. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders.

“My grandmother used to say that the city elves lost not only their magicks but their true selves when they drifted from Danubia. I don’t know about changes other than they won’t come easy and won’t reach out this far. Out here,” he waved a slim hand at the forest, “life is too hard to sit in trees and think about all the grand things you’d like to do. Out here we live hand to mouth and that takes up all our thinking power.”

“Then those who sit upon seats of authority must change the way they think.”

He scoffed as he looked out and upward. The heavy clouds parted for a moment, the rainfall stopping, to allow the two moons to glow white on his pale face.

“You have a better chance of touching the moon twins than seeing those in power spare a fleeting thought for those they sit above.”

I opened my mouth to reply but closed it. He was right. Touching the two fat moons would be easier than trying to convince those who ruled to change. But what if the ruler was open to new ideas, new ways, better ways? What then? What if the path had been cleared by a kind, openhearted ruler and now the burden to pave that road to equality and prosperity for all elves was to be placed on a new king’s shoulders?

“Perhaps someday a new monarch will sit on the ivory throne and will bring much needed change to Melowynn,” I softly replied as an owl sounded off to the west.

Beiro laughed softly. That, it seemed, was his reply, for he said nothing else until we left the tree to rouse the next watch.

Two days passed riding in downpours and gales that kept us sodden and sullen. Or perhaps the sullen people were just our pixie, my horse, and me. Sullen because I could not find a moment of privacy to speak with V’alor. I now suspected that he was purposefully planning it that way to avoid having to deal with the impending betrothal. Midday on the third of our journey, we were all seated atop our mounts with a glorious ray of sun shining down from the choppy sky. The beam was beautiful, bright, and sadly shining on a bridge that Beiro was planning on using to get us away from the edge of the Glotte woods.

“Fuck my puckered mother,” Beiro snarled, his words floating downstream with a broken door that bobbed by before the rest of the shed that the door had belonged to floated past.

“I like him. He talks like a normal person,” Tezen whispered in my ear, her tiny damp form becoming familiar on my shoulder.

“He speaks like you speak, you mean,” I gently corrected as our horses waited for us to decide what to do. “Beiro, what say you?”

He turned narrowed green eyes on me. “We can’t cross here.”

“And to think we paid this man fifty gold to tell us that,” V’alor mumbled. I blinked at the sourness of his words, for V’alor rarely engaged in such waspish behavior.

“You paid me to keep you from the bandits, something that I have done well for do you see any bandits’ arrows in your backs?” Beiro snapped, jerking on his horse’s reins to tug the gelding from the washed-out bridge back to the muddy path.

“No, we do not, and for that, we thank you,” I hurried to interject into the tense moment. “Surely another bridge will appear further upstream. We shall cross at the next.”

V’alor grunted. Pasil nudged us along, taking up the rear as Beiro trotted ahead of us, his red hair like a beacon now that the sun was peeking out.

I rode up beside V’alor. Atriel was feeling more herself now that we had dry weather. I also could feel my sagging spirits slightly rising, even if the sun was now hiding behind a low, slate cloud.

“Why do you wish to bait the only man who can keep us safe from the bandits that lurk in these woods?” I asked of my love, eager to hear his voice again.

“I have seen no sign of bandits. I suspect he and the innkeeper are working together to bilk unsuspecting people of noble lineage into hiring him. Then when he leads us along on a road that we could have easily traveled alone, they will split the gold when he delivers us to Tolso.”

Tezen was humming a song in pixieish as she ran her fingers through her short hair to help it dry. Her wings buzzed steadily.

I gawked at V’alor. “Are you sure that blow to your head did not addle you?” He shot me a sour look. “I think it must have, for you speak nonsense. The flooding was not on Beiro unless you credit him with being able to manipulate the weather?” He sat on his horse now in stilted silence. “Hmm, so that is the end of that discussion, is it? Well, how about I breach another topic for us to chew upon as we ride? Why do you seek to hide from me at every stop when I wish to speak about our future together?” Tezen coughed not-so-discreetly. “You may ride with Pasil,” I told her.

“Don’t let him be a bear about things, my lord. He still loves you deeply. He is just unsure of where he stands in this uncertain future.” With that, she took to the air, a soft cloud of lilac falling from her dry wings as she flitted over to ride with Pasil.

“I am not discussing such personal matters within earshot of my underlings, nor should you be willing to either, my lord,” V’alor tersely replied.

“Then when shall we discuss our relationship? Whenever I try to pull you aside, you hide behind chores or taking watch.”

“Perhaps when I am on watch, you could join me as you seem to enjoy doing it with our guide,” he mumbled, then flattened his lips to lock them. Ah, so he was feeling just as insecure and uncertain as I was.

“Perhaps I shall join you this eve then so we can speak on this matter,” I replied, easing Atriel ahead a few steps. A sharp wind shook the wet trees, causing a small deluge that fell on us and pulled our hoods from our heads. Tezen cussed. I sat astride my horse, enjoying the wind on my head. Perhaps it would help my hair and scalp dry, so I let my hood rest between my shoulder blades in defiance of the world and its asinine rules. “Do not try to fabricate work to keep our discussion from taking place.”

“Is this a command, my lord?”

I looked back over my shoulder. “No, V’alor, it is a request from the man who loves you as he loves no other.”

His dark eyes flew to me. I felt the connection between us, that thread that linked two hearts was still linking us together, even if life seemed destined to rip us apart. The sound of a scream rented the air as I opened my mouth to reply. I jerked back on Atriel’s reins. The sound split the air, overpowering the churning river, as another shriek joined it. No, not screams but squeals.

Our horses’ ears flattened. In the time it took to blink, a small band of wild bristle boars—a sow with about seven or eight piglets—erupted from the woods. Atriel sidestepped the wide-eyed pigs, bumping my thigh against a rusty-barked pine. I thought to reach for my bow to drop one of the pigs, as I had already grown tired of dried tack and bruised fruits, when Beiro shouted, pulling my sight from the fat sow to him. Assuming he was much like Kenton in that killing animals distressed him, I began to lower my hand when something fell from the tree above, grasping my hair to topple me from my saddle.

The silent animal—a wood cat, if I had to guess—hit the soggy ground with a splat. I jerked in vain to free my hair from the feline when I caught a glint of silver in the meager sunlight. Atriel reared up, a hoof coming down on what I now knew to be a woman, for no wood cats carried daggers, striking my attacker on the back. The woman grunted in pain. I moved enough to get my arm up to ward off the downward swing of the dagger, my forearm taking the strike instead of my throat. The pain was sharp, but I had no time to wallow in the misery for I had but a moment to act. I would ensure Atriel got extra rations of grain at our next stop if I survived the bandits.

Shouts filled the area, that of my guards and guide, our horses, and the wind, but not one shout or bellow from the bandits. Lashing out in an attempt to free my hair, I caught sight of the female astride me and knew then that this silent attack was no bandit raid. The lithe woman was clad in darkest gray speckled with splashes of dark green and brown paint. Her face was covered in the same material, showing nothing but radiant blue eyes.

Her grip tightened as I used a foot to roll us to the side. The burn as she tore out a handful of long hair made my eyes water. Atriel had charged off after delivering a blow to whatever predator had leaped from the canopy. Using a boot against a tree root, I managed to get us moved over, with the attacker now scrabbling to regain her advantage.

Blood coating my hand, I pawed at my side for my eating dagger as my bow was impractical at close range. The woman, silent as a cat, wrapped more of my damn hair around her fist, her dagger raised over her head when suddenly a flash of purple appeared. My attacker screamed as Tezen struck true with one of her war picks, taking out one of my attacker’s eyes. The dagger fell from her grip to my chest as she threw a hand over her bloody eye while trying to swat the pixie from the air. I found the hilt of the dropped dagger, spun it, and slammed it into the woman’s chest. She fell back and to the side, bloodied and now gasping for air.

“To your feet, my lord! Assassins are falling from the fucking trees like ripe pears!” Tezen shouted, then zipped skyward. Assassins? What in the name of Ihdos? An arrow hit a nearby tree as I pried my hair from the dying woman’s hand. When I was finally free, I staggered to my feet. V’alor was at my side in an instant, his face coated with mud and blood, his sword slathered with gore.

“Stay by me,” he barked, raising his shield to ward off a dagger attack from a larger man in gray garb. V’alor struck like the wind, his shield to the face of the assassin, knocking him to his ass. There was no time for the man to do anything more than offer a prayer to whatever god he worshipped before V’alor drove his sword through the man’s heart.

Pasil appeared to my left, his nose gushing blood, his shield raised to protect me as Beiro shot down the final attacker, an arrow to his throat that fell the man immediately.

The woods fell quiet. The river roared behind us. Standing pinned between my guards, my sight darted from tree to tree, breaths coming in short pants, I waited as the wind blew wet leaves of rust and magenta down upon us.

We stood on alert for what seemed years until, slowly, V’alor lowered his shield. Pasil followed suit. Tezen streaked into the woods with Beiro.

“You’re wounded,” V’alor said to me.

“It’s just a small slash,” I replied, my heart still hammering in my chest.

“Pasil, tend to Aelir,” V’alor barked, his eyes never leaving the waving canopy as we stood ankle-deep in flood waters waiting for our comrades to return.

“I said it is naught but a scratch,” I sniped, even as blood dripped from my fingers to be washed around the eddies swirling around our feet.

“Even a scratch from a poisoned blade can kill,” V’alor replied as his gaze dropped from the trees to me. “Pasil, you will bind the wound.”

“It is of no consequence,” I weakly argued.

“Aelir, sit and let Pasil tend to your wound,” V’alor asked, softly and with concern.

“Yes, I…of course,” I stammered, allowing Pasil to lead me from the overflow back a few steps until just the toes of our boots now rested in brackish water. Tezen and Beiro appeared then, slipping out of the wet woods without making a sound. I found a seat on a mossy, soggy log. My clothes could not get any wetter, so why worry about having breeches with a damp seat?

“There is a bandit camp within spitting distance,” Tezen announced as she flew around my head in circles. “All were slain, their bodies cold. It appears these bastards were lying in wait for us.”

We all glanced at Beiro huddled by his gray gelding, his green eyes tight with worry.

V’alor strode over to the guide, his face stormy, and placed the gory tip of his sword to Beiro’s heaving chest.

“If I find out that you had any hand in this…” V’alor growled.

Beiro jerked his slim chin upward, his emerald eyes shining. “I am no assassin.”

“But you were a bandit. Perhaps they work in unison,” V’alor stated.

“Sit, drink this,” Pasil said to me as he handed a small vial of dark green liquid into my hand. “It will ease the pain and aid in healing.”

Hand shaking, I took the vial, uncorked it, and swallowed it down. It was vile and left a sour taste of old leaves and earthworms on my tongue.

“I left the bandits as a young child, taken from their ranks by my grandmother. I have not returned or spoken to them in many seasons. If you wish to run me through for a past that I had no control over, then do so now!”

I blinked at the fire in Beiro’s tone. Pasil, who had been taking my gauntlet off to tend to my wound, stared at the fiery redhead with appreciation. Not many would be so cheeky when facing V’alor at the end of a sword.

“If I find that you had any culpability in this attack on my lord, I will gut you and toss your entrails to the trout,” V’alor vowed, then spun from Beiro. “I shall find our horses.”

I winced when Pasil poured a thick yellowish fluid from another small vial onto the cut. It was not as deep as it would have been had my leather gauntlet not taken some of the blow. “Ground mustard willow and hibiscus stamen. The druids say it eases the pain.”

I nodded at my guardsman as my sight lingered on V’alor moving into the woods.

“Beiro, he is just upset. He saw me injured,” I called to our guide. He nodded before moving off to sullenly fetch his arrows from the bodies of slain assassins. A sigh escaped me. “I do not understand why assassins would be lying in wait for us. They are not highwaymen or bandits. They have no need for the gold we carry or for the ransom I could fetch. Why would assassins ride out in a foul storm to try to end the life of an unknown heir to a small farming vills?”

Pasil tied the strips of material together before looking at me with light blue eyes steeped with unease.

“My lord, you are more than just the heir to a farming vills. You are the one being eyed to wear the crown of Melowynn. You are on your way to claim a bride that will triple the lands of the Stillcloud family for generations to come. There are many who would see you struck down before you wed and produce heirs or have the mantle of king placed upon your shoulders.”

I stared blankly at him and then at the small pixie on my shoulder. Tezen bobbed her dirty head in agreement and sighed wearily. I joined her in my own hearty exhalation.

So there were people out there who wished me dead for being thrust into a situation I did not wish to be in. Why? To what end? And perhaps the most important question, among a thousand now darting about inside my beleaguered skull, was who. Who would wish to see me dead?