Endgame

Chapter Three

Chapter ThreeMaeve rubbed tired eyes with her thumb and forefinger, resisting the urge to scream.

She picked a direction at random and strolled away from the large red-and-white tent she'd just exited, ignoring the curious stares Aridor's soldiers threw her way. She'd become accustomed to such looks in her brief time mingling with the people of Elystra; though her physiology was nearly identical to theirs, she was alien to this world. Their whole lives, these men had never even conceived of the possibility of a woman being able to Wield, and now they were camped just outside a village where nearly a dozen Wielders resided.

Let 'em stare. This is how things are now. If they can't accept that a woman is more skilled and more powerful than they are, fark 'em.

She slid her computer pad from its slot on her belt and activated it. According to the chronometer, which she'd long since calibrated to Elystra's twenty-two-point-five-hour day, she'd been in that tent for over two hours. Two long, unproductive hours. King Aridor's prowess at directing troop movements and battle strategies was impressive, yet two-dimensional. It wasn't something he could help, given his “medieval” upbringing, but he'd never had to deal with an enemy like Elzaria before. Aridor had said repeatedly that he would not underestimate the lightning-Wielder's capabilities, but until they could come up with a viable plan to defeat her, their best hope lay in her and Nyla's hands.

Maeve glanced up at the blanket of clouds that covered the sky, wondering if more rain was imminent. It was the season for storms, and a downpour such as the one that drenched the Ixtrayan Plateau on the day of the attack would only hamper their efforts to rescue Kelia from the Vandans.

Kelia.

Maeve's mind darkened. Nyla's most recent vision, shared by High Mage Mizar, indicated Kelia was being held prisoner at a Vandan encampment at the base of Mount Vaska. Thrown in a filthy hole in the ground, being fed scraps of meat like a wild animal, probably badly injured to prevent her from using her elemental abilities to escape.

Only a few days before, Maeve had awakened in Kelia's arms, happy and content for the first time in years. The overwhelming guilt that had weighed her down since landing the Talon on Elystra was gone, dispelled by her lover's reassurance and compassion. When they'd parted, Maeve resolved to return to Kelia's side as soon as possible.

But Elzor—and his psychopath of a sister—beat her to it.

Maeve balled up her fists, exhaling through clenched teeth. “I will get you back, my love,” she said to the ground at her feet. “And God help anyone who stands in my way.”

“Protectress?” came a voice from behind her.

Maeve turned to see Nyla approaching, her round face bearing a scowl that matched her own.

“You don't have to call me that, Nyla,” Maeve said. “I'm only filling in for your mother until we get her back.”

The girl nodded glumly in response.

It looked like the last week had aged Kelia's thirteen-year-old daughter considerably. Not at all surprising, given what she'd been through. During the battle, she'd used her Wielding to kill many of Elzor's soldiers. Just when it seemed the tide had turned in the Ixtrayu's favor, Elzaria blanketed the Plateau in a wave of energy that knocked Nyla out … but not before she witnessed Sarja, her Promised, fall to her death.

Without another word, Nyla stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Maeve. “What are we going to do?” she quaked, desperation tinging her voice. “Every day we sit here and do nothing—”

“Not nothing, Nyla,” Maeve said, returning the hug. “But there's more than just your mother's life at stake. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of King Aridor's people will be massacred if we don't intervene. The only way we can do that is if we use the Talon.” She exhaled deeply, staring into Nyla's wide, hazel eyes. “Despite its many capabilities, using it to ferry thousands of men, their merychs, weapons, and supplies is impractical. And as I've told you before, our armaments are limited. I have three grenades and a pistol with about sixty rounds. Not nearly enough to take out an army the size of Elzor's.”

Nyla gave a curt hiss, turned around and held her left palm toward the sky. Within moments, a stream of fire shot from her fingertips, stretching at least fifty feet before dispersing. Maeve took two steps back, avoiding the searing heat. She noted the gawking stares of several of Aridor's men at this pyrotechnic display, but did nothing to interrupt. She shared Nyla's frustration, a huge component of which was her guilt at arriving too late to prevent Kelia's abduction.

The fire faded away, and Nyla faced Maeve with a determined frown. “Apart from my mother, I'm one of the most powerful Wielders on Elystra. Maybe the most powerful!” Her fists clenched and unclenched in obvious exasperation. “And yet, the mighty King Aridor treats me like a toddler! Blag, I'd love to wipe that condescending smirk off his face.” She made a move to march back to the tent, where Aridor awaited their return.

Maeve stepped in front of Nyla, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders. “Whoa, whoa, kiddo, cool your jets. Part of being a leader is being able to keep your emotions under control.”

Nyla c****d an eyebrow. “You're one to talk. You were as angry as me when you stormed out of that tent.”

Embarrassment washed over Maeve. Nyla did have a point. “Well, this is new territory for me too, you know. I'm a soldier. A pilot. I fought the battles, I didn't plan them.”

“But you were a commander.”

“Of a small unit with only twelve people. If any of my squadron ever got out of line, I just kicked their arse. Kings and generals have to create strategies on a far larger scale, and I doubt my more … direct approach would go over well with His Highness.”

“No, it would not,” said Mizar, who eyed them from several paces away. Clad in his usual black tunic, cloak, and skullcap, Maeve had to admit that Mizar cut an imposing figure despite being in his late fifties. He seemed much more open-minded to including the Ixtrayu Wielders, and Maeve, in their battle strategy. Being born to an Ixtrayu mother, Maeve reasoned, probably had a lot to do with that.

“High Mage,” Maeve said with a polite head bow.

“Uncle Mizar,” Nyla said.

Mizar smiled down at his grandniece, and returned the bow. “You'll have to forgive His Highness. Despite his extensive training, his battlefield experience is rather limited. All throughout our journey here, he prepared himself to meet with Kelia. Being confronted instead with …” He averted his gaze.

“Aliens from the Above?” Maeve offered. “Go on, you can say it.”

“Uh … yes.” Mizar shuffled his feet. “King Aridor is trying desperately to save everything he is pledged to protect. In the space of mere days, all he's ever known has been turned on its head. Female Wielders, mystical Stones …” He grinned again. “Aliens from the Above …”

“Like it or not,” Maeve said, “this is how it is now. Aridor's not the big fish in the little pond anymore. He has to accept that, or we're never going to get anywhere.”

Mizar raised an eyebrow. “ 'Big fish in the little pond'?”

“Sorry. It's an Earth saying,” Maeve said, stifling a chortle.

“I like it,” Mizar said, and his face became stern again. “I know he may come off rather brusque, but believe me, it's nothing compared to his father. If it were Armak inside that tent instead of Aridor, he'd be as immovable as Mount Calabur. You can thank Belena that Aridor is as receptive as he is.”

“Belena?” Nyla asked.

“His wife, the Queen of Darad. She's advocated a more liberal attitude toward our female citizens since she and Aridor were wed. That he's come this far is a testament to her influence.”

Maeve smiled. “I like her already.”

“Rest assured, I will continue to counsel him as the face of our world changes. He'll come around.” He gestured back at the tent. “Shall we resume?”

Nyla gritted her teeth. “If he calls me 'child' one more time, I'm burning that tent to the ground.”

Mizar folded his hands inside the sleeves of his cloak, and bowed. “Consider him duly warned.”

* * *

Aridor rolled up the map they'd been staring at for the past two hours and handed it to Harg, the captain of his personal guard. “So we're agreed?”

“We are,” said Maeve, turning to Eloni and Liana. “Councilors?”

“Yes,” Liana agreed. “We thank you for your offer of protection, Your Highness.”

After a stressful morning, Maeve felt a weary smile break through. Nyla smiled as well. Regardless of what happened from here, the Ixtrayu would be safe.

King Aridor gave a polite head bow. “You have my word, Councilors. My men will not breach the confines of your village without your explicit permission.”

Eloni straightened herself up to her full height, a foot shorter than Aridor's. “I think, if Kelia were here, she would find this arrangement satisfactory as well.” She faced Nyla. “And by the will of Arantha, she will soon be back among us.”

“Damn straight,” Maeve said. “I regret that we cannot accommodate your men within the village, sire, but after the attack, we don't have much food to spare.”

“Understood,” Aridor said. “As soon as I return to Darad, I will arrange for food to be delivered here. Neither the Ixtrayu nor my men will starve if I have a say in the matter.”

Liana and Eloni, seemingly satisfied, bowed and left the tent.

“Maeve,” Mizar asked, “how much time do you need before we can depart?”

Maeve pulled out the pad, checking the time again. “Not long. I informed the huntresses, who agreed to accompany us to be ready to go at a moment's notice. The same goes for Yarji and Zarina, whose Wielding abilities may be invaluable. Aside from organizing our departure, I'll need to fire up the Talon's engines and plot a course. Several courses, actually. If all goes smoothly, we should be able to leave in a matter of hours.”

“Excellent,” Aridor said. “I must admit, I'm looking forward to seeing inside your vessel.”

The look of childish delight on Aridor's face elicited a laugh from Maeve. He looked like a little kid about to take his first space-tunnel ride.

She absently stuck her right hand in her pants pocket, where her fingers contacted something small yet hard. Grasping it, she pulled it free and offered it to Nyla. “Here,” Maeve said. “I think it's time you put this on.”

Nyla's eyes widened. “My mother's necklace?”

Maeve nodded. “I fixed the clasp. She'd want you to wear it.”

Nyla took the necklace with a stifled sob, laying it lovingly over her palm.

Kelia had once told Maeve that Nyla gave her this necklace as a gift when Nyla was only six years old. It was simple in design, a thin leather string featuring six beads, three on either side of a small lump of yellowish-brown, lustrous metal held in place by a metallic setting. Kelia was wearing it during the attack on the village, but the clasp had been burned through by Elzaria's lightning.

“Thank you, Maeve,” Nyla said. “Would you …?” She held it out to Maeve.

“Of course.” With Aridor and Mizar watching, Maeve took the necklace and placed it around Nyla's neck, snapping the clasp shut with a satisfying click. Nyla backed up, centering the metal lump that hung over her sternum. “So?” she asked, her face seeking approval.

“Perfect,” said Maeve, smiling.

Aridor's face scrunched up in a puzzled frown. He took a step forward, his eyes fixed on the lump of metal that now dangled from Nyla's neck.

Nyla stiffened at the tall king's sudden scrutiny, but held her ground. She stood still as Aridor leaned in for a closer inspection.

He met Nyla's eyes while pulling the glove from his right hand. “May I?” He pointed at the metal nodule.

“I … suppose,” Nyla said, failing to hide her apprehension.

Aridor leaned forward again, grasping the metal between his thumb and forefinger. After several moments, he stood up straight again. “Where did you get this?” he asked in a tone that Maeve could only construe as fascination.

“The metal? It was a gift from my grandmother Onara to my mother. It was the last thing she gave my mother before she died. I think it came from Lake Barix.”

“Lake Barix?” Aridor queried. “I've not heard of it.”

“It's a large lake nestled in the Kaberian Mountains two hours' ride by chava south of here,” Nyla said. “I've never been, but the tribe's gatherers go there all the time. They say there are many tunnels and caves in those mountains, and the walls are covered in this,” she indicated the lump around her neck.

“Many tunnels?” Aridor echoed, his eyes widening. “Covered in this?”

“Sire?” Mizar asked, placing a hand on the King's arm. “Are you all right?”

A grin appeared on Aridor's face, which soon stretched from ear to ear. “I'm far more than 'all right', Mizar. This,” he gestured at Nyla's necklace, “changes everything.”

Mizar, incredulous, stepped toward Nyla, mirroring Aridor's actions. He studied the lump of metal that had captured the King's attention. “Great Arantha,” he whispered, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

“What?” Nyla shouted. “Will someone please tell me what's going on?”

“Forgive me, ch… Nyla,” Aridor said, catching himself. “Do you recall what I told you after our first meeting about Darad's problems with Viceroy Callis?”

“Not really,” Nyla admitted.

“I do,” Maeve said. “You said Barju was the main source of machinite ore, from which Darad creates most of its weapons and armor.”

“Not just the main source, the only source,” Aridor corrected. “And now that Viceroy Callis has dissolved the treaty between our countries, the shipments of machinite have ceased, which means our armorers and weapon-smiths would be forced to work with far inferior materials. No doubt the Viceroy expects me to come crawling on my hands and knees, ready to pay any price.” He chuckled. “Guess the last laugh belongs to me.”

“Are … are you saying this is machinite?” Maeve asked.

“Yes,” Mizar confirmed. “And it's nearly pure.” He turned to his king. “There could be enough ore in those mountains to serve Darad's needs for centuries.”

“Indeed,” Aridor said. He laid a hand on Nyla's shoulder. “Nyla, I sincerely apologize for my earlier behavior. There is no longer any doubt in my mind that this development is the work of Arantha. I do not have my High Mage's gift for prognostication, but I would venture that what happened here, today, is only the beginning of the relationship between Darad and the Ixtrayu.”

“First things first,” Maeve said, injecting some urgency into the conversation. “We can talk about mining rights and whatnot at a later date. For now, we have a war to win, so let's get our tails in gear.”

At that moment, a commotion from just outside the tent, punctuated by shouts in a very familiar voice, drew their attention.

Davin.

Maeve sprinted outside to find her son on the ground, his hand twisted behind his back by a burly guard. Without breaking stride, she slammed into the guard, knocking him off his feet. “That's my son! Keep your hands off him!”

The man reached for his sword, but Maeve was quicker. She drew one of her short swords from her belt, pointing it at the fallen guard. “Don't even think about it.”

“Stand down, Bigon,” Aridor said, joining the standoff.

Immediately, the guard bowed his head and climbed to his feet. “Yes, Sire,” he said, then resumed his post at the tent's entrance.

Davin, too, had picked himself up, brushing grass from his pants. “What the hell, Dav?” Maeve asked, sheathing the sword. “You can't just come barging in unannounced like this! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Brushing his long, curly red hair back behind his ears, Davin took several deep breaths before speaking. “Sorry, Mom.” His eyes locked onto Nyla, who had also exited the tent. “It's just …”

“Just what?” Maeve said. “What's happened?”

“I got a message,” Davin panted, “from Dad.”

Maeve felt her guts clench. “What did he say?”

Davin, still catching his breath, broke into a ragged smile. His eyes hadn't moved from Nyla. “He told me how to win the game.”