The Royals

Chapter 49

mean it. Everyone knew elves were repulsed by humans, males and females alike. But that was just it. This was war, and she was theirs to a***e for their own amusement. She serviced Alvaria's army and her torment was end. less. In the moments between episodes, she had a world

full of time to contemplate who she had been and how she

had disappointed the Seven Sisters. When Lyda was a young girl before the war, it was still possible to live fairly well in town. Her house was packed in-between others, but the air was clean, and a girl and her sister could bounce a ball down the narrow streets without worry. As she grew older, she came to know the unpredictability of a land where rulers seldom died of natural causes. Even so, the chaos rarely reached her daily habits, nor stole more than a pinch from the bread left in the window to cool.

She was not a beautiful woman, though not displeasing to look on. Her sharp wits kept more men from the door than did her appearance. When she met Willam none of it mattered. They found delight in small things, and she no longer wanted to discuss the weighty issue of the collapsing One Land. But as time wore on and the miscarriages heaped up like so many rotten melons, she began to brood. Her tongue grew sharper and Willam

strayed. All this and more she lamented. Her reunion with Willam seemed only a dim memory in the glaring light of her downfall.

The elves made her cover her face when they came to her. If she was not beautiful by human standards, she was fully ugly by elven measures. The men laughed as they whispered 'sterile troll-trash' and 'w***e-bait' in her ears in time to each thrust.

Each soldier increased by sevenfold her guilt and worry

over Willam. It was all the worse not knowing where he was, but hearing his hysterical shrieks echoing without direction through trees and tent walls.

Were they truly Willam's cries? What had the witch done with Ceeley?

Alive but unwell was the best Lyda could hope and she feared dead might be best after all.

for -

In her bleakest moment of pure horror Lyda wondered if her stillborn child had been the luckiest of them all. No! She rebelled at the notion. Without life there is no hope of a better future. Awash in death, she could not help but yearn for so many lost possibilities.

Or so she tried to tell herself when the next drunken elf entered the tent and forced himself upon her. They twisted the truths of her life so that she no longer recognized who she had been, and thus she began to believe in their words. She was the barren woman left to pay dues and protect those elves who were full-bodied and fertile.

The voice of the girl who once bounced a ball in the dirt streets of her village was no more than the shrill cry of a bird shot from the air.

Maarcus took a deep breath and coughed. 'No, I'm not dead yet,' he said to the circle of concerned faces. He softened the words with a weak grin, but no one returnec the smile. 'Throw some more wood on the fire, would you Harmon?'

The elf moved to obey. When he realized there were m

more logs, he scanned the prince's study for a substitute

'Use this,' Henry said. "I don't think we'll be needin

it.' He broke a leg off the straight-backed chair he

been sitting on and gave it to Harmon to throw in the flames. The physician frowned at the demise of the Great

King's furniture. "Come to that, have we?' He coughed again. 'Never mind there's no time 'Maarcus, don't talk like that,' Abadan said.

'Don't light my funeral pyre yet. I don't mean for me, I mean for the rest of you. I might make it, but you surely

won't if Kate and my grandson aren't rescued.'

'I'm on my way to find Walther,' the prince said. "Together we'll figure out something."

'You'll do the best you can, but I want you to know everything I know about Hadrian. Something might be useful."

'Maarcus, I appreciate that, but as you just said, we're very short of time."

'No, wait, Henry,' Abadan said. 'Maarcus is right. Hadrian is ruthless, and he's likely to know much more about you than you about him. You need any advantage

you can get.'

The prince nodded impatiently. 'Well, go on, quickly.'

'There was an odd thing about Hadrian's mother,'

Maarcus began. Henry frowned at him, but let him continue.

'I don't know why this is important, but I think it is,' Maarcus explained. She was a weaver and a seamstress. No matter what she made, the patterns always came unra veled. It was as if she always came close, but somehow fell short of the art or the skill to perform the vital stitch. She never knew of her shortcoming, for she dispensed the clothing as presents and no one would tell her how the seams and the knitting came undone.' The physician stopped to catch his breath.

'Maarcus, please don't strain yourself. We'll-' He held up his hand to silence the prince. It was as if the weaving and sewing was the outward sign for all that she did. All her plans inevitably faltered. She did not know

how and would never learn how to think a thing through. She would confuse the forest with the trees, think them one and the same, and therefore miss the beasts that lived in the forest, the birds that lived in the trees. She raised Hadrian,' he said. Henry paused to consider. Maarcus searched desper

ately for the right words, the perfect morsel of infor

mation.

'It made Hadrian angry that his mother was whispered about behind her back. Her blamed her for his ultimate status as an outcast rather than king-in-waiting, and he saw to it that his older siblings died one by one.'

Maarcus was hurrying now, trying to get it all in before he lost the energy. 'I once heard him remark, "The useless wretch has seen her just reward if indeed the king genuinely fathered other children and on an elf, no less!" Certainly he showed no remorse over her death from a slow-acting and ugly poison.'

'He killed his own mother?' Henry asked, appalled. 'No, that's another story for another time,' Abadan cut in, and Maarcus was grateful for the chance to rest. 'At least, we don't believe he had a hand in the actual killing, but we're sure he eventually would have if given the chance. And now there's your sister, his half-sister,' the magician continued, seeming to realize where Maarcus was headed though he couldn't have said himself. 'She's strong-willed and attractive... after a fashion.'

Henry glared at him. 'It's important for you to understand his thinking,'

Abadan said without apology. 'He's likely to be drawn to Kate. She won't yield, of course. He'll be repulsed and fascinated simultaneously. People have submitted to his whims all his life. Any who didn't became enemies - and most of them died.

'He'll try to make Kate into an ally. The only way he can do that is to show her how weak you are, how weak Maarcus is. He'll have to break you and Maarcus both.' 'And he'll enjoy doing it,' the physician whispered,

nearly spent. 'He was behind the m******e, wasn't he?' Henry asked.

'Probably,' Abadan said. "And the rumors of my presumed treachery.' Henry

looked angry now. 'Yes, but keep in mind, he couldn't have done it without Alvaria. He does not control the trolls,' Maarcus said. He reached out his arm to the prince. 'Beware. Save my

grandson if you can, but you must rescue Kate.'

Henry winced. 'Don't worry. I'll free them both or

die trying." 'No, Henry. You and your sister are the fruit of prophecy. Maarcus is . . . The physician closed his eyes, letting the sentence suspend unfinished. He had lost his son. Now he was doing what he knew he must, offering to sacrifice his only grandson to the One Land. But not even the threat of the wrath of the Seven Sisters could make him speak the word 'expendable' aloud.

He stood on the edge, on the precipice, looking down, looking up until up became down.

Walther thought boats were bad, but now the ground itself threatened to pitch him over the brink - whether side-walls existed or not.

The castle promontory jutted into the sea. Violent waves crashed against the shore, against the heavy grey stones. Walther saw a dragon flying overhead and he could not tell the vision from reality. Here, an instant from drowning, anything might happen.

The dragon floated where the world was quiet and uncluttered. Sounds traveled differently there. They moved just as quickly, but man's noises did not exist. Man's cares and chatter were unrelated to clouds and rain.

Walther fell up until he joined the dragon; felt his vision split into separate bird's eyes' views. He noted the moun tain jammed so tight against the sea, the peak crowded with men come to join the dragon's fight. He watched the

actual now as rioters stormed the castle. In everywhen, people scurried, preparing for battle - preparing to die. From here there seemed no distance at all between the rocks which gave The Cliffs its name and the murderous, booming ocean - no time at all between this moment and war.

Notti left his mother to confer with Elder Jedrek while he went exploring the village. Oddly, the structures were all much more stable, more permanent than the tents in his old camp.

Did these elves not migrate either?

Despite their stated beliefs, they appeared to harbor their own version of deception. It made Notti feel dis appointed and old.

Without realizing he needed tangible distance between himself and his newfound clan, he wandered past the outbuildings and up the trails winding through the moun tains above. He'd been hiking some minutes before he glimpsed the camp. The sight took him completely by surprise. He didn't know what he'd expected, having missed this view on his way in, but it wasn't this pristine clearing. The quiet, empty place amidst the trees caught him unawares. If he hadn't known elves lived here, he would never have guessed.

He watched, waiting, trying to figure how they man aged it. Finally, he caught the white moving against white, people going about their business in ones and twos and threes. Notti tried to count but kept losing them in their winter camouflage. His best guess came to a Sisters dozen, plenty to keep a colony alive and barely fewer

than his own village. 'Notti? Notti!' shouted his mother, 'come down from there.'

'What's the m-matter? What's h-happened?'

'Never mind. Just come down. Hurry." He rushed to obey, feeling like a child nowhere near ready for his manhood ceremony.

She stood at the foot of the trail, anxiously chewing the skin on her thumb. Miraculously, the village had become solid and substantial once more.

'Y-yes? Are y-you all r-right?" he asked, out of breath

from running down the steep trail.

She hugged him with relief. 'I'm fine. I was worried about you. Sometimes newcomers stray away from the camp and never find it again.' She tilted her head at him. 'But you saw us, didn't you?'

'It t-took s-s-some ef-f-fort,' he admitted.

She embraced him again. 'I'm so glad you're here." She let go and stepped back. 'Notti,' she said, excit edly. 'Jedrek and I were talking. He's decided to hasten your lessons. He'd like you to return to continue your session."

Notti smiled. Perhaps he did have a place among

these people. Jedrek began as soon as Notti reached the threshold of the elder's private quarters. "Your training is not simply a matter of recitation and endurance. You must seek under standing behind the words and strength beneath the exer cises. Now, keep your eyes open, but attend my voice.'

He nodded, doing his best to ignore the luxury of the man's room, f*******n to commoners and so much like Alvaria's tent.

'Who are the three Great Sisters?' Barik, Ezrek, and Nadik,' said Notti without a trace

of his stutter, sure of this answer at least. 'And why are they great?'

'Because they represent the three great races.'

*And do the Great Sisters quarrel amongst themselves? Notti paused. 'I d-don't know,' he said finally. It would n-not s-surprise me if they d-did.' "Why not?'

He scrunched his brows in thought. 'Each h-h-has a

w-w-will of her own. Is it not p-p-possible that these

are n-n-n-ot alw-w-ways in agreement?' he whispered

slowly, fearing he'd spoken blasphemy.

'It is.' Notti went loose with relief, then recovered himself immediately to resume his former alert posture.

'But...' Jedrek let the word hang a long time. 'But, as in all things, we do not think less of them for this, nor question their motives, nor assume them to be other than divine.' His voice was stern to be sure this point was not taken lightly.

'And do the three races fight?"

Notti looked confused at such an obvious question. He hesitated, making sure there was no trick behind it, then answered simply, 'Yes.'

'Should we expect more of ourselves than of the

Sisters?'

'Ah.' He understood where Elder Jedrek was headed. 'We can hope to attain p-perfection and p-peace, but we know we will nearly always f-fall short.'

'But do we not try?'

'We do.'

'Always?'