The Royals

Chapter 3

Maarcus jumped up and raised his sword in a formal challenge. 'What say you, fair princess, to whipping us both two-handed?'

The princess bowed low. When had she learned that? Henry thought.

'I accept your feeble show of defiance. Prepare your selves, gentlemen. Kate chose a well-balanced sword from the wall-rack and raised it in jaunty salute. "Any time.'

Maarcus nodded to Henry and the two advanced. They recognized this trick for their tutor employed it everal times a week. Whenever practice broke down, the physician plucked Kate from her sessions with Abadan and sent her in to goad them into proper exertion. She was quite skilled with both heavy and light swords, having learned from some of the finest outlaws in the Ash Kingdom in the days when the prince still ran free on four feet.

Henry had been more useful to his sister then. He shook off the thought and concentrated on the fencing exercise arranged for his benefit.

The men went easy on the princess at first, giving her a chance to warm up. Before long, the trio was engaged in fierce combat. Kate and Maarcus were evenly matched, though either could have killed Henry without risking personal harm.

Suddenly needing to prove his worth, the prince set tled into his task. He got off a lucky thrust, surprising all three.

'Not just a pretty face, after all,' Kate teased and went after him in earnest. In moments, he was cornered, only to be rescued by Maarcus.

The Shoreman held his sword to Kate's back. 'Rule number one, princess. Destroy the stronger before the weaker. Else you will always be outmatched.'

Kate lowered her blade and winked at Henry. Once Maarcus lowered his rapier, she spun about with her brother beside her. 'Rule number two, Sir Maarcus. Always know which side your companion is on.'

Together the twins took on the Shoreman until he bowed in surrender. When at last he called a halt, all three were breathing hard and well covered in sweat.

'Excellent, my prince.' Maarcus tipped his head. 'We might make you a swordsman yet.'

Henry shook his head. 'Passable perhaps, but I wouldn't rush to trust your life to my arm.'

Maarcus, the statesman-spy, laughed. 'Not to worry, sire.'

Kate returned her sword to the wall-rack and brushed her hands together. 'Now that we've done our duty. . .' She trailed off, confirming the prince's suspicion that the elder Maarcus had sent her.

'Supper?' Maarcus asked.

The others agreed and all three strode toward the dining hall.

Lyda wound her way through the old, oversized stable on her morning circuit. As always, the youngest and the oldest needed the most healing while those in between required the most talk.

The first group of refugees had been in the capital for weeks now, but peace was as far away for them as if they still trudged through snow-clogged valleys. The men were growing restless. They wanted to fight but feared meeting a fate similar to that which had befallen a number of their friends. Instead, they let anger mask the unspoken self-reproach for their perceived cowardice. The women tiptoed around their men, trying to comfort them and being scorned for their trouble.

Lyda looked down the rows of sleeping-pallets and bit her lip. Something would have to change soon.

She patted heads on her way past the new arrivals and whispered prayers to the Sisters, prayers that she had invented herself and was beginning to doubt anyone heard. That so many travellers had endured the Elfwitch's Autumn and now the deepsnows of winter was a wonder which even yet astounded her.

Beyond that, her self-proclaimed role here in The Cliffs was to welcome the spent voyagers and see them settled comfortably among the dozens of others, while at the same time steering them away from dividing into elves, dwarves, or humans. The three races naturally gravitated toward those they considered their own, no matter that they were from different towns. Lyda took advantage of their exhaustion and disorientation to anchor them among a group already rooted to her satisfaction.

Perhaps it was a small contribution, perhaps a large one. She wasn't sure. When she'd fled the elves' wrath and abandoned poor Willam that bright fall morning, she never would have guessed the road would find her leading this quiet sort of revolution.

By the time Lyda reached her own private corner, she half wished she could keep going right out the door. She looked at Willam, his chest rising and falling in regular waves after working long into the night. No, she had left him once; she wouldn't do it again. She wouldn't succumb to the temptation to escape without him.

Still, she needed air. Lyda gently kissed her husband on the forehead and whispered, 'Take your rest while you can. I'll be back as soon as I visit the privy.' He smiled in his sleep, looking as content as any man alive despite sleeping on the floor amidst hundreds of half-frozen strangers.

The snow seemed deeper than it had on her previ ous trip outside though she couldn't remember a fresh snowfall since last night. Was it her own exhaustion or the elfwitch's magic? Lyda didn't know, but she hoped Alvaria wouldn't waste her strength when fatigue and hunger were likely to cut down half the evacuees who managed the treacherous journey through the mountains.

Lyda tightened her scarf and headed away from the privy. She wanted a few moments alone and hoped to avoid chance meetings, especially at this well-travelled hour. She topped a rise and let out a strangely contented sigh. From here, the world seemed pure. It replaced her fears with faith.

The great stone palace and the surrounding near build ings loomed large yet welcoming. Her gaze rested there, where within a Sisters' week she would be meeting the prince for the second time. Another odd gathering to be sure. She doubted he would be any more certain of his place in this new order than was she, and both would pretend to the contrary.

She smiled to herself and the very air seemed to warm. A chill she'd forgotten she felt lifted from her bones. Thank you,' she whispered to the Sisters for her moment of respite, and turned to go back inside.

You're welcome,' someone answered.

'Who's there?' Lyda asked, startled out of her restored calm.

The elves showed themselves as if materializing from a dream, just as they had a few months and so many more footsteps ago. Their formerly shimmering, multi-colored cloaks had been transformed into a dazzling white, though the cloth maintained its bizarre power to stun the senses into not quite seeing what one thought. The elves' features were nearly lost amidst the blinding light, but surely thesewere the same elves who had spared her life and settled the turmoil in her soul.

'You've done well, better than anyone had a right to expect,' the tallest said.

Thank you,' she answered, although it seemed a curious sort of praise at best. 'You deserve a proper rest and to be soothed in your soul.' But his voice let her know they asked more of her.

Lyda wanted to collapse from the weight of his unspoken task, but she instinctively suppressed a plea for mercy and pulled herself up to full height. 'Yes?' she said, neither wholly inviting him to continue nor denying the oath which she had willingly pledged to him and his elven brothers in return for the great gifts they had given her.

'You have gathered the people to you and done the best you can. It is time for you to let these unfortu nates heal themselves while you embark on another trip.'

Lyda was confused. 'Are there others who need my help to find the paths beneath the deepsnows?'

'No, no,' said the elf in a calming voice. "The message has been spread. All but the unredeemable already make their way here - or will be once the snows melt. No. We have a secret, urgent quest for you.'

Something about the elf's request turned her knees to jelly. To her shame, she feared where they would send her. Lyda looked down at the snow. Every snowflake seemed stained with the blood of her cowardice.

Nonsense, Lyda told herself. She had led tens of starv ing exiles through the early deepsnows to The Cliffs. She could go wherever these elves directed her. She stiffened her resolve.

Even so, her voice quavered when she asked, 'Must I find the bracelet? As the one who sold it against your instructions, I owe you that much at least.'

The elf smiled, the first smile she'd seen. But Lyda thought she saw a hint of torment, as if these somber beings had looked into the abyss and barely flinched.

'Thank you, no. You have already repaid that debt.'

'Not to mention we already know the bracelet's where abouts despite those who tried to keep it from us,' added the elf standing off to the right.

'I'm pleased to hear it.' She paused, took a breath to gather her courage, and said, 'And what of Willam?'

'He is here with you, is he not?'

Lyda nodded. 'Indeed . . .'

'But?' prodded the elf.

'But something happened. A mage perhaps …' She could ask no more of these three who had given her so much.

'Be at peace. He will heal. The Sisters have taken him into account.'

Taken him into account? What did that mean? Once more Lyda had misgivings and once more she blamed her own reluctance to face a journey that was likely to be more harrowing than the long trek which had brought her to the capital.

'Your shopkeeper is a stalwart and steady man.' Another grin with the hint of darkness. He has been chosen to serve as your compass in this difficult task. You must both leave within a twin-day.'

Lyda's shoulders loosened with relief. She'd sworn and sworn against abandoning him ever again and the Sisters seemed to have heard this one prayer if not any others. "But he can barely find his way across a new town. How will he direct me?'

'The Sisters guide us all. Be at peace,' said the elves and dissolved into the night.

Lyda hoped it was true, for only after she made her way back from the privy did she realize they had not told her where she ventured or why.

Walther Shortdwarf's lessons with Abadan progressed, but he still couldn't fathom how he'd come to be taking them from the Magician in the first place. What was more, to be learning alongside the princess Kate - who was seemingly less talented than he struck the dwarf as bordering on the absurd.

Sometimes he couldn't decide if this were a blessed dream or a cursed nightmare, especially when Kate's studies went poorly. The princess had no patience for her own errors and there was no being around the woman when her anger ruled. She listened to no one but herself - and at times he wasn't sure she heard that. Better she unleashed her wrath in swordplay. Walther felt no regret when Kate left to join the men in the solarium. Her departure didn't improve Abadan's mood, however, and the dwarf was relieved when the magician ended the session shortly thereafter.

After twin doses of Abadan and the princess, the best antidote was Ceeley. The only other survivor of his village, his young niece had a way of reminding him of what was truly important.

He headed for her favorite spot, the indoor play-yard. Abandoned a generation ago and only recently reopened, the place still hung heavy with an air of disuse. Ceeley had thrown herself into attempting everything a six-year-old could to revive it.

Childsize practice swords were stacked along one wall, small to big, freshly dusted. Scraps of wood gathered from the Sisters knew where were called into service as blocks and doll-houses. Ceeley stood amidst these, her lips pursed in thought.