I’m too old for this.
Eles sunk into the soft, padded chair by the fireplace, warm cider in hand. Every inch of his body hurt: feet, knees, hips, back, shoulders, neck. In his youth he would have prized those aches as quickly healed trophies of physical challenges overcome. But now, they just hurt, and would continue to do so for weeks. Damn old age to hell.
Under normal circumstances, Eles would feel ill at ease in a fortified defense fort like North Guard. The people of North Guard were a hard lot and suffered no idle pursuits, be they scholarly or alchemical. Still, the Barter Inn offered a warm fire, a spiced cider, and a soft chair, and so it would do. It would do just fine.
Dargon had followed the Laverium brothers and the girl to this border fort, the closest place Kelshar could recover. It took them south, farther from Dargon’s kingdom, but Eles wondered if it mattered. How could Dargon return? The Laveriums and the Loderns share an enmity that goes back centuries, and yet the girl at the Crown had given them common cause, and a tenuous reason to ride as one to the fort, where they all benefitted from the treatment befitting the arrival of the noble Laverium brothers.
Landor promised to secure a soft bed for Kelshar to aid in her healing, as repayment for defending the girl against Garakul, but who knew how long that truce would hold? And what could Dargon possibly do next?
But for tonight, the fire, the cider, and the deep, deep chair.
* * * *
She hadn’t slept a night in a bed since her sixteenth birthday and it felt glorious. After a hot, soapy bath, a full meal, and twenty hours of sleep in the biggest bed she had ever seen, Kora finally relaxed and breathed easy.
Kora had serenaded the warrior woman at The Crown until hoarse that night, and the alchemist swore her song tipped the scales between death and life. Without the power of the flowers, she couldn’t see how that could be true, but appreciated the old man’s words, nonetheless.
Her thoughts swirled without end on the power of the dormu-lilies.
That power. That electrifying power.
She no longer energized herself and everyone around her. She had returned to dull, normal Kora again. Rationally, she recognized the loss as the best thing for her, and the thing that would keep her alive. Still, she already missed the fuel that surged through her and decided she must allow herself some time to mourn its loss; the loss of her power as well as the loss of the life she knew before this all began. The world had transformed into a cold, lonely place, a place without family or friend, and she had seen and lived through things nobody could possibly imagine.
The chambermaids of the inn had before them a young lady of the court, or so they believed. Someone to fuss over and preen didn’t come by often, and the maids made the most of it. They scrubbed and washed. They untangled, brushed, and braided. They reddened lips and blushed cheeks. They found her a fine, white, cotton dress and insisted on wreathing her hair in fresh baby’s breath. After a lifetime of sensible farm wear, and weeks of agonizing feats of survival, Kora allowed herself the indulgence of being cosseted like a noble Laverium.
The survivors of The Crown agreed to sup together that evening, downstairs from her room at the Barter Inn, and she might as well dress the part.
As she descended the creaking wooden stairs and looked over the handrail, she spied Elestran the alchemist and Dargon Lodern already sitting across from Landor and Calandoe at a secluded corner table. Would anyone believe that the Lord Lodern of Greyarch and a Laverium prince of Chrais would be breaking bread together? Landor saw her first, dismissed her as someone he didn’t know, and then looked again, recognition dawning on his face. The others followed his gaze and then all stood as she approached the table. Dargon slid her chair back for her.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Landor muttered.
She smiled, red-faced, and sat, as Dargon pushed her chair in. Truth be told, they all looked quite different, cleansed of weeks spent in swamps, mountains, and dusty roads. For the first time, Kora saw the similarity in physical appearance between Landor and his brother Morvan. Landor was not wholly repugnant, when not barking orders.
They enjoyed a meal of venison, potatoes, and fresh bread through a tense silence broken occasionally by terse comments on the quality of the food.
Finally, they lowered their voices and spoke of things that demanded discretion. Dargon whispered, “When Kelshar stabbed Garakul, she didn’t kill him the way you might think of death. She banished him back to the Chimera, the realm of Folke. Being expelled involuntarily weakens him terribly and it will be some time before he’s recovered enough to attempt to return to our realm. In fact, he may not return in our lifetime.”
“I think I can live with that,” Kora added wryly.
“I’m sure the Laveriums will be glad to hear he won’t be aligning with Ghaultic lords any time soon,” Dargon said with a smile.
“At least I’ll have some good news to share,” Landor replied.
“Surely your family will understand once you explain the circumstances,” Eles offered.
“Surely.” Landor said softly as he stole a glance at Kora.
She knew he would never want Kora discussing what had happened with Morvan, and she had no intention of betraying Landor’s confidence.
“Will you escort Kora home?” Dargon asked.
Landor stiffened as he took on a more formal tone. “Unfortunately, my business takes me west. Calandoe and I will be unable to accompany Kora home, but I’ve arranged for escorted travel to ensure she finds herself safely returned.”
“Oh. Thank you,” The words were kind and soft, but concealed surprise and disappointment. She had assumed she would be travelling south with Landor and Calandoe.
“I’ll… we’ll be sure to see you off in the morning,” Landor assured her.
After all they had been through, he would leave my return in the hands of others? Having lost her appetite, and her desire to be social, Kora excused herself and climbed the creaky stairs back to her room, more alone than she had been when she descended.
The last two people in the world she thought she could depend on… gone.
* * * *
Once the children had retired to their rooms, Eles lazily puffed a pipe provided by the inn’s proprietor. The contents of the silver-filigreed pipe engendered a soothing buzz behind Eles’s eyes as he leaned back in his padded, high-backed chair. Careful old man. Not too much of that.
Dargon leaned forward, elbows on table and chin resting on clenched hands, his intense eyes lost in thought.
“What will you do now?” Eles had wondered about it for two days. Dargon couldn’t return to Darkbridge, aged as he was. He had no dormu-lilies, no companions beyond Kelshar, and no hope of finding more of either. As far as Eles could tell, his plight was lost.
Dargon broke out of his trance and turned to Eles to reply. “Travel west.”
“West?”
“There’s only one reason Landor would travel west alone with his eight-year-old brother and leave that girl. The little brother has sensed a component.”
“Are you sure?”
Dargon smiled, that disarming smile that made Eles feel silly for bothering to question him. “Weren’t you listening, Phoenix? Landor can’t return home without some component for the Elixir of Seasons, and his little brother is the key. Follow him and we find the component.”
“What will you do? Take it from them?”
“If I must. Not necessarily. I’ve learned the value of apportionment.”
“Is it not too late? You’ll never make it back before the next council meeting.”
Dargon frowned. “It is. I will lose my seat as Head of the Council. That much is sure. And more damage will be done the longer I am away.” Dargon grimaced, as if imagining all the wreckage. “But if I can return, erelong, and show I am still favored by the gods, I can retake the Lodern patriarch position and begin the work to reclaim my standing in Greyarch.”
He smiled at that last part, and Eles imagined the idea of working to reclaim his political standing was a challenge Dargon would gladly accept after physically fighting off Keetie, Darkbridge warriors, a hydra, and Garakul. Dargon leaned forward into his hands again, staring forward, and Eles knew he already worked a hundred different strategies in his head.
“Am I expected to travel west with you?” The pipe contents obviously bolstered his courage.
Dargon withered him with a look.
“Yes, yes,” Eles replied, “an interminable, agonizing death.”
Dargon nodded. “Your work has barely begun, Phoenix.”
Some things never change.
“And you’ve proven yourself an indispensable ally.”
And some things do.
* * * *
The next morning, waves of heat came rolling in from the south, and by the end of breakfast, Kora’s clothes already clung to her, damp with sweat. As Kora walked out of the Barter, the stench of horse dung assaulted her. Folk were already hard at work, loading and unloading wagons, grooming horses, and herding livestock brought in from the plains to the south. Something burned nearby, and the smoke floated over her and clung to her skin. The stench, and the expulsion from her glorious bed, only added to her annoyance of being abandoned. As she approached the loaded merchant caravan headed for Owlrun, she saw Landor and Calandoe loading up their own horses with supplies.
Landor handed the reins to a stable boy so he could cross and meet her. “This will be a well-guarded transport. You’ll be safe on your voyage south,” he said with confidence.
“Thank you again, milord.”
He looked around and fidgeted a bit before continuing. “Much safer than you would be should you travel with us. That said… if you really want to… if you would rather travel with Calandoe and I, I would allow it. As a travelling companion, you’ve proven quite capable, and Calandoe has grown rather fond of you.”
Kora had never seen him so awkward before. She wondered whether he felt guilt at abandoning her, or because he really didn’t want her along and asked as a courtesy. Or was it something else? No. Don’t be a silly girl. His priorities were clear. Perhaps he wasn’t so different from the rest of his family.
“I do appreciate the offer, but I must decline. I’ve had quite my fill of noble families and their pursuit of false divinity.”
Landor stepped back, as if slapped, and his face toughened. “Of course you have. It was folly to suggest you wouldn’t want to return home. Forgive me.”
Harsh words, to be sure, but she felt that if anyone deserved to say them, she did.
Landor considered a moment, and then leaned in and spoke in a hushed, formal whisper, “You would be wise never to speak of such things as false divinity.”
“I could shout it at the top of my lungs in the middle of this town square. Who would believe me?”
“Nary a soul, I suspect. Still, if you persisted, you would be targeted. You would not be allowed to continue.”
“Not to worry. I shall keep your precious secrets.”
Landor’s jaw clenched, and it looked for a moment as if he might launch into a retort, but he checked himself. “Well, good travels to you, Kora Smythe,” he said brusquely with a bow of his head as he turned and marched back to his horses.
She almost immediately regretted the harshness of her parting words and felt a pang of loss as she watched him go.
Calandoe skipped over. “Do you want that sparkly paint I took from the priest?” he asked.
“You can have it.”
“I never had a sister,” he said matter-of-factly, “but you’d make a splendid one.”
Kora got down on one knee and grabbed the boy and pulled him in for a smothering hug. “You’d make an exceptional brother,” she said with a lump in her throat. Landor watched from his horse, but when she looked up at him, he looked away.
“Okay,” Calandoe said, and skipped back to his horse.
Landor helped him up into his saddle, and then mounted his own steed. With a final nod, he led their horses away. Somehow, Kora held back the urge to scream don’t go and resigned herself to the fact that she would never see the brothers again.
She had a seat in the coach kept for her, but she wasn’t in the mood for the company of strangers, and so she claimed a comfortable nook in the covered rear wagon. She settled down, spread her bedroll between the boxes and barrels, and grabbed her lute, ready for the ride south to Owlrun. From there, she would have a much longer river voyage to Southern Anduir.
Home. She wondered if it would still feel that way. She wondered what that old farm still had to offer her. She still had so much of the realm to see.
She strummed a gentle tune, feeling desperately alone, as the wagon started to roll.
Then she saw the small brown bowler hat sitting atop a crate.
Pipe smoke swirled out from behind the boxes, and she smiled.