The Borderlands (Book Two): War Read online

  Master Aethyll’s bushy eyebrows came together. “Excellent idea, Jaral. Let’s begin with an illumination spell. You boy.” He pointed. “What’s your name?”

  Samblar was a tall and skinny adolescent not long arrived from Dryadalis. He wore his blond hair short and spiked in a way that reminded Dale of Esme. Master Aethyll had already left for the Verge when the boy first came to them. He liked to use his magic to blow things up. It was annoying, but Samblar would be an asset on the warfront. He stood. “Samblar of Kelaryth, S’ar Aethyll.”

  “Well, young Samblar Ap Kelaryth, you shall begin.”

  After Samblar, each novice was called upon in turn to conduct the spell – one of the first spells they had learned. It was simple, but important, and with the wrong technique it quickly failed. Dale knew from experience; she’d failed it often. But the others were all demonstrating their competence.

  “Excellent, Troiden. Good to see you’ve stopped jigging about when you cast your spells.” Master Aethyll gave his approval once again as the young dwarf returned to his seat. Then he turned his bushy brows toward Dale and Agathina.

  Dale held her breath.

  “Agathina, please come forth.”

  Agathina squeezed Dale’s hand before standing, and Dale exhaled slowly. Great, I’m lucky last.

  Agathina stood in front of the southern arch, facing them; the sunlight fell on her hair making it shine like black silk. She closed her eyes and stilled her breathing. Then she raised her right hand, palm up, and whispered a word, barely audible, “Solas.” A globe of light materialised instantly, easily, its brightness growing with every second, glowing stronger than any other novice had managed.

  Master Aethyll had to shade his eyes. “Well done, Agathina. Thank you. I see your magic has continued to improve.”

  Agathina closed her fist and the light disappeared, leaving everyone blinking. She returned to her seat.

  Master Aethyll’s gaze followed her. He now knew what everyone else did: Agathina was the best novice among them. He would soon know who was the worst.

  “Princess, please.” Master Aethyll’s expectant expression returned.

  Dale tried to calm the butterflies that bounced in her stomach. They never helped. Jaral gave her an encouraging nod as she took slow steps and stood where Agathina and the others had. The other novices all wore the same expression. They hoped her magic would work for her – this time. Nice of them, but their concern for her probable failure wasn't exactly helping. The warmth of the sunshine on her back calmed her nerves a notch. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing – the easy part. Then she opened her second sight, where the elements that made up the world were revealed in the true realm – earth with its browns and reds formed a solid mat beneath; shiny particles like prisms of rainbows made up the air, and the yellow beams thrown by the sunlight represented fire. Tiny shards of blues and greens revealed the droplets of water that floated everywhere and had surprised the other novices when they realised water wasn’t constrained to the lakes and oceans. Above it all, in a silvery light, floated the aether.

  Dale had to draw on the latent power all around her and twist it into something through the spell. She picked at the elements of fire with her aura, gathering them and weaving them with air and aether. She tried to call them, just as she would call a friend. Some of them came to her, but she needed more. Frustration nibbled at the corners of her awareness. Two of the free spirits appeared, on this plane they looked like diamonds of light, but Dale recognised them. They were Jaral’s gnomes, Tut and Spiros. She hoped they were here to help rather than make mischief. Not that they would dare in front of Jaral, but Dale was never sure with the free spirits. She ignored them and refocussed, raising her palm; she willed a globe from a small fusion of air and fire. “Solas,” she commanded and opened her eyes to see the globe glow with a dull bloom, then disappear, like a torch with a flat battery. The two gnomes giggled silently with little hands over their mouths before Jaral gave them a scowl and they disappeared.

  Dale grimaced, but raised an eyebrow to glance diagonally at Master Aethyll. There it was – disappointment, just like a child with no presents Christmas morning.

  “Oh, Dale. Aren’t you excited? You’re finally going to be re-bonded to the Borderlands, and you get to see the prophecy. Things will start to happen now, you’ll see!”

  Dale winced as Agathina shoved a hairpin into the curled braid atop her head, scraping her scalp. Agathina’s smile reflected in the mirror, it was warm and genuine as always. Her friend had spent hours over the past year comforting Dale after their sorcery lessons when she had failed to do a simple spell, and here she was again, comforting. Agathina hadn’t lost hope like many of the others. She still believed Dale was the one who would save them from the Unseelie monsters. Like Dale’s mother, Agathina believed once Dale saw the prophecy her powers would finally awaken.

  “There, all done.” Agathina stepped back and appraised her work. Dale's long red hair now sat braided in a series of complicated knots and twirls. “It looks lovely. Rhys will be impressed.”

  Dale turned from the mirror when she noticed a blush starting. She couldn’t think about Rhys now or she’d throw up. If Master Aethyll hadn't known about her failure in sorcery, Rhys wouldn’t know yet either. What would he think of her once he did? “Well, I suppose we should dress. Here, you first.”

  Dale helped Agathina into her gown. It was made from fine golden silk that matched her eyes. She laced the back, and straightened the shoulders, then asked Agathina to twirl, which she did with a giggle.

  “Do you think Jaral will finally notice me?” Agathina asked. She’d had a crush on Jaral ever since she’d met him, not long after Dale had met him over a year ago. But almost every girl in Arcadia had a crush on Jaral. And it seemed he did everything in his power to encourage them.

  Dale smiled. “You’re so beautiful, and talented. I cannot see how he couldn’t notice you. Maybe everyone got it wrong. Maybe you’re the one the prophecy means.”

  Agathina put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dalendra. Everyone knows the saviour has come from hiding on Earth. Now, your turn.” Agathina picked up Dale’s dress, a long creamy white gown encrusted with tiny emeralds, another gift from Casandriella, Arcadia’s most famed seamstress.

  “But how can anyone really know if we’re all supposed to keep the prophecy’s revelations to ourselves?”

  “Dale, we’ve been over this. Some things are known. Some things can be shared, and you, my friend, are one of them. You’re the saviour, and everyone knows it.”

  Dale breathed in as Agathina buttoned the gown. “But some things you must never speak of?”

  “Well, to be more accurate, some things we're incapable of speaking of. The Prophecy won't allow it.”

  Dale turned to face her friend. “And there are things the prophecy showed you when you saw it? Things you’re not allowed to share?”

  Agathina’s eyes looked down. “That’s right. Things that make me sad, too. But they may not come to pass.”

  Dale frowned. “Well, why place so much faith in the stupid prophecy if you can’t even be sure it’s telling the truth?”

  Agathina shook her head. “Dale, you know why. The messages the prophecy gives to us are gifts. Gifts for us personally, and gifts to us as a whole. It's all relevant to our growth. To our stability. Even if its predictions don’t come to pass, Master Atapole says the prophecy teaches us lessons without the emotional exhaustion of having to learn them otherwise.”

  Dale sighed. Yes, Sa'r Atapole, Master of Philosophy. He was the only council member who had stayed in Arcadia while the others went off to war. He knew of Dale’s failures. At least he’d grown accustomed to them, but even he had no answers.

  “Now, let me look at you.” Agathina’s smile lit up her face. “Beautiful. Let’s go and impress them. Everyone will be on the terrace by now.”

  Dale’s heart stopped. “Who? The council members?”
>
  “Yes, they were arriving when I came to get you.”

  “And is Rhys with them?”

  “He should be by now.”

  Dale swallowed. She looked over her shoulder through her bedroom balcony window to the path in the distance that would take her over the mountain, toward Whistler’s Lake, and back to Joy. If she put one foot in front of the other, eventually she would arrive at the jetty, and if she wanted to she could simply hoist the sails of her little boat and feel freedom wash over her. She wouldn’t have to see the prophecy, she wouldn’t have to watch the disappointment in everyone’s eyes when it made no difference to her sorcery. She wouldn’t have to see Rhys and wonder how stupid she must look when she blushed every time he glanced her way.

  “Come, Princess.” Agathina touched her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  2

  Dale sat at the foot of the long dining table. The great hall's dim candlelight did little to hide the questioning glances from the dinner guests.

  “Take the humble turnip.” Ma’r Warmston sat to Dale's left, her jowls wobbled when she spoke. “Many wouldn’t consider it a delicacy, but no other vegetable is as versatile. It absorbs other flavours willingly. Try it, Princess, tell me what you taste.”

  Dale popped the cut of turnip into her mouth and was rewarded with an unexpected peppery richness that made her eyebrows rise. “Delicious. I can see why you were chosen to be our cookery master.”

  Ma’r Warmston gave her a wink and gulped the rest of her ale before calling Jenna over to refill her tankard. The capacity for dwarfs to drink still amazed Dale. “It takes skill to make something out of nothing." Ma'r Warmston wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "The war has taken more than its fair share of our produce and my stores are low. But we’ve got turnips coming out of our ears in the kitchens. This war will be won on turnips just as much as your magicks and prophecies, Princess, mark my words.”

  Ma’r Warmston’s voice echoed in the vast dining hall as a sudden silence descended and all eyes turned to Dale. Roughly fifty people sat in attendance. The council leaders and various elders had finally returned from the warfront to mark the special occasion. They'd greeted her politely on the terrace, but each of them failed to hide the unmistakable doubt in their eyes. The talk of war had been brief and full of empty hope, and Dale’s questions remained unanswered. The councillors’ drawn faces and slouched shoulders told her all she needed to know. The Unseelie gained ground with every new day, and the Seelie no longer believed Dale would be their saviour. A year ago, when she'd first arrived, the Seelie people were overjoyed to finally meet the chosen one – the young sorcerer to be. But they had seen no further proof of her special abilities, and many whispered they were all doomed.

  “How goes your training, Princess?” Ma’r Sivylla, Master of Healing, took the opportunity to ask the question on everyone's mind. Her voice carried from the middle of the table, easily reaching the ears of every guest.

  Dale tried to answer but her voice caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, how to respond. How could she tell them she could barely summon an illumination spell?

  “Dalendra is progressing well, Ma’r Sivylla, particularly in combat.” Her mother spoke from the head of the long table where she sat on the large chair. Her white dress, inlaid with silver, matched the colours of her crown. Tonight, she looked every inch the queen she was, her head held high, blond hair rippling past her shoulders. One thing Dale cherished above all else in the Borderlands was that she had a mother who loved her.

  “Combat? Is this right, Princess?” Sa'r Conaril, the combat master, asked, a look of surprise on his face. Like the other masters, he'd been away at the Verge for so long he had no knowledge of Dale's skill in magic, combat, or anything else for that matter. Clearly, her mother had done little to enlighten them. A thread of irritation made Dale purse her lips, but she took a deep breath. Her mother would only do what she thought best for her.

  Dale nodded at the combat master. “I enjoy it.” She was supposed to excel in sorcery but it was in combat Dale had found solace. She understood it. The balance, the movement. The hum of a sword when she swung it through the air. It was like a dance, and it gave her a sense of freedom, similar to sailing. When she practiced with her sword her worries dissolved.

  “Oh, yes, she is a fine one,” Jaral spoke, his amethyst eyes gleaming their usual cheekiness. He wore his blonde braids up tonight, accentuating the angle of his eyes and cheekbones. No wonder the girls all loved him.

  Dale chewed a lip, wondering what effrontery would come out of his mouth next. Jaral rolled up his sleeve and showed a bruise on his forearm. “This is what I got when I tried to best her the last time we trained. She’s accurate and swift with the sword, there’s no doubt of that.”

  “Mmmm, but you’re lazy on your feet, Jaral Ap Xilandoryl,” Sa’r Conaril replied.

  Jaral put a hand on his heart and looked overly offended, but everyone laughed and Dale could have hugged him. Trust Jaral to ease the tension.

  Her eyes found Rhys, sitting next to her mother, his gaze as stoic as ever and Dale’s blush returned. She took a sip of her wine. She’d not said a word to Rhys yet. The last time they’d seen each other they'd kissed. And now if she were to speak with him her tongue would turn to stone, or worse, she’d say something entirely stupid. She glanced at him and his gaze hadn’t moved. She took a larger gulp of the wine.

  Sa’r Conaril continued, “I look forward to the trials and seeing how you have advanced with the sword, Princess.” His eyes smiled with warmth and he raised his tankard.

  Dale raised her wine in return. At least there was one skill she was confident in, and she’d be able to prove her worth in some small way in the trials.

  “Odd, I don’t remember any mention of this skill in the prophecy.” Sa’r Atapole asked. “Sorcery, yes. But not combat. How would you explain this, Princess?" The philosophy master’s silk philosopher's cap sat lopsided as usual.

  Dale looked down. She had no idea how to explain it. And why was Sa'r Atapole asking anyway? He already knew about Dale and her skills, or lack thereof.

  “As you know, Sa’r Atapole,” the queen spoke. “Dalendra has yet to visit the prophecy. You will remember it is customary for changelings to view it after they have been re-bonded.”

  Sa’r Atapole’s eyebrows knitted close, making his little eyes even smaller. He was the only master among them with round ears – a Novu. Aside from Balak the horse master of course. But Balak hadn't attended the dinner. “Is this wise, Your Majesty?" Atapole asked. "I assumed you’d have shown the princess long before now, given the circumstances.”

  “I think it best that none of us assume too much, Sa'r. We all know our goal, but there are many little steps to be taken in order to achieve it. If we trip over our feet and fall, it will never be attained.” The queen’s eyes burned with something close to anger, wisps of red tendrils lashed in her aura for an instant before they were quelled. “Now that Dalendra is of age, she shall indeed visit the prophecy. But not before she is sacramentally re-bonded to the Borderlands. In any case, it's my expectation that viewing the prophecy will spark her latent powers.” The queen smiled, but Dale’s stomach knotted. What if her powers decided to remain latent forever? What if it was all a huge mistake and she wasn't the one the prophecy meant at all?

  The main course was cleared by the servers – townsfolk who lived down in the city. Dale knew most of them and had befriended some. Everyone had their job to do in this world, but none were looked down on. Not like back on Earth where people were judged according to their social status. It was another thing Dale loved about the Borderlands. Besides, she usually helped clean up. Not tonight though.

  A dwarven elder who Dale had never seen before cleared her plate.

  "Thank you," Dale said.

  The elder gave her a broad dimpled smile and bobbed in a quick curtsy. "Helgda Ap Borugal at yer service, yer worship."

  Dale's eyes widened as
the little woman waddled off. Despite being a princess, Dale had never been curtsied too. Her questioning gaze caught Jenna, also clearing, who gave Dale a shrug and whispered, "Helgda's come in with the other refugees from the north this morning. Says she wants to serve in the palace."

  Dale nodded and gave Jenna a smile as she moved on then risked another glance at Rhys. His focus was now, thankfully, on Sa’r Aethyll, deep in conversation with the elder Sa’r Goriel on his left. Rhys’s hair still hung in dark brown curls that framed his perfect face. But there’d been some changes in him. The line of his shoulders had broadened, and he wore the shadow of a beard now along his defined jaw, which served to heighten his dark, brooding nature. It was little wonder he’d been so popular at St. Nino’s. Dale’s heart fluttered just looking at him. Could she really blame Prudence Feathertop for her crush back at school?

  Dale opened her second sight; Rhys’s aura was a mess. An orange-red glow emanated from him, and was pierced haphazardly with blue and green spike-like shapes. Rhys was trying and failing to get his emotions under control. Something like gladness washed through her. At least she wasn't the only one battling emotions. But what was bothering Rhys? Perhaps he was worried about the ceremony to come. She snapped her vision back and wished the formalities would draw to an end so the midnight ceremony could be over and done with – when she and Rhys would be exchanged. Him, bonded back to his home of Earth, and Dale to the Borderlands where she was born. Changelings no longer. Rhys turned his head and his black eyes found hers. A blush as hot and turbulent as wildfire swept under her skin. But a loud cheer made her break his gaze and turn, and she resisted the urge to fan her face.

  An elaborate cake was presented for dessert. It took up a large section of the table and Dale’s mouth fell open. It was truly a work of art – a replica of the palace. White icing with delicate carvings of birds and forest scenes, exactly like the opulent facade of the palace, decorated the cake. Five levels of it stood almost as tall as a person, well a dwarf at least, and at the very top sat a single arched room with a small green crystal inside – the Emerald Tower where the prophecy was housed.