The Borderlands (Book Two): War Page 9

  Dale sheathed the sword with a sharp swoosh. “Why don’t you ask her?” Dale said, and she slammed the reins. Finally, Stella moved at a canter and they were back in the forest.

  Agathina’s skills would prove to be even more useful now. And Dale would appear even more useless. Well, maybe there was a way she could contribute after all.

  9

  The next morning, after another night of bad dreams, Dale yawned all the way up the stairs to her mother’s chambers. The door creaked when she opened it, but none of the war council members were present yet. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Her eyes fell on the painting above the fireplace as they always did. The old family portrait depicted her mother, grandparents, and her mother’s sister, Aunt Farryn. Dale’s grandparents looked young, no older than the queen was now, their beauty just as breathtaking. Their daughters, Anwyn and Farryn, were so alike they could have been twins. In the portrait, they were young women, perhaps Dale’s age, Farryn slightly older. Dale’s grandparents, and her aunt had all been killed years ago in a battle when the Unseelie had attacked the palace. Her mother, the only survivor, had assumed her role as queen once the Unseelie were defeated. Ness and Gareth had played a part in their victory. As had her father. That much she knew. Gareth was dead, and she had no knowledge of where her father was, but if she found Ness somehow, maybe...

  Dale stepped to the large table in front of the fireplace that held an assortment of maps, books and scrolls. A map of the Stonwold Mountains lay within an arm's reach. Five large mountains, at least eight smaller ones and hundreds of hills dominated the vast northern province. A sprinkling of villages dotted the landscape, but in the tallest mountain nestled deep within, was the city of Storyg. Dale raised an eyebrow. It was certainly bigger than what she had imagined it to be. So far, she’d not travelled much farther than the outer villages surrounding Arcadia. There were thousands of other towns and villages in the Borderlands to explore. As princess, she should really get to know them. But that would have to wait until after the war. If we survive. She turned her attention to the big map laid out on the centre of the table. Clay figurines – horses and soldiers mostly – stood to attention, depicting the latest battle strategy.

  It was difficult to judge the distances accurately, but Dale estimated Arcadia was perhaps three hundred leagues from the current war front. The front had moved from its original position, the Verge, a thousand leagues to the north. The Verge was considered ‘no man’s land’ and in times of peace that’s exactly what it was supposed to be. Not occupied or owned by Seelie or Unseelie. It was a neck of land, a valley in fact, between two vast mountain ranges, and those mountains remained the territory of the First. Magical borders prevented anyone, Seelie or Unseelie, from entering. The lands of the First divided the two worlds of the Second – the Borderlands and the Underlands where the Unseelie lived.

  Dale wondered again why the First were so secretive, and why they no longer walked among the Second. Master Atapole had told them, in his philosophy lessons, the First had done all they set out to do, and were now free to live in their own world having completed their work in creating the Second and the Third.

  Sa’r Aethyll said all the First demanded was balance, and the moment one of them stepped out of their world into the territory of the Second, or the Third, the balance of our universe tipped and dire consequences could emerge to counteract it – disease, flood, fire.

  Her mother had told her the First had given up hope once the Second divided themselves into two courts, and that peace and harmony could never be achieved where such oppositional forces clashed. So they'd turned their back on the Second, and certainly on the Third, who were even more divided in their hatred of each other. Dale couldn't deny it. War on Earth was a constant reality.

  “Do you have a strategy in mind, Dale?”

  Dale looked up to see Sa'r Coneril enter the chamber, his dark hair tied back in the usual long braid, ready for battle. She exhaled a sharp breath. “Not really, I’m just curious.”

  “How are you today? You excelled in the combat trials. You’ve a good sense of discipline to master the sword as you have.”

  Dale grinned. “Thank you, Master. I'm well. A little sore perhaps.”

  “No doubt, it was a long fight, most battles aren’t so long, though some are much longer.” He pointed to the map and moved two figurines. A gargoyle-like monster wielding a battleaxe represented an Unseelie contingent, which he placed alongside the river. Opposing it, he positioned a mounted soldier, representing their side, the Seelie.

  “This was the last battle I fought, about a week before we left the front to return here. We were hoping to secure this bridge to halt the Unseelie advance. The battle lasted half a day before we knew we were losing, and so we crossed the river and our sorcerers destroyed the bridge. We stalled them, but we’ve also made it more difficult to return and retake our territory."

  Dale looked further to the south. “Are the Stonwold Mountains safe?”

  Sa'r Coneril raised an eyebrow. “You have an eye for this. Yes, for the moment. Unfortunately, an outlying village was burned to the ground. There were casualties, but most managed to flee to us. Many of the men have taken up arms and some of the women. The elderly and the children made their way to Storyg to shelter. Some went to relatives in villages in the countryside, a small number came back with us, as you know.”

  Dale nodded. The dwarven folk of the newly ruined village called Borugal had arrived with the others from the war front. Her mother had breakfasted with them and welcomed them to Arcadia. One of them, a small elderly woman called Helgda had insisted on serving them in the palace. Dale had spotted her polishing urns, beating rugs and tapestries, and washing linen in the large washrooms in the base of the palace. She always sang when she worked.

  Dale studied the Unseelie armies spread out on the northern side of the river. “Is this an accurate representation of numbers? It looks as though we’re about even.”

  Sa’r Coneril sniffed. “It’s difficult to be accurate. When we fight them their numbers seem to swell, there really is a horde of them out there. They’re using some kind of necromancy, bringing their dead back to life for a time to fight. An army of the dead do not require food. We kill them, but they come back. It makes us wonder if killing them is making our task that much harder.”

  “How is this possible?” Dale asked.

  “Their sorcery.” A voice came from behind and Dale turned to see Sa’r Aethyll limping toward them, beard swaying, he carried a book under an arm. “Their power has reached such a level of mastery never before witnessed. I’ve consulted every history book I can think of.” He dumped the heavy tome on the table. “But I’ve not seen any record of magic-use of this kind. The necromancy, the numbers, the seemingly permanent manipulation of weather.” He looked down his nose at Dale. “Of course such things are written in one place.”

  Dale shivered as a rush of awareness gripped her. “The prophecy.”

  Sa’r Aethyll gave her a nod. “Their numbers and their power – it’s all out of balance. And the prophecy speaks of our saviour who is supposed to rise and restore everything to order. But if that’s going to happen it had best happen soon.” His aged hands moved the figurines. “I’ve just scried Hemlyn. He’s informed me the hordes have advanced another ten leagues south.”

  “Three Worlds!” Sa’r Coneril hissed, baring his fangs. “We need to return to the front, and soon.”

  “The queen says we're to leave tomorrow, with or without Rhys.”

  Sa’r Coneril nodded. “That is wise.”

  Dale swallowed. The realisation hitting her again that the prophecy was their only answer, and the same old frustration swelled in her chest. “What if we had more sorcerers? Wouldn’t that help?”

  Sa’r Aethyll’s silver eyebrows fell so low they almost covered his eyes. “Mmmm, it would help to assuage them. But not put them back where they belong, I fear.”

  “What if we had Ness back?” />
  His eyes widened. “Nessa is… was, one of our most powerful sorcerers. Her experience and her level of magic would have helped a great deal, perhaps we could have overcome them at Golath’s Pass if she'd been there.” He shook his head making his long beard weave back and forth like a fat snake across his stomach. “But, alas, such talk is futile. She is no longer with us.” His eyes closed and Dale sensed his deep sadness. She wasn’t the only one who missed Ness.

  “But, are we sure she is dead?”

  The sorcerer’s eyes opened. “Princess Dalendra, your mother and I, and even Hemlyn at the front have tried to reach Ness. Rhys and Jaral too. If she was alive, we would have sensed her on the Planes.”

  “But what if Ricardo was blocking her?”

  “Even so, the free spirits we have sent would be able to find her.”

  Dale frowned; something wasn’t right.

  “Does the princess have permission to be privy to our war table?” Dale turned with a frown. The philosophy master had entered and stalked toward them with hunched shoulders. His cap bunched lopsided on his head, his round ears visible. Balthrop followed him, carrying a tower of heavy books that he plonked loudly on the table. Balthrop wore his robe in the style of a medieval monk with a strand of rope tied around his broad stomach. Dale gave him a nod when he smiled at her. The philosopher’s novice would be staying, too, when the others left tomorrow.

  “Master Aethyll, she is the princess," Sa’r Coneril said, a look of bafflement in his eyes. "I'd say it's high time we included her in such discussions.”

  The philosophy master drew himself up. “We still haven’t found that traitor, you know. Someone was leaking information to them in the past, we cannot be too careful.” His small eyes squinted as he looked at Dale, assessing her.

  Dale’s mouth fell open; surely, he didn’t think she could be the traitor?

  “What are you suggesting, Atapole? That Dale, who didn’t even know we existed a year ago, has been collaborating with the Unseelie?” Sa'r Coneril's voice seethed and Dale thanked him silently for defending her.

  She narrowed her eyes at the philosophy master. He'd always been so cold to her.

  “Of course I’m suggesting no such thing. I'm just reminding you we need to be careful about who we share our strategies with, that's all.”

  “That’s not how it came across to me!”

  Dale wanted to block her ears. They shouted at each other now. Wherever she went she seemed to cause disharmony, imbalance. She took a deep breath; maybe her very existence was somehow causing this conflict.

  “Gentlemen!”

  Dale turned to see her mother walk toward them. She wore a white gown embroidered with white silk and diamonds. And once again, the Arcadian crown sat on her head. The regal power of her presence seemed tangible.

  “Please, let us not fight amongst ourselves. I invited the princess to join us. It is time she was privy to our discussions.” The queen’s presence calmed them, and the two masters hung their heads a little.

  “I apologise, my queen,” Sa’r Coneril said.

  “It is all right. With everything so tense we are bound to snap at each other.” She nodded to them. “I have good news. Rhys has returned.”

  Dale’s heart leapt.

  “I’ve just come from the kitchens,” the queen continued, “I’ve ordered a royal feast here at the palace. I want all of Arcadia to forget our troubles for one night of joy, and tomorrow we shall say farewell.”

  “Where’s Rhys now?” Dale asked.

  “Resting,” her mother replied. “You can see him tonight.”

  Dale nodded but knotted her hands. Would he have news of Ness?

  10

  Dale returned to her room with hands that itched for her sketchbook. After all the talk of war a good hour with her art would help calm her mind. When she got to her door, she found it open and paused. I could have sworn I’d left it closed. With a shrug, she entered her room and nearly ran into Helgda who was on her way out.

  The dwarf elder squeaked and placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, Princess, yer frightened the breath out of me.”

  “I’m sorry, Helgda, I didn’t know you were in my room.”

  Helgda fanned her face. “No, I s’pose not.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” Dale asked, quickly adding, “Not that I mind.”

  Helgda had rosy round cheeks, which bloomed rosier and rounder when she smiled. “Well, I’m not wont to sit idle while there’s work to be done, me Lady. And Ma’r Warmston bustled me out of the kitchens when I tried to show young Orgatha how to churn the butter good and proper like we do back home.” She put a hand up to her mouth and whispered, “We use rock salt.”

  Dale raised an eyebrow and nodded.

  “But Ma’r Warmston would ‘ave none of it, yer worship. So, I puts me hands to work elsewheres and begins to dress the rabbits as rabbits should be dressed, there’s a lot to do for a feast, yer know, and as quick as quick as an adder on hot stone, Ma’r Warmston’s telling me what-for, that she wants the rabbits dressed with sage and turnips, rather than garlic and tatties. I means, turnips!”

  “Ah,” Dale wracked her brains trying to understand how this meant Helgda was in her room and what she could possibly say next as the dwarf elder’s large grey eyes seemed to be waiting for a response. “Unthinkable,” she finally uttered.

  “Exactlies, yer graciousness. And so I told her, I told her good, I said, in the mountains tatties are nature’s partner to rabbits, in yer stew, or yer roast, it matters naught. Our tatties grow all over the mountains. Well, she told me to take me tatties and… well, I’m not wont to repeat it in front of yer magnificence, but it weren’t propers or true like. And then yer good mother walks in to check on preparations for the feast.” She blinked as she took a breath, seeming to wait once again for Dale to respond.

  “Yes?” Dale hoped the conversation would end at some point, or the whole war might be waged and won, or lost, without her as she listened to Helgda’s seemingly endless prattle. Perhaps they should send Helgda to the war front and she could talk the Unseelie to death.

  “Yer sweet mother suggests I might help yer with yer bathing and yer dressing because yer’ve had a little tiffs with yer friend and yer’d need some help with yer gown she did tell me.”

  Dale’s mouth fell open. “Oh.” So, her mother knew about her ‘tiff’ with Agathina. Of course, she would. She’d be able to tell just by reading their auras. For some reason it made Dale feel even worse. Another disappointment for her mother to shoulder – her daughter squabbling with her best friend, and all over a man. Stupid!

  “So, Princess, I’m to help with yer preparations. First, yer needs yer nourishment.” Helgda turned and pointed to the balcony. “I’ve prepared yer luncheon, a good meal, mountain-style with fresh goat’s cheese I made meself with mountain salt.” She sniffed. “I don’t care what the Ma’r says about the likes of rations and stores, a princess deserves the best and the best is from the mountains.”

  Dale stepped to the balcony where a little feast had been laid out on the table. Flatbread, olives, goat's cheese, pickled pork, stewed apple with cabbage and a goblet of rose wine. “Ah, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Think naught of it.”

  Dale jumped. Helgda, beaming with a grin as wide as her head, now stood right beside her. She reached up to put one hefty hand on Dale’s shoulder, sit her down, and flick a linen napkin over her lap. “Now, yer enjoy it, Princess, and I’ll be off to fill yer bath in the washroom. I’ve already plucked the roses. Come down nigh on when yer done and we’ll give yer a good scrub!” Helgda gave her a smile that was all cheek and dimples and promptly left, humming a tune as she went.

  Dale blinked. I need to make up with Agathina, and soon!

  For the rest of the afternoon Dale thought longingly of her sketchbook as she was scrubbed, rinsed, dried, powdered, and perfumed. Her hair was rinsed with rosewater and brushed with rose oil, and her stomach fed once mo
re “to be sure, to be sure,” Helgda told her.

  Dale had been prattled at for hours. She’d zoned out after a while, only paying attention with each moment of rare silence – an indication that her new over-zealous maidservant was waiting for a response. But some snippets of Helgda’s chatter held Dale’s interest. The old dwarf had seen the Unseelie horde with her own eyes when she’d escaped her village, to the far north of the Stonwold Mountains. Helgda’s descriptions made the Unseelie seem just as monstrous as Dale’s visions had depicted them to be. She shivered when Helgda spoke of skeleton-like bodies, with arms as long as their legs wielding hammers, scythes and axes. Or the ape-like creatures with tails and webbed-winged arms that flew short distances.

  “But some of ‘em,” Helgda told her. “Some of ‘em are as handsome as yer grandfather was, yer ladyship.”

  Dale’s ears twigged at that and she urged Helgda to tell her when, why, and how she’d met her grandfather. Helgda obliged and spoke of her youth when she’d come to Arcadia to view the prophecy stone and fell in love with Dale’s grandfather on first sight. Something she'd kept secret till now, she said.

  “Prophecy stone?” Dale turned on her chair to Helgda who’d been brushing her hair. “You’ve seen it too?”

  Helgda creased her brow. “Aye.” She held Dale’s cheeks between her two large soft hands and gently turned her head and resumed brushing Dale’s hair. “Me mother insisted. She tolds me the prophecy stone tolds her, me father would be her husband. And we’re all glad it did, as there’d be naught chance they’d ‘ave got together if me good mother didn’t go and nag him into wedding her. My Da, he’s a quiet one, would yer believe it, Princess? Shy as a mountain mole.”

  No. Dale couldn’t believe it. “So, the prophecy. Did it tell you anything… interesting?”

  “Matter of fact it did. It showed me sommat about yerself, yer radiance.”