A Facet for the Gem (16 page)

Morlen pretended to be intrigued by the table’s surface, chewing far more than his current portion required. Know? What did he know of Morthadus besides an ancient origin story, besides a claim that they were of the same bloodline? That blood’s potency had been greatly diluted before flowing through his veins, and he doubted Morthadus would even recognize him as an heir if their paths crossed.

But, maybe such an encounter could help him grasp the heritage his father had always wanted him to find, or finally verify that he had no connection to it. If he found the one for whom the legend was told, he could learn the truth and no longer need the legend.

“Morthad—” Nottleforf suddenly broke the silence while everyone turned to listen, abruptly drinking from his goblet before Morlen’s gaze reached him. He held up a hand to beg their pardon as though he’d been choked up. “More than… a few times,” he resumed with a scratched voice that slowly cleared, “I have heard of the Isle’s first warrior.”

Could Nottleforf really know Morthadus? Or, at least, could he have known him at some point long ago? Why hadn’t he ever considered the possibility before? Nottleforf had kept so much else a secret from him. Maybe he knew where Morthadus resided this very day, where he’d been since departing the Isle.

“But”—Nottleforf coughed and took another sip of ale—“his legend was limited to the Battle of Korindelf. And it endured long after the city’s liberation, bolstered by the many courageous acts of his descendants, whom I came to befriend, to my true benefit.” He looked across at Morlen this time, raising his cup in a humble salute, and Morlen lifted his as well, though comforted little by the gesture.

How could Nottleforf presume to recognize him as one of those he mentioned, after witnessing his failure in the Isle? Only now would he be able to demonstrate real courage, real greatness, when before he’d just been fooling himself. Now, relying on that which had brought him true strength, his potential would be endless.

Nottleforf cunningly changed the subject. “In my exploration of this hive, which, I will admit, still contains scores of passageways I’ve yet to travel, I discovered something extraordinary embedded within a crack along one of the rock walls. Something even my eyes would have likely missed had it not revealed itself through a chance flicker of torchlight.

“And, prying it out, I held it to the light: a fine gem, rare beyond measure, so beautiful that I kept it, and would like to show it to all of you now.” Sounds of delight traveled around the table; Morlen, too, was not uninterested to see.

Pleased by their eagerness, Nottleforf pushed back his chair and drew from under the table a strange copper contraption that resembled a disproportionate spider. It had a central compartment the size of an acorn, from which projected a circle of many long, narrow scopes like stretched legs, each one fitted with a clear magnifying lens through which to look.

Levitating it over the platters of food, he brought it gently down at the table’s center, its protruding scopes resting mere inches from each of their enthralled faces. “Due to its size, I’ve housed it within this device,” Nottleforf said in response to the questioning looks from all sides. “This way it might be seen up close by many at a time. Peer now into the chamber where sits the gem, and describe it.”

Smiling at one another as though about to partake in the night’s entertainment, the guests lowered curious eyes to the scopes before them. Morlen strained at first to see anything at all through a brown web of lashes that brushed against the circular glass. He retracted his head and then set his eye to the scope repeatedly, when finally, a bright core within the blurred cylinder sharpened as the gem appeared, clear as could be.

It was rough, and irregularly shaped, neither square nor round, with grayish silver veins etched through sky blue stone. Strange, it was not quite as extraordinary as he’d imagined, and he withdrew to look around at all the others, none of whom had yet uttered the fairly simple description he was about to give.

“What a gorgeous red hue,” blurted the man beside him without raising his head, “almost purple near its edges, and so smooth too.” Morlen furrowed his brow at this, hovering over his own lens as the qualities his neighbor announced remained completely absent.

“I’d check that eye if I were you, friend,” the gruff farmer snickered down the table. “Maybe you took one too many blows to the head while we were in captivity, or else you’d see the grassy green here the rest of us do.”

“What?” the woman opposite him laughed. “You’ve the worst eyes of any of us to see cloudy orange as anything near green.”

But, looking to her husband for support, she found none. “Cloudy I’ll grant you,” the bearded fellow said tentatively, “but, quite distinctly yellow… maybe orange near its top corners,” he added.

“Corners? It’s shaped as an oval, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to Morlen, who, in courtesy, looked once more, finding it quite unchanged.

Rumbles of dissent echoed from everyone present, none of them abandoning their emphatic appraisal.

“Lenses,” shouted one. “It’s a trick with the lenses. They must change color for every scope.”

A man beside him waved this off as nonsense. “Mine is clear as a well’s still water, and shows me the gem as you’d see it too if you hadn’t already drunk three goblets.”

Nottleforf’s hearty laughter mingled with the table’s stubborn unrest, growing stronger until all fell quiet, staring at him quite puzzled. With a wave of his hand, the central compartment out from which the scopes protruded opened at its top, and from inside rose an object the size of a blueberry, floating above for all to see. It was colorless, shapeless, composed of thousands upon thousands of different hues and forms, textures and shades, all connected together in one indefinable mass.

“What you each saw,” said Nottleforf, “was but a minuscule part of the whole. Yet, you asserted that it
was
the whole, that there was nothing to be seen past the edges you perceived. There are those who will look at something so small, so incomplete, for so long, it becomes their everything, and they forget how much is outside of it. To them, I would say, do not mistake a facet for the gem.”

Nottleforf’s attention fell firmly on Morlen now, silently imploring in a way that so closely resembled the unwelcome look Matufinn had often given, searching for awareness that was nowhere to be found, until the only response could be to look away.

The farmer broke the silence. “Well, I’ll say this, lord wizard. Caring little for your trickery myself, I’ll gladly listen to any advisor whose lessons are accompanied by meat and ale.” Others at the table laughed with him, but Morlen remained quiet as Nottleforf placed the gem back inside his multi-scoped device.

Soon the clatter of empty plates brought the large gathering to its feet, signaling time for rest as many retreated to their respective quarters. Offering nods of respect to both Nottleforf and Morlen, the rest of the group took their leave, and, though Nottleforf stayed seated, Morlen rose with them. After one last studious, prolonged glance at the wizard, he strode swiftly back through his own chamber and exited up to the surface.

Veldere was just visible beyond the treetops, and Morlen found its stillness far more unnerving than the clashes of steel against steel that were soon to fill it. Felkoth’s army would flood the city any minute now, expecting their sudden appearance on its streets to spell doom for the king and his people; instead they would find themselves tangled in the Eaglemasters’ awaiting snare. But, would they break through it nonetheless, spreading their flames through every home, to every bird and rider?

Coated in snow, he shuffled at the sound of doors creaking as Nottleforf came to stand beside him. His presence was slowly becoming more distinguishable through the bustling energies of so many others nearby.

The wizard stared far off through the trees and said forebodingly, “Felkoth will not be beaten so easily. He may not realize what sits prepared for him, but neither do the Eaglemasters know the true extent of his drive to conquer. Whatever the outcome of this night, I fear it may be just the beginning.”

Morlen stood unmoving for a long while. “You knew him,” he said, still looking ahead while the wizard turned to him.

“Knew?” Nottleforf asked, pausing for clarification, though Morlen was sure he anticipated his aim already.

“Morthadus,” he answered with certainty, the wizard’s mealtime slip having left no room for doubt on the matter.

At mention of the name, Nottleforf faced sharply forward, giving no answer. Morlen’s eyes followed him this time, and would not soon leave.

“Do you know him still?” he persisted, though this remembrance was the closest to anger he’d ever seen in Nottleforf, whose jaw tightened disdainfully at the question. “I don’t know what conflict existed, or still exists, between the two of you,” Morlen pressed on cautiously. “But, I think it might do some good, for me… maybe help me better understand where I come from, if I could find him.”

Nottleforf’s face relaxed a little, his many wrinkles gradually unfurling again while he peered far away. “It’s been centuries, Morlen,” he replied at last, in a voice far more somber than usual. “I no longer know where he is, or how I could possibly find him.”

Even this dim admission made Morlen’s heart beat stronger, leading him to a trail that was faded yet not completely lost. “But, you did know him, and you know, or at least suspect, where he might be now.”

Nottleforf fell silent once more, raising a stiff shoulder between himself and Morlen.

Desperate to keep this chance from vanishing, Morlen maintained pursuit. “You may have believed you were protecting me by keeping me from the truth when I was younger. But, I’m asking you now, don’t keep this from me. Please.”

Nottleforf stayed rigid, refusing at first to acknowledge him, as though the two of them would stand forever to see who could outlast the other, until finally, he lowered his gray head, breathing out heavily before lifting it again.

“I will help you find Morthadus,” Nottleforf said reluctantly, turning as Morlen’s spirits rose. “But, not tonight,” the wizard added stubbornly, leaving him in the clearing as he reopened the door at his feet.

Descending the stairwell, Nottleforf said with finality, “You should get some sleep. There’s no telling what the next few days will bring.” The two doors shut behind him, and Morlen stood alone, looking to the sky above Veldere, where the Eaglemasters flew ready for Felkoth’s imminent arrival.

Chapter Ten

Roftome the Untamable

R
oftome bore no
weight but his own. Never would he surrender his wings to the command of men, who sought only his submission, his servitude. And many had come, more than the feathers that covered his body and tail.

For he was greatest of the mountain eagles, strongest, fastest, behind whom all other wild birds followed, and no prize shone brighter in the prideful minds of kings, princes, and heroes. All had sought him out, braving bitter cold and razor cliffs to gain his allegiance, and all were harshly cast away. And now war, the device of men, was coming to pollute the lands on which he gazed day after day. He could see them bracing for invasion, swelling like a red cloud above their high walls, those who called themselves masters.

He splintered a boulder to dust at the very sight of them, and his unscratched beak billowed sedimentary powder that scattered in frosty winds. Most of the self-proclaimed masters had come to him before all others of his kind, swiftly recanting their title the very second they dared seat themselves upon him. And all were lucky to draw enough breath afterward to communicate with those who would be ridden. He pitied his brothers and sisters who’d bowed to such a station, whisking their keepers into battle while watching over the king’s domain, perching themselves within structures of wood to be groomed till they became as soft as those they carried.

Peace had forever eluded those dwelling in the five cities below, and tonight might see it vanish altogether. As much as he despised their meddlesome efforts to gain his loyalty, far more troubling were the forces that sought their overthrow. Fouler men and creatures were coming, and they would feast on every flock if given the chance.

Never before had he flown to war for any king. But, tonight, if his vantage point proved too distant to ascertain the stock of this conqueror who invaded his lands, he would have to fly in for a closer look.

King Valdis sat atop his eagle as it treaded air above the empty capital, with the Crystal Spear clasped firmly in hand, imagining Felkoth’s ribcage to be a fitting sheath. Three thousand Eaglemasters swarmed around him in the night sky, ready to rain down a final greeting upon the treacherous masses they’d once served as allies.

For a full year he’d wished to meet Felkoth in the field—longer than that, really, though duty had bound him to maintain a guise of civility. But no longer would he watch, powerless, while a once-bright haven for the free crumbled to a pen of torture and death. There would be no stalemate, not after this meeting.

The glittering surface of the Speaking River drew his gaze, bringing hope to the forefront of his mind. He’d been just a prince, hungry for glory, when the eagle Roftome tossed him into its depths. But, even now, he remembered its message quite vividly, a message he’d never repeated, though it had emboldened him every time he flew to war:

When the Crystal Blade meets the Crystal Spear

And fire soars to rule the sky

Your victory shall then be near

And the eastern war shall finally die.

His youth had slipped away, and countless battles had come and gone while he waited for the hero with the Crystal Blade to join him, dreaming that together they could cripple the hordes that oppressed so many. But, after decades without ever laying eyes on the elusive weapon or the warrior who wielded it, he suspected now he only waited in vain.

“Did all three of you pursue Roftome, after you’d completed the Wildland Test?” he asked his sons, who were near his sides. “There seems to be hardly an Eaglemaster who didn’t.”

“After what he did to this one?” joked Ivrild, gesturing at his older brother. “After hearing that the honorable heir boldly ventured into the mountains in search of the greatest pair of wings, only to wind up with two broken legs? No, I chose the most docile eagle I could find, just in case the responsibility to rule abruptly fell to me.”

Verald was glad he could now laugh at his near-death experience, though the memory still jarred him. “Broken legs were a mercy. He spun me so fast I was a foot away from splattering my skull against the cliff before I finally let go. And when I lay there sprawled out in the snow, he perched over me just to show that he could peck out my liver if he had a mind to. I almost froze before the others I’d traveled with flew me to the infirmary.”

Keen for chances to compete with his more seasoned brothers, Ondrel boasted, “I almost got him to let me mount. The first three paces of your approach are all that decide whether you hear any words in return, and if you mount without hearing, you’re as good as dead. When I came upon him, I looked him in the eyes before moving one inch closer, and I must’ve stood there for an hour waiting for his expression to change. But his eyes alone told me that nothing I did would convince him I was there for anything but my own gain, and all I’d gain from him was an extra orifice or two.

“I tried to show that being able to protect him, care for him, would make me as happy as flaunting him to my brothers in arms. But I think he knew that was a lie before I did.” He restlessly surveyed the city’s vacant streets, disheartened to see a normally booming hub of activity lying so dormant now. “I wish Felkoth would come already. I’ve got women to visit downriver. All this fuss shipping them to the lower cities is a great inconvenience for me.”

“Valeine will be just fine without her closest brother there to play swordfight for a day or two,” Ivrild replied, egged on by their older brother’s laughter. “I’d wager Veleseor’s the safest city in the realm, for once, under her watch.”

“Though it couldn’t have been easy to keep her there,” added Verald. “I’m sure Father’s relieved the worst is over after incurring her wrath at being denied a place here tonight. She’s liable to skewer any ferotaur within five miles of her city, knowing one of us may let loose the arrow that nails Felkoth to the dirt.”

Valdis turned to look south toward his farthest city. “I don’t want her here, not for this. She’s been raising a fine crop these past few months; her place is there, with them.”

“Besides, should Felkoth surprise us all and show up there instead of here, she may give him a brutal fight,” Ivrild declared, making light of the grimmest prospect.

Valdis shook his head, resenting the urge to laugh at the remark as he envisioned his daughter with only a handful of veterans and trainees. “Felkoth will not go there,” he said plainly. “With no way to hold the ferotaurs under his yoke as he does the shriekers, he’d only be fighting them too if Veleseor fell. He will come here.

“And, with my head on a pike and the capital burnt, he’ll press the four lower cities into submission.” Valdis chuckled loudly now, concealing his worry as his sons joined in, each of them eager to see the look on Felkoth’s face, and on the faces of those with him, when he arrived.

“How does a boy elude you, not once, but twice?” Felkoth’s voice carried strongly to every soldier as he stood looking out over the Isle’s lake.

Each man quietly begged him not to turn, to forget his disappointment at their failure and simply lead them on to where others would suffer instead. “A little boy,” he said more softly, though even those at the very back could not escape his words. Then, every heart became synchronized in a growing collective pulse as he slowly pivoted around to approach them.

“You were a boy, once,” he uttered sharply to one in front, whose breathing pattern quickened. “But now you are a man,” he added, drawing the Dark Blade into sight, and the ground seemed to move as all troops shifted slightly, preparing to hastily step back.

“What separates man from boy?” Felkoth asked, still studying the same soldier. “What is it that ought to have given all of you the advantage over this pest? I ask only because, since you failed, you obviously are not using it.”

The soldier’s throat tensed through a frightened gulp as he blinked rapidly, face still forward, avoiding Felkoth’s examining stare at all costs as the Dark Blade came nearer.

“How am I to trust any of you to deliver my rule upon the people of Veldere, upon countless children, women, and men, when you cannot even do this to one child when I ask it?”

Another man in the frontlines fervently declared, “We will serve you faithfully always, my k—” He gagged, his last words choked by blood, body collapsing upon reddened snow after Felkoth’s swiftly delivered sword pulled away. All others fought to hide their notice, while the unlucky one who’d been scrutinized before this began to tremble visibly.

“I cannot abide those who speak out of turn,” Felkoth continued, stepping closer to the clearly shaken soldier. “But, neither can I abide those insubordinate enough to keep silent when I ask very plain questions. What separates man from boy?” he hissed through a chill whisper, until the one he addressed barely opened a quivering mouth.

“I…” he muttered, while Felkoth craned his head with intrigue. “I… don’t know, my lord.”

Felkoth smiled crookedly. His tone bordered on the paternal as he patted the man’s shoulder. “No. Of course you don’t. What are we, anyway, besides what we want, and what we take? You wanted things, took things, when you were a boy, just as you do now.

“But, the only distinction I can make is, when you were a boy, if you wanted something that another had, and you couldn’t take it from him, well, you would just storm away in a huff, I suppose. But now, if you want something, and someone prevents you from having it, why, you would just cut off his head, wouldn’t you?”

The soldier’s knees bent weakly at this as he stammered again, believing Felkoth would act according to his answer. “N-no, my lord,” he whispered.

Felkoth focused on him more sharply. “No?” he asked. “Then you will be of no use to me against the Eaglemasters, whose heads I expect to see piled higher than their towering walls, and the same for any of their people who refuse to kneel. Is that understood by the rest of you?”

“Yes, my lord!” his army chanted in unison.

Felkoth grinned again through the dancing shadows. “Good. Start with this one whose lack of stomach offends me.” He pointed at the distraught soldier, and the man cowered until his comrades’ swords stifled his wails, the small thud of his severed head against the ground preceding his body’s fall.

Felkoth waded into the open lake, raising his sword for all to see. “We go now to taste the blood of Valdis and his men!” he yelled, and the loyal host cheered close behind, following their master down into the rippling water. The boy could not elude him forever. Once he seized Veldere, his vision would be doubled in scope, and he would cut down any who tried to block it from falling upon what was his.

He’d bested the Eaglemasters when they first crossed him at Korindelf, forcing them to abandon their predictable maneuver of dropping indiscriminate volleys. He would employ that very same strategy now, as none would see them coming—pillage and trample the masses through the streets, in their very homes, bringing Valdis to fall upon his sword.

He submerged with his scarred lieutenant Nefandyr while the others swam together toward the same luminous rift up ahead. Bogged down by armor and shields, they fought to move forward, concentrating diligently on their destination as the pocket inflated tenfold. It drew them in like a starving mouth until all had finally entered, finding themselves swallowed within the sealing doorway that swirled them about like beans in a cup, slamming each soldier down feet first to stand dry upon the paved roads of Veldere.

Felkoth straightened tall while breathing deep, marveling that he could stand so easily in the very heart of Valdis’s realm. But, with swords already pointed to flay the unsuspecting townspeople, his men glanced at one another, crestfallen at finding no targets. There was not one soul in plain sight, nor any sound to be detected, not even the grind of wagon wheels against stone or distant calls of merchants from scattered shops.

It couldn’t be—had Valdis truly anticipated this occupation? Charging through vacant snow-covered streets, they broke down door after door to no avail. Felkoth’s ire churned, and he confronted his lieutenant as the army overran a village square. “Nefandyr, you said the others would not divulge the secret of their transport here, that they thought it might lead Valdis to prevent any more from being sent over.”

The scarred man’s brows lifted high around wide eyes as he stared back in shock. “My lord…” he mumbled, “they wouldn’t have told anyone openly… the king himself must have suspected them—”

“The king?” Felkoth growled, raising his sword as Nefandyr backed away in fright.

“No, my lord,” he begged. “I didn’t mean… please… pl—” An arrow suddenly struck Nefandyr like a lightning bolt, vertically through the chest, slamming his body hard to the ground.

With his blade still reared back, Felkoth slowly tilted his head upward, and the others followed suit, seeing Prince Ivrild reset his bow as Valdis and the Eaglemasters swarmed above, far out of reach. Like beasts circling before a grisly fight, both armies watched one another quietly for a few slow-passing moments, the confounded invaders sizing up an amply prepared counter-offensive.

“Come for blood, young prince?” Valdis’s unmistakable voice boomed from the dense red cluster, followed by a crashing silence like thunderclaps foreboding rain. “You came to the right place.” Then, he raised the Crystal Spear high in a blinding flash and swung it down to point directly at the army’s center, bringing a volley that poured down in torrents upon Felkoth and his men.

“Take cover!” Felkoth shouted, scrambling to swing his round shield up for protection, his men doing the same though many were not quick enough. Their screams filled the air as the shower of arrows enveloped them.

“Sons of Veldere!” Valdis’s words pounded the sky again. “The Tyrant Prince has traveled far to taste our fabled hospitality. Give him and his servants the rich welcome they deserve!” The Eaglemasters let out a collective guttural bellow that rattled the eaves of houses around Felkoth’s pinned army, soaring closer in a sweeping formation while dropping wave after wave of projectiles with each pass.