Horses thundered over the top of the hill. Arista was amazed by the elegance and grace of the elven lords, dressed in gold and blue with lion helms. With them was Modina, accompanied by Mercy and Allie, who looked exhausted.
One of the riders dismounted, removed his helm, and approached the group. He pointed to the horn and spoke quickly in elvish. Arista could not decipher every word but caught the gist of his introduction as Irawondona of the Asendwayr, who had been the acting Steward of Erivan. He inquired who had blown the horn.
The Patriarch stood before the elven lord and raised his arms. As he did, his features changed. His face grew longer, his nose narrowed, his brows slanted, his ears sharpened, and his eyes sparkled with a luminous green. His frame became slighter, his fingers longer, thinner. The only thing that remained unchanged was the white, near-purple hair. “ Behold Mawyndule of the Miralyith, soon to be King of Erivan, Emperor of Elan, Lord of the World. ” The words were spoken slowly, deliberately, such that even Arista understood each one.
He threw his head back, cast his arms straight out to his sides, and slowly rotated, giving them all a fair view. Everyone, including the elves, stared, stunned by the transformation.
Mawyndule and the elven lord spoke quickly to each other. Irawondona pointed toward Modina during the exchange. Arista was catching only bits and pieces but her heart sank when she heard Myron mutter, “Uh-oh.”
He added, “Mawyndule knows about Gaunt.”
“What?” Arista asked.
“He just told Irawondona that he blew the horn, and the elven lord said he has brought his opponent. But Mawyndule said Modina is not the heir, that Degan is, and that Degan is hiding in the hole behind us.”
Mawyndule turned to face them. “I know all about your plan. Your guardian should have paid more attention to Esrahaddon’s warnings. Or did you merely forget what he told you the last time you met?”
Arista looked at Hadrian quizzically.
“He said a lot of things.”
“He explained,” Mawyndule said, “that he couldn’t tell you anything because all his conversations were being overheard.”
“You’ve been listening?” Arista asked.
“I paid close attention to Esrahaddon until he died, but he rarely said anything of importance. Listening to him was easy, as I knew him so well. While you were on your little trip, I monitored the dwarf. The Art did not work as well with him, but it was enough.” He looked at Magnus. “I’ll deal with you after I’m crowned. In the meantime, you might as well signal to Royce to bring Gaunt up. He’s quite safe. No one can harm him or me now that the blessing of Ferrol is upon us. We are protected from everyone. It’s only during the competition that we can be harmed and only by each other. So the last of Novron’s line is safe until dawn tomorrow. There are rules to this ritual and we must observe them.”
A rustle in the thickets announced the approach of two figures from the mouth of the hole. Degan shuffled forward with Royce behind him. Gaunt looked sick, pale and sweaty such that his bangs stuck to his forehead.
Mawyndule turned to Lord Irawondona and announced in elvish, “ This is the heir of Nyphron. ” He then motioned toward Gaunt.
The elven lords and an old owl-helmed elf looked skeptically at Gaunt. They appraised him for several minutes, then spoke at length with Mawyndule. When they were finished, the elves, along with Mawyndule, returned up the hillside, leaving the party in the snow.
“What happened?” Hadrian asked.
“The challenge will begin at sunrise tomorrow,” Myron explained.
The elves made camp on the crest of the hill. The rest of them gathered outside the Hovel, which hid in the shelter of holly trees partway up the slope. Hadrian built a fire and asked the boys to gather more wood, which they did, restricting their search toward the bottom of the hill. The process was slow, as the boys continued to look over their shoulders toward the top of the hill.
Modina and the girls were permitted to join their own kind and she found a place for the girls near the fire before approaching Arista. She was dressed in a dark lavish gown and raised the hem to pick her way around the others.
“What’s going on?” the empress asked.
Arista reached out and took her hand the moment she was near. “It will be fine. Degan, as Novron’s last descendant, will fight tomorrow. If he wins, he’ll become ruler of the elves and they must obey him.”
Modina’s face was creased with worry. She looked at those circled around the fire. “If Degan loses, we have no hope. You have no idea what the elves are capable of. Aquesta was destroyed in just a few minutes. The walls fell and every building not made of stone has been burned. I’m afraid to even consider the number of dead. I tried, I tried everything, but… they walked through us with so little effort. If Degan fails…”
“He won’t fail,” Hadrian said. “Arista has a plan.”
“I can’t take the credit,” she said. “It was Esrahaddon’s idea. I think this was his intent from the moment he escaped Gutaria.”
“What is it?” the empress asked.
Arista and Hadrian exchanged looks before Arista said, “I can’t tell you.”
Modina raised her eyebrows.
“The Patriarch is really an elf and a very powerful wizard. He’s the one who challenged Degan. Apparently he has the ability to eavesdrop on conversations like this one.”
Modina nodded. “Then don’t say a word. I trust you. You haven’t let me down yet.”
“How are the girls?” Arista asked.
“Frightened. Allie has been asking about her father and Elden. I assume they are…”
“Yes, they were killed. As was my brother.”
Modina nodded. “I’m sorry. If there is anything I…” The empress choked up and paused. She wiped her eyes. “Dear, sweet Maribor, I swear Gaunt can have the throne and I will go back to farming for the rest of my life and be content with an empty stomach if only he can win. I want you to know that we are all in your debt for what you have done, for the sacrifices of Alric, Wyatt, and Elden. Whatever happens tomorrow, you are all heroes today.”
Hadrian, Royce, and Mauvin took Gaunt aside for some last-minute sparring tips. Arista focused her attention on the hilltop, where multicolored tents rose to the sounds of alien voices singing ancient songs. The tension around the fire was palpable. Out of everyone, except perhaps Gaunt, Monsignor Merton showed the greatest anxiety. He sat on an upturned bucket, staring into the fire. Before long Myron sat beside him and the two had a lengthy talk.
Myron was the only one who showed no signs of concern. After speaking to Merton, he spent his time with the boys, discovering how they had built the Hovel and asking numerous questions about how the horses had fared while they were gone. They told him how the cold cracked their spit and the monk marveled at their tales. He helped them cook a fine dinner and generally kept the boys busy with chores both in preparation and cleanup.
The sun set and darkness enveloped them save for the light of the campfire. It was not unlike the one Arista had sat beside less than a year earlier and very close to the same spot. A little farther up the slope, perhaps. So much had happened, so much had changed since the night she had ridden with Etcher. Amberton Lee was a different place now. With him she had felt lost in the wilderness. Now she was at the center of the world. Ancient stones upon the Lee Dusts of memories gone we see Once the center, once the all Lost forever, fall the wall.
She too was different. Perhaps they all were.
“Why don’t you and the girls bed down in the shelter there?” Hadrian said to Modina, seeing the girls yawning. “You don’t mind, do you, boys?”