The sphere pursued them for a time, as if it were a full moon come down from the heavens. After ten miles or so the ball of light gradually dissolved into glittering dust that fell onto the snow, unnoticeable on the bright crystalline surface.
Immediately, Sisaroth halted the nightmare and Firusha turned her own mount. The real moon illuminated their furious faces, on which spreading thin black lines were visible. Their tumultuous feelings could not be concealed. They would gladly have transformed their rage into murder, but they stood no chance against a maga. Not in open attack.
Looking over to the island, where numerous lights were burning now, they could make out the shape of the shaft’s iron bulkhead in the middle of the lake.
“That’s where we’ll find what is due to us,” said Sisaroth darkly, glancing at his sister. “Let us bring death to them over the water.”
“I don’t intend to leave without Mallenia,” she agreed. “She is the key to our achieving power in the three kingdoms. I want revenge for Tirigon!”
Sisaroth noticed a fishing village nearby and turned down the path towards it. “Let us enquire who lives on the Island of the Brave. And then we’ll see if there are humans suitable for a work of art. I feel the need to create something important.”
Firusha said nothing. But she thought that the tall island would soon be called the Island of the Dead.
VIII
Girdlegard,
Former Queendom of Weyurn,
Lakepride,
Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle
Mallenia opened her eyes to see an awning. It was mainly in orange and red, and had unfamiliar white and yellow embroidery; the air was damp and cool, as if the windows were wide open. The scent of beeswax candles gently pervaded the room, and the light flickered softly.
She turned her head and saw a black-haired woman of about her own age sitting at her bedside, wearing a bright red dress with a tight-fitting bodice that emphasized her figure; the skirt was full and elegant.
“Welcome.” The woman smiled at Mallenia. “My name is Coira and you are on the island Lakepride in Weyurn. In the palace here you should be safe from the alfar who were pursuing you, Mallenia of Ido,” she said quietly. “We have been able to save your arm, but even with magic it will take some time to heal. The night-mare’s bite took flesh and bone.”
Mallenia looked at her upper arm, hidden under a thick bandage. She could still feel the bite. Clearing her throat, she said, “I owe my life to you. I will never be able to repay what you have done for me.”
“There is no need,” came the friendly response. “You are a freedom-fighter and have dared to do things I would never have the courage for.”
“Don’t be so modest, Princess,” said a man’s voice at the other side of the bed. “In Mifurdania you fought Lohasbrand’s orcs. That makes you a defender of freedom.” Before the Ido girl could turn her head, a man with an unkempt beard bent over her. “May I introduce myself? I am Rodario the Seventh,” he said shyly.
“He protected you from the night-mares down on the shore,” said Coira, “while I was dealing with the alfar.” She remembered that he had not explained yet why he had not drowned. Surely he had told her he could not swim?
“Then I am in your debt, also,” Mallenia nodded.
“Oh, not really. We freedom-fighters must stick together,” he said, playing down his involvement. “And protected is an exaggeration. I just made sure you weren’t trampled by the animals’ hooves, that’s all.”
Mallenia smiled at him, before looking at Coira. “The alfar-you defeated them? Just the two of you?”
“Even if I am not the same kind of maga as my predecessors, I still have powers enough. It was lucky for you that the alfar turned up after I had refreshed my magic energy. If they had arrived earlier I wouldn’t have been able to help.” She poured Mallenia a glass of tea. “But I’m afraid I must disappoint you: The alfar are still alive; I drove them back to Idoslane.”
Mallenia pressed her lips together so tightly that they turned white. “You don’t know them.”
“Brother and sister, aren’t they?” asked Rodario. “They looked so alike.”
“Triplets,” corrected Mallenia, taking a sip of the tea to moisten her throat.
Coira pushed back the strands of long black hair. “As we met two of them and you were riding a night-mare, I think I know what must have happened.”
“They caught me in Topholiton, in Gauragar. My comrades were all murdered; I managed to kill one of the siblings and I escaped. Then they overtook me,” she reported. “And they will return to kill me. I heard them talking when they thought I was unconscious.”
“You understand their speech?” Rodario sat down and studied the woman. He liked what he saw. He liked it very much. At least as much as he liked Coira, although they were so different in build and coloring. He saw that the blond Mallenia was used to working out with weapons and exercise. “Respect! How did you learn the language? It’s supposed to be extremely difficult.”
Mallenia forced a smile to her lips, but it came out crooked. “When a land has been occupied for as many cycles as Idoslane has, you get to understand the words the oppressors use.” She did not dare to touch the bandaged arm; the wound was itching and throbbing painfully as it started to heal. “How long will it take?”
“The bone was badly affected. Multiple splintering. My magic has been able to fuse the remaining pieces but it will be at least eight orbits before you can use the arm again.” Coira stood up. “In two orbits’ time you can get up. Shall I send a messenger to tell your friends where you are?”
Mallenia gave a deep sigh. “There’s nobody left. The Dson Aklan, as they call themselves, killed all who were close to me or who were descendants, like myself, of Prince Mallen.”
Rodario sat up with interest. “What does that title mean?”
“Something like gods of Dson.”
“Quite a title!” He rubbed his chin. “But tell me, what was the reason for the slaughter? To stamp out rebellion once and for all? Or is there more to it?”
Mallenia was surprised. “What do you mean, more?”
“How should I know? You’re from Idoslane and you know the old myths and sagas. Is there a prophecy, maybe, connecting the descendants of Mallen with the overthrow of a mighty enemy?”
Mallenia was suddenly touched with doubt. “That had never occurred to me,” she confessed.
“The alfar are well known for mysticism. So people say,” Rodario added. “It might be like them to hunt down yourself and the others to stop a prophecy coming true.” He seemed no less excited by the idea than she was. “It sounds like a story that ought to be put on the stage, don’t you think?”
“Your enthusiasm is all well and good, but which stage would you perform it on?” objected Coira. She was afraid the injured girl would be upset by the man’s wild speculations and not be able to get the rest she so sorely needed. “In Weyurn you have no spectators and in Idoslane you wouldn’t manage more than two sentences if the alfar in the story don’t come out the winners.”
Rodario stroked his meager beard again, as if he were trying to encourage it to grow. “That’s true,” he said pensively. “I’ll have to enquire.” He looked at Mallenia. “We’ll need to find out whether there’s more than bloodthirstiness behind the killings that the black-eyes are carrying out.”
She was about to answer, but there was a knock and a servant stuck his head round the door. “Princess, your mother wants you. A messenger has arrived. One of the Lohasbranders.” She raised her hand in acknowledgment and the servant withdrew.
“Rest, now, Mallenia. We’ll look in on you later,” said Coira as she left, motioning to Rodario to follow her. “The more sleep you can get, the quicker you’ll recover.”