The Last Mirror of Fangor

 

 

The Last Mirror of Fangor

A novel by Kristen Currie        

 

Prologue

 

            Below the swirling veil of stars, an eerie harvest moon hung above the forest. Pale rays of creamy moonlight sifted dustily through the foliage, settling into a cold highlight on the canopy. The wind howled above the treetops, unable to reach the dense underbrush beneath. It had good reason to rage, thought the man hidden among the whipping shadows. This was a night that would go into the history books of Fangor. Even as his army shifted uncomfortably around him another smaller, faster group was storming the royal winter home the on the southern edge of the country. All there was left to do was wait.
        His soldiers were ill-trained and hastily assembled, disgustingly disadvantaged should any real combat occur. He had gathered them with only one objective; appear great in strength. The reality was somewhat more disappointing. But word had come of a movement to overthrow the King; one he had quickly pledged allegiance to, so he was here, crouched in the darkness of Annongard, positioned at the side of the only safe path through the country.
        The deeply rutted road wound through a forest known as the King‘s Cupboard, carrying its travelers all the way to the edges of the Empire, or in the opposite direction as his quarry was coming… all the way into his ambush.
        After giving the command to fan out and keep absolutely silent his army had hurried to obey. Though their uniforms were as mismatched and varied as they themselves were, he had to commend them on the good sense to wear dark colors. That was one thing he didn’t have to take the time to explain. Perhaps the brutes weren’t as thick as he’d first assumed. They were well concealed in the dark; he could hardly distinguish the peeling, shadowy trees from their tunics.
        His soldiers were mainly a mix of two races, the Erangai and the Gralben, both heavily overpopulated which made them perfect for combat. They were similar in appearance; both had stocky upper bodies’ covered in short, dense hair. Thick arms, impossibly corded with muscle upon muscle ending in fists that could knock the wind from a horse. The whole body was balanced on a narrow waist, supported by long legs and feet that were surprisingly quick and surefooted.
        He had no doubts that they were ancient relatives, and as such they shared distinctive qualities marking them as less than lower class. They were unsuited for anything other than physical labor; they were callous, short-tempered, reacting violently if any attempt was made to civilize them, and so they remained sub-human. In fact they were rarely used even for battle anymore, most Generals balked at the idea of commanding them. Which was why he’d gotten so lucky, finding two-hundred on such short notice, he supposed,
        He gazed with boredom at the landscape, with its unchanging, limited palette. Then his eyes narrowed in the darkness, his ears sharp to the sounds of slightly rustling foliage. Lost in the folds of black cloak his hands clenched angrily. It was one of his soldiers, he was sure of it. Directly disobeying his orders? How dare he! A cold decision was made, ruthless and unforgiving, he would kill the beast. This insipid creature would be an example for those who dared follow his lead. He would pay dearly for his moment of independence.
        The man reached slowly for the bow slung across his back, careful not to shift even the smallest twig on the forest floor. Very calmly he nocked one black feathered arrow into the string. With a muttered spell to muffle its release he let the arrow fly. Perfectly aimed, it entered the rebel’s forehead, piercing metal helm, flesh, and bone where it finally stuck- halfway through the skull.
        The soldier fell with a startled expression. The dull whumph echoed through the forest, sending nervous birds from their nests, and though the sound had surely been heard, his comrades remained hidden. Smart choice, thought the man with a satisfied smile. He would have gladly loosed another arrow.
        Just then he froze. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, trickling and itching the underside of his mask. He resisted raising his hand to remove it, and turned his face into the wind. Had he heard it right? Was it possible…?

            On the draft had come the anticipated sound of plodding hooves, and with it, the faint metallic grind of wheels. They were here, as promised. He was relieved. The hunt could conclude right here; now.
        The horses came into view first, laboring to pull the ornate carriage. A matching pair of chestnut geldings that pranced as if possessed, each with powerfully muscled bodies and unnerving blue eyes. They snorted and stomped, barely under control of the coachman struggling with their reins. On the openness of the road the moon shone down, highlighting the dust into silver powder. He could see quite clearly the flare of their nostrils, the sickly sweet, cloying scent of the enemy sending them into a panic. His scent.
        Dark curtains were pulled tightly across the windows of the carriage, no doubt keeping the interior stifling despite the breeze.
        Suddenly the horses reared, wheeling and pawing at the air, the hooks of their harness effectively wrenched in two. The coach was tipped, dumping its contents onto the ground. Scrambling from the wreckage, screaming obscenities at the galloping horses, the coachman raked a hand through his ash-blonde hair and furiously kicked at nothing. Behind him his small passenger was dragging a long object from the smashed cabin. With difficulty, he helped he lay it safely onto the road. She smoothed the edge of its cloth cover, but not before the man’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of polished glass. So this was the fabled object? The King’s most heavily guarded secret? How odd that is was traveling in the company of these two unassuming caretakers and not the Empire’s finest sword masters. Less work for him he supposed. He could make quick work of the little girl and her companion. No need for the man power he’d brought along after all.
        He raised his arms, motioning for his men to remain still, and then dropping all pretense of stealth he strode confidently into the road. “Having a little trouble?" he asked, filling the air with his soft, wicked laugh.
        He saw her back stiffen and though she didn’t get up she turned to face him. “No,” she said, tightening her grip on the cloth.
        He took a step toward her. “How about I-“
        She cut him off, her voice hard and level. “I said no.” Her cool green eyes caught his, held them steadily, undaunted and challenging.
        He waited, holding her stare, waiting for a sign of weakness. Just the smallest of signs…
        There! She dropped his gaze, momentarily focusing on the coachman behind him. He lunged forward, no more invitation necessary, and knocked her onto her back. She lay still for a moment, heaving, but the force had only stunned her. Like a lithe cat, her little limbs moving with almost unnatural grace, she was back on her feet and ripping the cover off the object.
        A mirror? He stood motionless, feeling confusion leaden his limbs. He watched stupidly as she braced herself on the edges of its frame and slipped through the glass. It rippled fluidly around her as she passed. With a startled cry her companion leapt after her. But his passage failed, whatever magic had just occurred dissipated almost instantly. He landed in a heap among the shattered pieces of the mirror.
        “FOOL!” he roared, throwing himself at the coachman. He reached angrily for his bow, fitting an arrow into the string. He stood above the cowering man, the sharp metal head pointed directly at his heart. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he demanded. “DO YOU?“ His nostrils flared with the effort to remain calm, and then just as quickly as it had been lost his composure returned as he resolved the kill the man. He had served what little purpose he had. “I’m sorry,” he explained unapologetically, “but I can’t have you running back the Empire with my location and identity… now can I?” An innocent smiled composed itself on his mouth, as if what he suggested was the most natural conclusion to come to.
        “I won’t! I swear!” The blonde man pleaded, eager to prove himself.
        “You know what?” said the man, stroking the coachman’s sweat soaked hair, “I... don’t… believe you.” He withdrew his hand and pulled the arrow tight again.
        “P-p-please don’t kill me.”
        His grip on the bow slackened again as he leaned forward. “Then tell me quickly and honestly, and I warn you… don’t be stupid. What do you know about the mirror you’ve been transporting?”
        “Nothing,” said the coachman hurriedly.
        It was a lie of course, the man determined. “Sir, I told you not to be stupid.” He gave a long-suffering, exasperated sigh. “And, I’ve grown weary of this game. You’ve been traveling in the company of the greatest secret ever kept. You expect me to believe you did so in ignorance? Tell me what you know.”
        The coachman frowned, no doubt weighing the value of his life against that of his honor. And, thought the man with a slow, smug smile, there was no need to tell him that by now the King was probably dead and therefore all oaths no longer viable.”
        “Tick, tock,” he prompted, running his thumb along the feathered end of the arrow. Then with sudden thought he leaned forward. “Here, let me make this easy for you Mr.….” he paused, politely waiting for the name to be supplied.
        “Callaway…”
        “Well, Mr. Callaway- the way I see it, you have but two options, the first I suggest because the second will result in your death.” Actually both would result in death… but better to give a cornered man a decision where, in reality, none existed. There was much more cooperation that way. Pretend you were letting them out of the crosshairs, while all the while setting your sights even more firmly. Intimidation was a wonderful tactic. He waited, letting Callaway take a moment to appreciate the gravity of his two choices and then the smaller man gulped visibly.

            “I understand,” he said, in a small, defeated voice.
        “Good, now you can either tell me everything you know about this mirror. And I mean every minute detail, down to how many times you even breathed in its general direction… or you can keep silent. If you choose silence, I’ll take this to mean you’ve also chosen death.” Beneath his hard stare he could almost hear the coachman’s sense of duty crumbling. It wouldn’t take long for him to reach a decision now.
        Indeed, Callaway seemed to only think for a moment before speaking. “I only know that it’s rumored to be a… portal of sorts.” He seemed hesitant to give too much away.
            “A portal?” The man crouched onto one knee, intrigued by Callaway’s soft words.
            “Yes, portal. Like a pathway between worlds…”
            Suddenly the man’s face hardened, “If you’re ignorant enough to lie to me…” He let the words trail off, conveying the message sufficiently.
            The coachman’s skin paled, “No, no! I swear. I didn’t believe it myself, but they say about three weeks ago a man stepped out of it. Dazed and disoriented, he ended up slaying one of the men attending to his Majesty. The King said it was too dangerous to keep the… thing… in the castle any longer, said it wasn’t the first time something like that happened. That’s when me and my daughter were approached about transporting. The chap only told us minimal information regarding its importance.”
            “And the girl, your daughter, she’s disappeared into it?”
        The coachman nodded tearfully, “My only child… gone.”
        The man kept his annoyance in short check, but such unrestrained emotion tended to make him violently ill. He dug into his cloak, producing a stained scrap of cloth that might have been white once upon a time. Callaway accepted it without looking at him. He sighed deeply. This was not what he’d hoped for. It should have been easier than this. Far easier. Now his hopes of taking the throne after King Rhoan, the powerful, if somewhat daft King of Fangor were dashed. This made him think again to the battle waging against the King at this very moment and he was somewhat appeased with the thought.
        The reign of King Rhoan would be coming to a sudden and very unexpected end fairly soon, if the moment hadn’t already come and gone. But without the mirror he doubted he could get the people the rally behind him. He needed tangible proof of his qualifications. It was a huge responsibility to take over. The King’s Empire stretched from end to end of Fangor itself, and he had figures strategically placed in positions of power on every bordering country. He had one thousand messengers able to spread news like wildfire in mere hours. He had the support, or at the very least the fear, of the people he ruled. Yes, he was iron fisted… but his people were said to be better off because of it.
            The man wasn’t so certain. He had watched the country of Fangor suffer under the King’s greedy hand. You only had to travel a few steps outside the palace walls and you found yourself sharing road space with the poorest of the poor. He was going to change that. Tonight was the night. By now King Rhoan lay lifeless, slain with the most honorable intentions. Wheels were set irrevocably in motion, speeding out of control with each ticking minute. And he felt no remorse.
            “You’re sure that’s all?” He prodded Callaway with the toe of his heavy boot and the man nodded. “I see. Very well then.” With a quick, almost unnoticeable flick of his wrist he released his arrow. It struck the coachman, sinking swiftly and easily into the soft flesh of his neck. Callaway groaned, raising a hand halfway to the wound. And then as simply as that he way dead, one life snuffed out as if it had never existed.
            The man rolled the body out of the way and gathered the shards of glass that lay beneath him, wrapping them in the edges of his cloak. “I did you a favor,” he whispered, gently closing the coachman’s blind eyes. “You would’ve been miserable without her. Maybe even lost the will to live… I’ve only helped you...” He wiped blood from the corner of Callaway’s mouth, still murmuring his regret. And then he stood and turned, fading into the darkness as easily as a shadow, leaving his soldiers to bury the night’s two victims.
            History had just changed forever. The King’s chief advisor and most trusted friend had betrayed the Empire.

 

 

 

Chapter One: Till Escape Do Us Part

 

            She had been singled out, and as the eerie bay of the hound caught up to her ears Bellan knew she hadn’t shaken her pursuers. She’d managed to evade them for an hour already but they seemed tireless, crashing boldly through the brush, their dog hot on her trail . She stumbled, catching herself gracelessly. A second later and she’d have crashed to the forest floor, sending the telltale snap of twigs into the air like gunshots. Her strength was beginning to fail. She gasped, straining to fill her aching lungs but not able to draw the breath quickly or deeply enough.

            Night was falling, she was in a strange place, she was exhausted, and the parts of her not faltering would soon be. All things considered she felt miserable. Brushing sweaty hair from her eyes, she pushed through the bushes with a careful hand, still running despite everything. Running down the path that would inevitably lead to the river.

            The man had whispered it to her as he’d handed over the King’s most treasured possession. There had been such longing in his voice. Such a noticeable reluctance in the slackening of his fingers as he secured the cloth cover for the umpteenth time.

            She’d felt sorry for him, out of his mind no doubt. She’d even patted his shoulder agreeably when he tried to impress the gravity of the situation upon her. “When you get so tired you can’t run much father, follow the river to the cabin. Take the river, little girl.” She remembered stiffening at his words, insulted by his assumption. I’m not little, she wanted to say. I’m sixteen. And now as she recalled the grave warning she wondered, how had he known? Had he anticipated the highwayman? How?

            Just as he’d said, when she felt her knees begin to buckle the sounds of the river found her. Here the path grew smaller and wove up and down the steep banks, turning the fine dust of the trail into mud. And mud meant footprints to follow. She knew she’d have to detour into the forest.

            Bellan burst through a line of trees, ducking when the branches snagged her hood, as the silver ribbon came into view. It was wide, with slow moving water capped frothy white, reminding her of an elderly man. The waves hissed gently as the rolled onto shore, scolding her for running away. Soon her feet were soaked from being forced into them.

            The path was narrowing, turning into little more than a game trail. Forged aimlessly by wild animals whose hooves were better adapted. She slipped for what seemed like the hundredth time, cursing the wet ferns, and clambered up again, pausing to listen for the whine of a dog closing in on its prey at long last. The forest was filled with the roar of silence, shadowed and foreboding and sinister. She squinted into the blackness and swallowed with effort. Hardly a patch of sky was visible from beneath the canopy. In vain, the sun continued to try penetrating the foliage, only to be foiled at every attempt by the broad leafed trees.

            But Bellan was not scared. She had waited for an adventure like this her whole life. Being the daughter of a common stable owner had not given her a particularly exciting childhood. And now she was alone…. In this strange place, seeing and smelling and doing things she’d only dreamed of. She shivered with expectation.

            As promised, the river led her farther down and into a small clearing. Here, without the choking trees to block it, the sun was sending its last rays of dusty red light to stain the ground. The waist-high grass was aflame with the sunset.

            The quiet faded away so slowly that as soon as Bellan noticed the nighttime noises she realized she’d been hearing them for at least a half hour already. They were almost soothing in their unfamiliarity, not quite the same as her home but close enough to be a comfort. She stopped at the clearing’s edge momentarily, hesitant to cross the open space. And then, telling herself she was being silly, she strode purposefully through the yard.

            The cabin, as the man had called it, could hardly be described as such. It was the tired, run-down, sort of nightmarish place that you'd expect to find in a beat up storybook; a lonely, ramshackle old thing, with ivy crawling through all of its smashed windows, and an elderly impression- like the river- about its rotting boards. At a touch its front door swung open, heavy and creaking, but as if eager for a visitor. She moved through it carefully, shutting it behind her, and squinting against the darkness. She ran her hands over the shadowed figure of a decrepit chair…. The trailing wisps of curtains…. An iron stove. Remnants left over from a former life, and the only witnesses to her intrusion. She sighed sadly and the house seemed to sigh with her. It had been a long time since anyone had lived here.

            And then her feet crunched over something, scattering pieces of material with dull clinks. She bent, her fingers finding a fragment and holding it up, examining it in the retreating light.

            Glass?

            It was smooth, and colorless, perfectly unblemished despite being broken. She turned it over. Odd.. One side was reflective and the other dark. She studied herself in it, at her thin, scared face echoed back. There were bruise-like circles under her exhausted brown eyes, and her dirty hair stuck out at odd angles from her forehead. She hurriedly dropped the piece, shocked at the reflection. It chimed against the floor, making her look down. The whole room was covered in a thick carpet of shattered glass. Where had it come from? She half-turned, glancing back at the ruined windows, but they had been smashed from the inside. Any debris had long since been buried in the dirt outside.

            Looking around, she almost expected to see the culprit, but the only things there were the chair and stove. They returned her gaze as silently as ever. She turned back into the room, glad for her boots. They were weatherworn and a little squeaky with water, but dependable and resilient.

            The sea of glass proved to be highly excitable, even laying her feet as carefully as possible they still sent shards scuttling noisily. She winced every time this happened, terrified that at any moment she’d attract the hunters.

            The front room gave wave to a small hallway and suddenly Bellan understood where the glass had come from. The hall was lined, floor to ceiling, on each side with empty frames, the rows broken only by three doors. Some of the frames still had ragged edges clinging to them. They were old, like everything Bellan had met, suffused with the impression of indefinable age. The weathered wood was covered in a fine film of dust, a dust so penetrating that it reached deep into the heavily scratched surfaces, masking any beauty they might have once had. She passed them, trailing her hand along the wall, lost in the tragic decay of history.

            A hallway of broken mirrors…

            Suddenly there came an agitated whine, a frantic scratching at the door. She head footsteps, then a excited voice. “Is she in there? Huh, boy?”

            The scratching became more insistent, the whimper rising to an unbearable pitch. Bellan held her breath when she heard the soft click of the opening door. There was no where to turn. The angle of the hallway could only protect her for a few more moments and after that…

            Her body shuddered involuntarily. She didn’t even want to think about that. She mustn’t think about that.

            Boots fell unceremoniously onto the glass, crushing everything they fell upon, pulverizing the glass into sand. Letting Bellan know exactly how close she was to discovery. She backed up, forcing her breathing to restabilize. With a trembling hand she tried the first of the doors, the closest. She leaned into it as gently as she could, twisting the handle. Locked. She bit back a curse. The next door, directly across from the first was locked as well. The last one, at the end of the hallway, was too far to reach without moving.

            “Aye, Jag! I don’t think she’s in here.” The harsh sound, so close she felt the walls vibrate, made her cringe.

            “’Course she is, ya idiot. The dog’s never been wrong, just get in there and get her.”

            The boots began moving again. The crunching glass a rough, hostile sound. Her panic returned tenfold, making her heart slam against her chest in desperation. She walked carefully, trying not the disturb the traitorous glass and, reaching the door, she hoped against hope it was open, and slowly reached for the handle.

            He still hadn’t turned the corner. The metal was cool beneath her fingers, as she turned the knob. Weak relief flooded through her as the door fell open easily. Just enough space to squeeze through.

 

            It was a child’s room she decided. An old bed frame sat in one corner, its canopy dirty and pathetic. She crossed to the window and rubbed some of the grime away. Night was consuming the sun’s last efforts, in a few minutes it would be dark. She turned away from the window, she wouldn’t be able to fit through it anyway. The only other thing occupying the room was another frame, shrouded with a black cloth.  

            “Well, there you are. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing so far from home?” The man’s voice was deceptively low. Bellan stiffened, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand. Slowly, she faced him

            He was standing in the doorway, his overpowering bulk pressing against its sides, rolls of fat straining them. He was tall, with thinning, mud-colored hair and watery blue eyes that made her nervous. She pulled her bottle-green cloak more securely around her body. His unflatteringly low cheekbones were scratched and streaked with dirt, something horrifyingly blood red stained his mouth. Stray twigs hung from his dusty red traveling cloak. Without taking his eyes from hers he called, “Found her, Jag!” He smiled, revealing pointed teeth, too long to be attractive

            “Good! Don’t let her escape through the mirror.” His partner called back. The dog yelped excitedly and then gave a strangled, gargled sound as if straining against a collar. The man outside swore harshly at it, violently kicking the dog’s soft body with an audible whumph!           

            The mirror? She felt relief threaten to buckle her legs. A mirror.

            The man held out his hand imploringly. “C’mon be a good girl.” He took a step toward her. “We’ll take good care of a pretty thing like you.” His mouth twisted even more unconvincingly into a smile.

            Bellan cringed, taking a step back to keep the distance between them. “Who are you?” She asked. Strategically, she smoothed her worn cloak, placing a hand behind her back as she did.

            He laughed as if she should already know. “Let’s just say I’m working in your best interest, trust me.”

            “I don’t believe you…” She felt her fingers brush the coarsely woven cloth covering the mirror. Her heart skipped a beat. Had he noticed? “I don’t believe you.” She repeated it, the effect of the words fortifying her resolve. Though she spoke softly it angered him.

            “Now look here Miss High-and-Mighty, I’ve been sent to get you and I’m not leaving without you!” He lunged, fumbling his thick fingers as he reached for her.

            She gripped the fabric, ripping it off the wall. She wheeled backward, unable to keep her balance as he grabbed for her arm. Bellan screamed in fury, connecting her foot to his vulnerable gut. He fell back, releasing his hold momentarily.

            “What’s going on in there?” Came the curious voice from the front door.

            The man grunted unintelligibly, making another grab at her. But it was too late. His fingers slipped uselessly over the hem of her cloak as she disappeared through the glass, falling gracefully through it just as the last light of day was extinguished.

            The man slammed his fist through the glass, shattering it in his rage.

            She was gone.

            And so was one more mirror of Fangor.

 

            ~*~

 

            It was to an aching head and the dazzling light of midday that she woke. Even from behind her eyelids she felt the gentle burn of the sun. Night was gone, and with it the cabin and hunters as well. It was a new day. Her body was still heavy from unconsciousness as she turned, trying to hide from the noon heat.

            “Easy, hey, don’t strain yourself.”

            Her eyes snapped open, sending a bolt of hot lightning through her head. But she refused to shut them again. Had she perhaps, after all that, still been captured by the enemy? She concentrated on the speaker, male. Young by the sound of it, couldn’t be much older than twenty. And he peered at her intently as she struggled against the wave of pain. “Are you okay?” His kind face, framed by unruly dark brown hair was curious.

            She nodded slowly, “I think so.” Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, nausea made her stomach convulse.

            “Here, drink this.” He offered a tin mug to her.

            She took it, eyeing the contents suspiciously. It was acid green and vaguely chemical smelling. “What is it?”

            “Tranta.” He replied, with great patience. “I expect you took a nasty fall, climbing trees were you?” He watched as she gazed up at the trees, it was a much younger forest than the one she had left. The branches were young and spindly. She doubted they would’ve supported her weight even if his idea was true. “Drink it, “ He insisted.

            She took a sip, coughing at its bitter taste.

            He grinned, making his green eyes sparkle with humor. “Hey, I didn’t say it was good. I just said it would help, keep drinking.” Turning his back to her he busied himself typing packs to one of the three horses cropping grass peacefully nearby.

            She took the opportunity to dump some of the foul liquid out.

            “That’s fine if you want to do that, “ He said, still working on a knot. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

            Embarrassed, she took an obedient drink, only making a face at the aftertaste,

            He laughed, “You take medicine like a child.” Patting the nearest horse, a dark gray mare with a light dusting of white spots, he swung another pack onto her saddle.

            “Why do you have three horses?” She asked.

            As soon as the words left her mouth the answer came crashing out of the brush. Two children raced each other to the center of the clearing, both with matching black hair and bright blue eyes that made Bellan wonder if they were siblings. “Is she awake yet!” The little boy cried. He was dirty and trailing his small cloak haphazardly behind him, probably not even eight yet. His companion, a sweet-faced quiet girl, smiled shyly.

            “Fletcher!” The man scolded, “Yes, she’s awake. But what if she hadn’t been?”

            Fletcher looked ashamed and then the moment was quickly forgotten as he bounded forward, tumbling down next to Bellan. “Hi!” He said brightly, “Who are you?” He leaned toward her, thoroughly riveted as he anticipated her answer.

            The man rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Sorry about him, he‘s a little bold.” He laughed, something she suspected he did easily and often, as if apologizing for Fletcher was something he was required to do regularly. Ruffling the boy’s hair momentarily, he then swung the girl into his arm. “Thank God his sister is more soft-spoken.”

            “Oh, I don’t mind. They’re cute. Are they yours?”

            He sighed in mock relief, “Nope, these rascals belong to my brother, Tor. I don’t think I could handle them full time.” He kissed the girl’s cheek, which she promptly wiped away, and set her down. “And, since you’ve already met Fletch, it might be time for formal introductions. I’m Aleck, Uncle Aleck to these two.” He affectionately indicated his niece and nephew. “This is Zandy, short for Aleczandra.” He smiled, “Named after me, and she’s nine. That little ball of energy over there is six.”

            “I’m Bellan,” she said.

            Aleck clapped his hands together, “Good, now that that’s over with, we can get going.”

            “Going?” She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the burst of discomfort in her head. “Where are we going?”

            “Well, I’m delivering these two to their father, it’s only a day or so away, and then we’ll figure out where you need to be. Unless you have prior engagements, which I doubt, otherwise you wouldn’t be lying in the middle of a clearing in the middle of the Lumian Forest.”

            “Lumia? Where’s that?” A note of panic crept into her voice. “I’ve never heard of Lumia.”        

            Aleck looked politely puzzled, “Hmm, perhaps a touch of amnesia as well…” he murmured.

            A tear rolled slowly down her cheek.

            His expression turned to alarm. “Don’t cry. Hey, we’ll figure it out.” He said softly, “Just come with us, at least then I’ll know you’re safe.”

            She nodded, wiping away the tear in disgust. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually so emotional.”

            He shrugged, “It’s okay. I’m not usually such an insensitive brute. I never had any sisters to practice on.” He smiled, as she’d seen him do many times since they’re meeting and yet this one was far more comforting. Then, turning away from her, he called for the two children, bringing them running from the cool green shadows. “Okay, guys, let’s mount up!”

            Their enthusiasm was infectious as the whooped and hollered, heading for the horses. A sturdy bay pony, small but eager, and a white socked, black mare were tethered by the gray one. Bellan watched as both Fletcher and Zandy swung easily onto their horses, calling them Dax and Illia. Aleck offered her the reins of the gray mare. “She’s called Sylven, “ He said, “Be kind to her, she’s aging.”

            Bellan backed away, “Oh, no. I couldn’t. Who will you ride?”

            “We’re not going far, my feet will manage.” He extended the reins to her again. “Take them. Let it never said of me that I ever denied a lady a steed.”

            She stammered, unable to come up with another excuse quick enough. He placed the soft leather loop in her hand. “You have ridden before, haven’t you?”

            She shook her head. The leather was like ice in her hand, a frigidness that extended through her damp palm and settled, unwelcome, in the pit of her stomach.

            “It’s easy,” he assured her, ignoring her look of dread. “Just swing your leg over, I’ll lead her.”

            Bellan did as she was bade. The stirrup was easy enough to get her foot through, and only minimal help from Aleck was needed to swing herself over. Soon she sat on Sylven, swaying slightly, but proud of her accomplishment. With the rhythm set, a gentle, rocking walk, Aleck began leading the mare out of the clearing. “It’s not so bad.” She said, grinning.

            Zandy and Fletcher , however set a far faster pace, easily spurring their horses up and down the little dirt lane. They called loudly, teasing and urging, happy to be in the company of each other.

 

~*~

 

            After the first hour, Bellan paid less attention to their antics, the swing of Sylven’s gait effectively lulling her into a doze. She slumped forward onto her neck, warm and sleepy.

            It wasn’t until the sun sank low in the sky and the racing of hooves had long since slowed that movement halted altogether. There was the soft hiss of leather being dropped. “I know its here… somewhere.” She heard Aleck murmur. “Hmm, somewhere.” Branches rustled dryly, chattering like annoyed monkeys. She was aware of him stepping off the path, still moving his fingertips over the nearest trees. He cursed gently, “I could’ve sworn it was closer to the trail…” His search quickened, and then stopped. “Aha,” he said, in a satisfied voice, “Found it.”

            He picked up Sylven’s reins again. “Okay, guys, one at a time.” Bellan couldn’t see what he was talking about in the twilight but Zandy and Fletcher seemed to understand. She strained her eyes, trying to see this new leg of the adventure, but as far as she could tell their horses disappeared about fifteen feet from her. She turned to Aleck, bewildered, but he only smiled. “I hope you’re not claustrophobic.” He said.

            Sylven began moving again, her reliable gait cautious as if the old mare could sense something Bellan could not. Aleck clicked encouragingly to her, stroking her neck in reassurance. “It’s okay, old girl.” he crooned. “It’s okay…”

            They passed the place the two kids had vanished and suddenly they were plunged into darkness. She could hear he sharp clack of hooves against stone, the deafening roar of voices reverberating off the walls. Aleck stopped, rummaging in one of his packs he withdrew three objects, passing two to Zandy and Fletcher, and keeping the third for himself. “They’re torches,” he explained, handing it to her. “Just tap it against your palm.”

            She did and the torch flared to life, the dancing flames contained within a cool crystal sphere. She held it out, examining her surroundings. They were in a vaulted stone tunnel, one that extended as far as she could see. Behind them, the dull twinkling of stars marked the underground entrance. Nervous energy twitched in her fingers. “This leads to your brother’s house?” She asked in disbelief.

            “You could say that” he answered evasively. In the dim light she saw his niece and nephew exchange glances. He ignored them, instead saying pointedly to her, “If you’ll just hold the torch that’ll leave me free to lead Sylven. “

            She nodded and they started moving again. When she looked back, all she could see was darkness. Where had the stars gone?

           

            ~*~

 

            Hours later, or so if felt like, the drumming hooves were giving her a headache and she’d given up watching the miles of endless stone corridor. With Fletcher in the lead, they silently passed the featureless walls, their pace unvarying and dull.

            Bellan was surprised how well the horses seemed to take being underground. They accepted the circumstances unquestioningly, blindly putting faith in the guidance of their riders, occasionally snorting with impatience as if to say, “Alright already, let’s get out of here.”

            “You hungry?” Aleck’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Cause, I have a bit of food here somewhere.”

            Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been a day and a half since her last meal.

            “We didn’t expect to have company, or to stay on the road an extra two days- most of our provisions were exhausted yesterday. But I think I have some dried fruit… or if you’re thirsty, I’ve got some leftover Tranta.” She sensed his smile in the dark.

            She smiled too. “I’ll skip the Tranta, but the fruit sounds good.”

            “Left saddlebag, in the small front pocket,” he said. “Should be in there.”

            She leaned down and unbuckled the bag. There were a few things in it, a bit of rope, some metal pieces that could have been coins, and then her finger closed around a bulging fabric sack. Pulling it out, she held the torch to it, examining the contents. The little fruits were pale yellow pods about the size of her knuckles. They were puckered, but pleasantly juicy, tart… somewhere between a sweet lemon and a grape. And despite the unfamiliar flavor she finished half the bag.

 

Chapter Two: The Bane

 

            Bellan was just returning the little pack to the saddlebag when Fletcher came galloping up from the opposite end of the tunnel. Flecks of foam flew from Dax’s mouth, his nostrils flaring with the effort of moving his short legs fast enough. “Cave in!” Fletcher cried.

            Zandy was only a few strides behind him, her legs digging into Illia’s heaving ribs, urging the mare faster. “Monsters!” She yelled.

            Aleck sprang into action. “How many!” He asked.

            Fletcher shrugged, “Two, maybe three… I didn‘t get a good look”

            “Okay,” he said,” You guys stay here, keep Bellan safe.” He grabbed the torch from Fletcher, smacking Dax’s flank to keep the little horse moving towards Bellan.

            “But-”
            “No buts. Stay. That’s an order.”

            The two children glared at him, no doubt mounting an argument in their heads but Aleck had already spun away from them, and down the tunnel. “Keep Sylven under control!” He called to Bellan. And then he stopped and looked directly at her, the panic momentarily gone from his eyes. “Don’t let them get hurt, okay?” he pleaded, “Promise me!”

            All she could do was nod as she dismounted and watched him charge, unarmed, into the far-reaching blackness of the corridor.

           

            Thirty, dread-filled minutes ticked by, as she absently stroked Sylven’s neck. The old horse snorted agreeably, reaching her big head around to peer at her. She seemed to know something was wrong. Illia and Dax sensed it too, as nearby, Zandy and Fletcher were rubbing them down. They stood still, ears cocked, for the moment simply content to let their overheated bodies cool. And though their riders appeared calm Bellan noticed their eyes meeting nervously over the backs of the horses, full of worry.

            The two torches lay forgotten, their crystal spheres still burning with the strange, cool heat, eerily casting long shadows on the wall. She reached for one, pointing it in the direction Aleck had gone. The passage was empty, wherever he was he’d gone farther than the light could reach.           

            “If he doesn’t come back soon, we’ll have to turn around.” She ventured, “Do you know how to get to your house from above ground?”

            Zandy shook her head,” No, we can’t leave Uncle Aleck.” She said it firmly, as if making a decision that Bellan had no authority to make, and then repeated it. “We can’t leave him.”

            Her brother nodded in agreement. “He wouldn’t leave us.” He said in a small voice.

            “That’s not the same thing,” She told them, “Aleck can take care of himself.”

            “Yeah, I can take care of myself.”

            Bellan whirled around, startling Sylven. “Aleck!” she cried.

            He was walking up from the bowl of the tunnel, one arm hung useless and limp against his stomach, his cheek was scratched, and there was blood spattered across his cloak, but he was alive! He winced as his niece and nephew slammed into his legs, embracing him fiercely.

            “I thought you were dead!” wailed Fletcher.

            Aleck knelt down, ruffling the little boy’s black hair. “Hey, no crying. I’m fine.” He smiled at them affectionately, “You guys didn’t think I wasn’t tough enough, did you?” They shook their heads in unison, still wiping away the last of their relieved tears. “Good,” he said, “Because no monsters stand a chance against your Uncle.”

            “But… you didn’t even have a weapon.” Interrupted Bellan, shaking her head skeptically.

            Aleck just grinned knowingly and exchanged winks with the two children. “Let’s get going again,” he said.

 

            Despite his wounds Aleck still refused to ride Sylven, claiming that they were merely scratches. Bellan had her doubts, but he wouldn’t give in. “No amount of damage could make me steal a lady’s mount,” he told her, gallantly holding the saddle steady with his good hand as she swung over. “I insist you ride.”

            She gave up arguing after a few minutes, realizing his face was set in the same determined expression he wore when dealing with Zandy and Fletcher.

            Ten minutes later they passed the place of the cave-in. The rocks were pushed aside, allowing room for the party to pass. Gore spattered the walls and pooled around two bodies. The corpses were pale white, the color of something that had never seen the light of day, and small- only about the size of large dogs. Their heads were domed, with high foreheads and large, reptilian eyes. Their claws, wide and shovel-like, still half-buried in the dirt.

            “What is that?” She whispered.

            “We call them The Bane,” said Aleck, not even bothering to ask what she meant. “They were servants of the Empire, and now assist those who wish to resurrect it.” He left it at that, warning her not to ask questions in front of his niece and nephew. Directly behind her she heard Zandy’s muffled whimper as she came upon the bodies last. Turning, she saw the girl hidden under her cloak, trusting Illia to carry her through the wreckage without guidance.

            The horses nervously pranced around the carnage, their nostrils wide and flaring with the scent of the dead enemy. As they passed Bellan turned again, watching the battle scene fade into the distance, until all that remained were bloody hoof prints trailing from the way they’d come.

           

            ~*~

 

            Another twenty minutes brought them to a set of double doors, thick, monstrous slabs of wood set into the rock on giant metal hinges. Aleck ushered them through these, shutting them securely after everyone had passed. “Not much farther now,” he said cheerfully.

            The next room was like a dungeon. Cells lined the wide, central corridor, their inhabitants long since dead. Leering skulls gaped at her, their toothless grins broad and sinister. The skeletons were largely incomplete, most just a pile of ribs or vertebrae. Bellan shivered, wondering who had carried off the rest of them.

            At the end of this hall they passed through another set of doors. Sometime during their journey underground dawn had quietly arrived and in the rose-colored light she almost wished they’d have remained in the dungeon. This chamber was a huge, glass protected cage. The only thing separating them from the rest of the room was the clear cylinder they were in, it ran straight down the middle of the room. Outside of their protective tube the room flourished with vegetation. Bellan peered intently into it. What were they trying to keep inside? Something dangerous?

            Beneath her Sylven stomped restlessly, shaking her mane. Her ears went flat against her head. Bellan looked around uneasily, trying to spot whatever had made the horse defensive… and then she saw it…

            A large cat had sauntered out of the foliage, although… no, it wasn’t quite a cat. A row of spikes marched along its back, ending in a vaguely reptilian tail. The thing bared its teeth, a sinister hiss muffled by the glass but enough to send a chill down her spine. It’s breath fanned across the barrier, fogging the surface. The creature silently padded down the inside of the tube, watching then with its unflinching, unfeeling gaze. Another joined, mirroring it’s pack mate as they paced tensely. The first one hissed again, a low, feral sound from somewhere deep in its throat.

            “Chimeras…” said Aleck softly. “Juvenile males. It’s the female you’ve got to watch for.” He nodded his head deeper into the enclosure. “See her?”

            Bellan swung her head around, searching the direction he’d indicated. The female, resting just beyond the trees, surveyed the males with the cool, appraising gaze of an alpha leader. She rose, growling her disapproval at them. Under her glare the males retreated from the glass, scaly tails tucked in submission and she seemed satisfied, returning to the remaining pack members, a few lesser females nursing cubs.

            “We keep the genders separated,” Aleck said, “Males on one side, females and cubs on the other.” He pointed to the opposite side of the room.

            The adult males easily outweighed the juveniles by two-hundred pounds. They sat patiently, six pairs of eyes of eyes fixed on her, sizing her up through the protective tube. But perhaps the most unsettling were the oddly human expressions they wore. Among the members she recognized greed, cleverness, anger, hunger, suspicion, and from the dominant male, arrogance. They didn’t pace or twitch or fidget like the younger ones, they simply watched her, waiting for the first sign of weakness. And as she watched them watch her she saw the biggest one slowly smile at her, and nod its head once… marking her out. It was then that she was most grateful for the glass. “Why do you have them?” She asked.

            Not turning, Aleck shrugged. “They’re pretty useful. Intimidating even. Makes thieves think twice if they know a Chimera pack resides here.”

            “I think they’re cool,” yawned Fletcher, drawing Dax up beside Sylven. His large blue eyes were steadily drooping. After being up all night Bellan doubted he’d last much longer.

            Behind her Zandy shuddered. “They’re evil,” she said.

            Bellan had to agree with the little girl, there was something incredibly ominous about being in the presence of the pack. “If they’re so dangerous, how’d you get a hold of them in the first place?”

            Aleck’s tone was dismissive. “They’re originally from somewhere north of Lumia, attacked a village or two, got the attention of my brother after awhile. The people cried for justice. You’d feel the same way if one of those males had torn your child limb from limb.”

            She glanced back. They certainly looked capable of it… but before she could say so he went on. “It wasn’t too much trouble to round them up and bring them here. Better here than out there, where terrorizing the public is so much easier, Tor said.”

            Bellan got the strange impression that Aleck’s brother was someone with a lot of authority.

            As his voice trailed off they approached another set of doors that led them into a well-maintained stable. They must’ve been traveling up a gradual incline, thought Bellan. A man came climbing down from the hayloft, laughing merrily as he did. “Aleck!” He cried, embracing him tightly. “Had me a little worried, you’re almost three days late! Should’ve known, aye? You’re a tough one, you’ve got two brothers to thank for that.” He clapped Aleck on the back and took Sylven’s reins.

            The exhausted lines around Aleck’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “Good to see you too old man,” he said, handing his friend the leather loop with effort, as if his hand had stiffened into its current position. “Thanks, Derek,” he said gratefully, “Take Dax and Illia too, okay?”

            The man nodded, helping the equally exhausted Fletcher from the bay pony’s back. The little boy curled against his shoulder, sighing sleepily. “Are we there yet?” He murmured.

            “Only a few more minutes,” assured Aleck, taking him from Derek. He held the boy in one arm, and nudged Zandy into movement with his knee.

            “You’ll send the saddlebags up to my room, won’t you?” he called over his shoulder. Then, not even waiting for an answer he led them through a side door and into a long, carpeted hallway that was lined with more doors. Through these busy people came and went, most carrying loads of sheets or platters of food, and all suddenly nervous as they saw Aleck.

            An idea took Bellan by surprise. “Aleck, do you work for royalty?”

            He gave a laugh that didn‘t quite reach his eyes, as if both amused and sad she was finally putting two and two together. “You could say that…” he said.

            More questions flooded her traitorous tongue, clambering to be the first asked. Why was he being so secretive? Why hadn’t he mentioned his other brother? But just then they were approached by a plump, motherly looking woman. Her soft, brown eyes were wise and heavily wrinkled. “Oh, the poor dears,” she clucked softly, holding her arms out to take Fletcher. His small head lolled sideways as Aleck slid him into her hands. “It’ll be straight to bed with them,” she said, stroking the boy’s hair. She nudged Zandy gently, urging her down into motion. “Let’s go, dear.”

            Aleck only watched them for a moment before continuing. “I’ve got some business to discuss with my mother,” he said. “Will you be okay alone for a while?”

            Not knowing how else to answer him she just nodded.

            “Good, I’ll give you one of the guest rooms. I think you’ll be comfortable enough.” He stopped the next person he saw, a girl about the same age as her, and inquired about the room. The girl nodded enthusiastically, eager to please, and waved her hand for Bellan to follow her.

            “Get some rest!” Aleck called just before he was out of earshot, “I dare say my mother will want to meet with you.”

            And then she was left alone with the girl, who guided her up three flights of stairs and through a door. Bellan was relieved that this new room was a bedroom.

            The maid curtsied, murmuring something so low Bellan didn’t quite catch it and retreated back into the hallway, shutting the door as quietly as she could.

            Truly alone. Finally. She sighed, and draped her dirty cloak across a chair. The events of the past day became just a vaguely discomforting thought as she slid into the bed and fell asleep with the midmorning sun peering through her window.

 

            ~*~

 

            Shadow had settled quietly over the farthest corners of the room by the time Bellan was gently shaken awake. She groaned, shrinking away from the touch. “Just a little longer…” she said, silently praying her plea would work.

            “I’m sorry Miss, but the Queen requests your company.” came the tentative reply.

            The Queen? “No, no,” she said, her foggy mind automatically protesting the statement. “Aleck said his mother would want to talk to me.”

            There was a giggle, choked as if the maid was trying to suppress it.

            “What’s so funny?” Bellan demanded, irritation furrowing her brows.

            There was a sound like a hand being hastily drawn to a mouth, and then, “Nothing, Miss.” Bellan heard another giggle. “It’s just that, who did you expect Prince Aleck’s mother to be?”

            At this Bellan became tight-lipped, unwilling to make a bigger fool of herself.. Now she understood Aleck’s evasive answers… the knowing glances between him and his brother’s children. What a fool she’d been.

            There was another feather-light touch on the sheets. “If you’ll just get up…” the voice began hopefully, “Maybe you can get a bath before your meeting… perhaps something to eat as well?”

            Her stomach seemed to agree with that suggestion. With another half-hearted groan Bellan opened her eyes, gazing suspiciously at the maid.

            The young girl sighed with relief. “Good, I’ll just run the water then.” She crossed to the other side of the room, stopping to light two lamps on the way, leaving Bellan to roll out of bed.

            Her clothes hung in stiff, dirty folds around her body, reminding her of just how long she’d been wearing them. Her skin crawled. “Can I change, too?” she asked, watching as the maid crouched to grasp the faucet handle of the tub.      

            The sound of running water filled the room. “Of course!” she called, as if it were a silly thing for someone to ask. “The Queen has already sent up a few gowns, they look about the right size. You can pick the one you like best.” She added a handful of dried herds to the water, stirring it into a swirling mass. Immediately a spicy, earthy scent wafted through the air. “I’ll just leave you to your bath then, Miss,” she said, wiping her hands on her dress, and left.

            Bellan was alone with her angry thoughts of Aleck. Fuming as she undressed, she stepped into the water, relaxing into the heat. The grime of travel was quickly washed away, but she lingered. How could he have kept her ignorant of something so important? She rolled her eyes. Men.

            After awhile, the cooling water no longer preferable to be dressed, she got out and wrapped herself in a robe.

            It was only moments later that there was a knock at her door. “Miss? Are you out? I’ve got your dinner.”

            “Yes,” she replied, “You can come in.”

            The maid cautiously nudged the door open with her foot, checking to make sure that Bellan was indeed decent. She bore a silver platter of food. “It’s not much,” she apologized, “the chefs were already cooling the ovens. Everyone else has already eaten.”

            “I hate to be a bother… you could have woken me earlier…” began Bellan but the maid cut her off.

            “Oh, no Miss. Prince Aleck was very specific when he told me to let you sleep, undisturbed, until your meeting with the Queen.”

            Bellan took the plate offered to her, grateful for Aleck’s order. “Mmm, looks good,” she said, though she wasn’t quite sure if she was being truthful or not. Some of the contents were universally recognizable- cold cubes of smoked meat and cheese, a mug of foaming milk flavored with something like cinnamon- and some were harder to identify, a sour smelling, pickled mollusk for instance, but she hungrily picked her way through everything, only pushing the tray away when everything was gone.

            While she was eating the maid had produced a comb and set to work detangling her hair. “It’s such a pretty color,” she murmured. Bellan gave a noncommittal shrug. She’d always thought her hair was a particularly mousy shade of brown. “Hmm, I think the green one would be best,” she said softly, tugging at a stubborn knot.

            Bellan flinched at the unexpected pain, raising a hand to her head, but the other girl brushed it away. She sighed. “Green what?”

            The maid’s hands stilled, their work completed. “Gown,” she explained. She went to the closet, pulling an emerald green dress from it. “See?” she asked. “It’ll look stunning with your dark hair.”

            Bellan nodded. “It’s beautiful. The Queen has wonderful taste.”

            The maid helped her into it, fastening the line of pearl buttons at its back, and stepped back. “Breathtaking, Miss.” She assured her. “Oh, its all rather exciting, an audience with the Queen, the attention of Prince Aleck.” She winked at Bellan, a small smile playing across her lips and a dreamy, romantic look in her eyes.

            Bellan blushed, “Oh, I don’t know about that.” she stuttered,

            A knock at the door saved her from humiliation and she smiled in relief, but the maid threw her a knowing look, misunderstanding. “That‘ll be him, come to collect you.” She went to open the door, curtsying for Aleck as he brushed past her.

            “Ready?” he asked Bellan, offering her his arm.

            She nodded coldly, remembering she was angry with him. Ignoring his arm and his questioning eyes she walked past him. In the hallway, she stood stonily, waiting for him to take the lead. Aleck looked confused but gestured to the right. “This way,” he said.

           
            Chapter Three: The Tale of the Daft Prince

 

            They walked in silence, the hall filled by an uneasy quietness that Aleck seemed disturbed by. As they neared a doorframe covered by a red velvet curtain he pulled her aside. “Listen, I don’t know what’s bothering you, but if you in any way offend or insult my mother…” he let the words trail off as the curtain was pulled aside and a gentleman’s head appeared. “The Queen will see you now,” he said formally. The head vanished and the curtain fully parted, and they were ushered into the audience chamber by a surly doorman.

            “I mean it. Drop the attitude,” Aleck hissed to her as they walked to the far end of the room. And then, turning, he smiled broadly. “Mother, how have you been?”

            The Queen waved her hand in dismissal, “I’m fine Aleck, exactly as you left me an hour ago. Let me have a word alone with the girl. Go back to your games.”

            Bellan watched as his grin faded, a muscle ticking angrily in his jaw, and was replaced by a look of careful disinterest. “Of course, Mother.” he said slowly, with measured composure. He turned, and with a dignified posture he left the room.

            Alone with the Queen was a position Bellan didn’t want to find herself. Yet, here she was, facing the ruler of an entire country. The old woman was regal, with graceful white waves of hair falling from beneath a jeweled crown. A rope of pearls hung from her slender neck, and she wore violet robes that pooled around her ankles and the papery thin skin of her wrists. It was easy to imagine her as an eternal monarch, never having been young. She had a timeless beauty marked by age only in her eyes, milky with years, and the translucent, blue-veined length of her hands, one of which rested on the head of an equally white wolf that Bellan almost mistook for a statue.

            They surveyed each other for a long moment, until Bellan began to fidget nervously, smoothing and re-smoothing her green dress. She wondered if she should bow, or maybe curtsey. But then the Queen laughed, filling the air with light silvery ringing, and stood up, grasping Bellan‘s hand with her own so hard she was surprised the fragile, transparent skin didn‘t tear. “You are a strong girl, my dear. Tell me, what news of your adventure do you have for me?” She sat down again.

            So Bellan related the tale, beginning with her fall through the mirror. She told of her father, still trapped with the strange, masked man in the other world. Or was it not another world at all? And she told of her first meeting with Aleck, and of the two slain beasts left to rot in the tunnel.

            At this the Queen nodded, “The Bane…” she whispered. The wolf gave a low whine. “Hush, North. There are none in Amberlin Hall.” she said, stroking his head. He relaxed against her touch, closing his large golden eyes.

            I’m glad, Araline. I am too old to be much good in a fight, nearing four-hundred everyday, but it worries me they were in the tunnel. His velvety voice was indeed aged as it resounded gently in Bellan’s head. She was mildly surprised, almost as if she’d been suspecting he could talk all along.      

            “It worries me also. Do you think we should summon the Guard?”

            There is no need, your son has seen to it. He and Rook have called them.

            The Queen sagged at little on her throne. “Yes, I suppose he’s at least good for something then.”

            North gave a wheezy chuckle. You mustn’t be too hard on him, he’s just a boy.

            Queen Araline bolted upright, “Nineteen!” she exclaimed. “And he would still rather be gallivanting around Fangor instead of taking his place beside his brothers. My youngest son is too much like his father…” She gave a distressed grumble, and rubbed her temples.

            At this Bellan brightened, “Fangor!” she cried, “That’s where I live. How far am I from it?”

            The Queen looked slightly bewildered. “My dear, we are in Lumia, the capitol of Fangor.”

            “That’s not possible,” said Bellan. “Annongard is the capitol. I have lived there all my life.”

            “No, no. Rexton!” The doorman’s head appeared from the hallway.

            “Y-yes, my Queen?”

            “Bring me the map of Fangor. Quickly, man!” She snapped, when he stared dumbly.

            “Of course, my Queen. Right away.” He disappeared and came running through the curtains minutes later, clutching a scroll to his chest as he slid to a stop in front of them. He bowed low, presenting the sheaf of yellowed parchment like a priceless gift.

            “Thank you, that’s all.”

            He nodded, gasping for breath, and returned to his post, gripping a stitch in his side.

            The Queen unfurled the scroll, pointing, “See? Here is the North coast, here is the Lumian Forest, and here is Amberlin Hall.” Her long finger traveled over the sheet, coming to rest on the tiny drawing of a castle with jaunty yellow flags.

            Bellan shook her head. “I’ve seen this map since I was a child, this is Annongard, it’s flags are black and the forest surrounding it is called The King’s Cupboard.”

            Queen Araline was getting angry. “Fangor has never had a King.” she bristled, “I am the first to produce a male heir, you insufferable child” and then she seemed to deflate, a calm look coming over her face. “Of course…” she said. “The mirror… tell me, your King’s name, is it Torren?”

            The terrible truth was beginning to dawn on Bellan and it was all she do to remain expressionless as she lied. “Yes,” she said quietly, her head hung so no one could see her shame. “His name is Torren.”

 

~*~

 

            She was dismissed soon after that, the Queen’s excitement uncontainable, and a group of frail looking men had been ordered into the audience chamber. Wizards, they called themselves. But Bellan doubted it.

            As soon as she was alone she began to run, asking anyone she passed if they knew where Aleck was. Finally she came across a manservant who wasn’t intimidated by her yelling. “He’s in the garden, Miss,” he said, his slow, deep voice unruffled. “Just take the stairs. Three flights down, go through the kitchen and take the first door on the left.”

            Breathlessly she thanked him and raced to follow his instructions, thundering down the steps, taking them two and three at a time. She dodged a cook and crashed through the back door, her force slamming it back on its hinges. “Aleck! Aleck!” she cried as soon as she saw him, silhouetted against a sunset that shots streaks of red through his hair.

            He turned in alarm, and got up. The pitch black wolf that had been leaning against him gave a low growl. “Easy, Rook” he said, patting it’s head, “She’s a friend.”

            Rook rose to his feet, his great dark head easily leveling with Aleck’s shoulder, and his snarl slowly changed into the apologetic grumble of a puppy. How was I supposed to know? She smells like one of them.

            Aleck laughed, and Bellan had to resist the urge to sniff her arm. She smelled?

            “He means no harm,” he said, nudging Rook with his leg. “He’s still young. Anyway, what did you need?” His bright green eyes caught hers, no doubt wondered about her hysterical entrance.

            Suddenly she remembered the feeling of dread. “I need to talk to you,” she said seriously. “It’s about your brothers.”

            He was intrigued, she could tell. One eyebrow raised in question. “Oh?” he said, a slow smile stretched from the corner of his mouth. “What have my impossibly perfect brothers done to get you so agitated?”

            She shook her head, silencing him. “Aleck, please. This is serious.”

            He sobered at once, “Of course. Tell me, what did you want to ask?”   

            “Your middle brother, what’s his name?” She wrung the fabric of her dress in her hands, fearful of his answer, desperately afraid she might be right.

            He laughed, “Is that all? I thought for certain at least one of them was dead. Are you sure Fangor is still a free country? My mother hasn‘t been overthrown by the Empire has she?”

            “Just answer me.”

            “Well, it’s Rhoan. Officially Prince Rhoan of Fangor. He is… away… studying in Elayne.”

            Bellan fell to the grass, a soft moan escaping her lips. “I knew it. Why did I even bother asking you?”

            Aleck stooped next to her, his brows softly knitted in confusion. “Hey,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

            “Everything’s wrong.” She cried, “Aleck, if I told you something would you think I was crazy?”

            He shrugged, “That depends on whether or not you sound crazy, I suppose.” He grinned again, unable to keep a straight face, “Bellan just tell me.” He said gently, and raised a hand against the setting sun, peering into the distance.

            She sighed, unable to find the words to start the story, unable to understand how the Queen could be so right, and at the same time so crucially wrong. Then, dredging that first, fatal phrase from deep in her memory, the same one her father had used, she began...

            “The story of the Daft Prince is a long and blood-spattered one.” she said warningly, but Aleck just waved her on, saying that he was sure he could handle it. “His studies abroad had filled his head with notions of grandeur. More than anything he wished to resurrect the old ways of the Empire. His country had long been a sovereign one, it owed its wealth to no one, and asked for nothing in return. But the Daft Prince foolishly harbored a secret desire for the return of Imperial Armies and totalitarian control. 

            In the early days of her reign his mother had abolished all such practices, and was met by hostility from the adjoining kingdoms still oppressed beneath their government. He fought hard to understand her, but in the end had to admit she was simply dense. To hold such power, and willingly release it? It perplexed him to no end.

            While he was reasonably intelligent he was also a jealous man, one who coveted everything he laid eyes upon. Women were stolen from their marital bed to warm his sheets, livestock thieved from every neighboring farm to provide his dinner. He was said to order children cut from the womb to bait his traps, and rob land from the honest farmer so that he may look upon his pleasure gardens undisturbed. He cared for no man, loved no woman, not even his b*****d offspring. They were merely tools, pawns to be used and discarded. His wealth built on the backs of his slaves, amassed from an ocean of sweat, blood, and tears.

            …but there was one thing the Daft Prince longed to possess, and the only thing that would leave him truly satisfied was also cruelly refused him by Fate; his elder brother’s birthright, his claim to succeed the throne. How he hated his mother for viciously denying him what he deserved, how pitilessly he blamed her and tortured her for bearing him second.

            Years went by, and his mother aged. His brother grew into a wise and generous man, well loved by the people he would someday rule, a day that was now approaching quickly, all the while blind to his younger brother’s hatred, blind as he plotted and schemed against him - applying his intellect, not to his studies, but to ways of tricking and conniving. In the end, after careful consideration, the Daft Prince came to a solution.

            He must murder his brother.

            With the design finally resolved he turned his attention to the detail. They mustn’t be able to trace him back to it. One flaw, and he would be exposed. One mistake, and the throne would be ripped from his grasp. Feverishly he worked toward this goal, and all other operations ceased. For months the entire country was filled with unease, an unnatural stillness extended through every village. The people were waiting, holding their breath and wondering… perhaps… they could continue their lives in peace.

            But whatever small hope they had had was destroyed soon after. The crowning ceremony for the eldest brother was to be held the week of the Winter Solstice. Arrangements were in full swing, the entire country was invited, the towns were suddenly buzzing with coronation gossip.  

            And in the midst of the happy preparations, tragedy struck. The very day before his crowning the King-to-be was found dead in his chamber. Not long after that the Queen died too, some said from grief, and still more accurately some said from revulsion in her second son.

            For the second time in history a hush fell over the entire country, a silence to mourn their fallen hero, but also a silence of horrific foreboding because while word had come of the eldest brother’s death, with it also came the news of the Daft Prince dutifully ascending the throne.

            The country was in an uproar, families that had been settled for generations threatened to immigrate, the very economy of the country was under serious risk of capsizing and still the Daft Prince celebrated. At long last he had his heart’s desire.

            He ordered the border’s to close, interstate commerce slowed, and eventually stopped. Treason was punishable by death, fleeing the nation was now a floggable offense. The members of the Queen’s Guard were sentenced to execution. Inside the perimeters his people suffered, hunger pitted neighbors against each other, drove husbands from their wives, friends became enemies over property disputes, children were sold into the black market to pay for a day’s breakfast, all threatened into submission by the story of his elder brother. 

            Tomorrow became a thing to be feared. The comforting signs of life’s continuance were gone, replaced by harsh reality. “

 

            Bellan broke off talking with a shiver, and Aleck began nodding.

            “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “Bravo, that’s the most imaginative children’s tale I’ve heard in a long time, really it is. A bit disturbing, but brilliant.”

            “It’s not a fairy tale, oh Aleck, don’t you get it? Don‘t you understand who the Daft prince is?” she cried in exasperation. “The country in the story is your country. My country. Our country.”

            “Ah, I see.” he said, swinging his head around, a look of complete seriousness on his face. “Now you are starting to sound crazy.”

            “Think about it. No, really.” she said as he began to roll his eyes.

            “Bellan, it just isn’t possible. Are you trying to tell me you’re from… you’re from what? The future?” He smiled at the absurdity of the thought.     

            “That’s exactly what I’m saying!” she exclaimed, gripping his arm. “The mirror, it must have, triggered something. Someone sent me here on purpose, I’m here for a reason. Aleck you have to believe me!”

            He backed away politely, gently unhooking her hand from his, “Bellan, you need some rest. Everything will be fine in the morning.” He said with a small, good-natured sigh. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

            “No! I’ve had enough rest,” she snarled, digging her soft jeweled slippers into the ground as best she could, “I know I’m right, Rhoan needs to be stopped.”

            Rook whined deeply. I think she speaks the truth Aleck

            Aleck whirled around, “Oh, not you too,” he said sarcastically. “You can’t seriously believe this? It’s absurd. Listen to yourselves, little girls from the future, teleportal mirrors. If the story is really about my family how come I’m not mentioned? Huh?”

            “Bu-”

            “Enough, Bellan.” He said formally, raising a hand against her argument. “I hate to pull rank here, but I won’t hear any more discussion of it.”

            Bellan snapped her mouth shut, biting back what she was about to say and glaring at him. His expression was carefully reserved, just exactly like a petulant Prince refusing to hold court any longer. “Good,” he said, “I see we’ve come to an understanding. Now, let me escort you to your room, the sun is almost beyond the horizon.”

            She nodded slightly, eyeing the darkening landscape with disinterest, and allowed herself to be led toward the kitchen door. A bright wedge of light spilled across the grass as the door was flung open, and Aleck ushered her through it.

 

            ~*~

 

            Her room was eerily silent. The bed a little too large and empty, the corners a little too deep. After Aleck had quickly bade her goodnight, with the promise that he’d see her the next morning she was left alone to wrestle with her thoughts. She knew she was right, if anything Queen Araline’s reaction proved it.

            She lay back against the pillows, still fuming. She needed some way to prove it to him. Something beyond any doubt that her theory was correct. With a frustrated sigh she closed her eyes, twining a strand of hair around her finger in thought. Even if she could find Rhoan’s room she doubted he’d left any evidence of his master scheme lying around. He may be evil but she was willing to believe he wasn’t stupid.

            “Then I’ll just have to come up with my own proof,” she said softly. And feeling much better she was finally able to sleep.

 

            It was still very early in the next morning when she was gently shaken awake. The golden dawn was just beginning to stretch over the horizon, staining the silver landscape with color. “C’mon Miss, up you get. The Queen’s requests you breakfast with her this morning.” The little maid drew back the covers, tsking slightly under her breath. “Fell asleep in your gown, aye? Never mind then, you’ll just have to wear a fresh one.” She busied herself in the closet across the room, leaving Bellan to roll out of bed alone.

            “Why so early?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes. It was barely half past six she guessed, judging by the sun’s position. Anything the Queen had to say could certainly wait until a more decent hour. But no, she sighed, allowing her self to be helped into a new dress, the Queen of an entire country could not be expected to care what hour it was.

            The maid smiled sadly, “Not much I can do with your hair, dear. It’ll have to do.”

            Bellan just nodded, raising a hand to her tangled mass of dark curls. Oh well. I’ve looked worse, she wanted to say, but only shrugged.

            “Now, I’ve been told Queen Araline is dining in the garden, it’s a bit farther than the audience chamber. Come on, I’ll show you.” She bustled out the door, dragging Bellan by the wrist.

 

            The garden could hardly be considered just a garden. It wasn’t a humble little plot of earth boasting some plants. It was a massive affair, color burst from every corner, fountains babbled incessantly, there were sights and smells and sounds to take in at every turn. And in the middle of the riot was a small table. Just a simple wrought iron design with two matching chairs. In one of which waited the Queen. She nodded curtly as she saw Bellan’s arrival, and waved her hand over the food. “Help yourself child. Eat well, we’ve much to discuss.”

            Bellan took a seat, her face suspicious.

            Queen Araline took no notice of this however, “I was up half the night thinking about our little… talk.” She eyed Bellan over the scone she was buttering. “And, with the help of my Wizard’s Council I’ve come up with a plan of action.”

            Bellan didn’t answer.

            “It seems that in your time the capital city is under attack, or at the very least threatened, and my son has no idea how to handle it. So I need you to tell me everything, every little detail, and we’ll make sure he’s properly trained.”

           

 

I know this contains bits and pieces of my other works that have been modified to fit the plot line. Deal with it!