The messenger returned the very next morning. Aeolwyn expected him to be bruised and battered, or even killed, but he was as fresh-looking as he’d been when he left. The elves honored the right of passage for the messenger, despite the bloody battle the day before.
The message the elves had returned was simple: We agree to meet. We will set up a neutral ground between our two lines. Bring your leader and 5 companions. We shall do the same. Come when the sun is highest.
As soon as the messenger returned, Aeolwyn went over to the observation tower to look out over the battlefield. They elves were already building a pavilion and setting up a table and chairs. He immediately thought this might be a trap.
The calm diligence with which the elves worked was a stark contrast to the mournful job Aeolwyn’s soldiers had. They were clearing out the dead soldiers and horses, preparing for another assault that would, hopefully never come.
Rook was the soldier on scout duty this morning. His face was covered with cuts, and his arm had been broken in yesterday’s battle, so he would probably be on this duty for some time while his arm healed—The mages were too busy healing the most critical of injuries to tend to something as simple as a broken arm.
“Watch them all day, Rook,” Aeolwyn said. “I want to make sure they’re not setting up a trap for us.”
“As you command, general.” Rook said.
Aeolwyn climbed down and returned to his tent. He sent for Sir Jom, Galafar, and Egne. He didn’t have to send for Reiva, she had barely left his side since the siege had started. She was worried about assassins sneaking into the camp and trying to kill him. He wasn’t sure how they’d be able to get through their lines. She disagreed. Being this close to Gavinholm Isle, where she learned her arts, she claimed the area might be crawling with assassins who would easily find a way to slit his throat.
Aeolwyn discussed with his advisors how they should approach the meeting, and whether Aeolwyn should reveal the fact that he didn’t actually have the golden arrowhead with him. They decided that he should tell them, simply to stop them from thinking they could just kill him and take it.
Since he had 5 companions that he could bring, they had to decide that as well. He chose to leave Galafar and Sir Jom behind, despite their protests. If something happened to him, the army would still need to be commanded. They were the best commanders, so they were in charge.
Reiva would not be denied, so she was automatically on the list. Jor Egne as well. If things got out of hand, it was good to have a mage nearby. Veila came as well, since notes might have to be taken, and he was surely not going to do it.
The final two were Fuldan and Pol, his private guard. More for intimidation than anything. Though the elves were not ones to be easily intimidated, so his father had said. He himself had little experience with elves. The only one he’d met was Xabat, the soothsayer.
He hadn’t needed to worry about a trap being set inside the pavilion. When they arrived, the whole area had been cleared of snow, and available for their inspection. Reiva made sure to walk every inch of it before Aeolwyn was allowed to approach.
The elves weren’t offended by this in the slightest. They were quite delighted when Reiva declared the space free from traps or anything else that could harm him. Reiva shot one of their members a scowl, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Inside the pavilion they had set out snack cakes and wine, which the elvish delegation was participating in with gusto. Three of the elves were dressed in elegant uniforms heavily embroidered with flowers, and bearing the deep-rooted tree that was the sigil of the elvish nation. Another was dressed in a long flowing robe of red that was completely unadorned. Beside him, he held an oak staff with a gem on top.
The last two were dressed as extravagantly as a lord at a ball. One wore a high collar coat, also heavily embroidered with flowers. His trousers matched the green coat in both color and embroidery.
The other, much taller man was dressed in a similar fashion, but everything was of more expensive materials and of a much finer cut. His coat and pants were dark blue, embroidered with thread-of-gold. He also wore a leather circlet with a matching blue gem on his forehead. it wrapped around his head and held back his long black hair.
Aeolwyn wore a simple military uniform, as he always did. The only thing that distinguished him from the other soldiers in his retinue was the braided gold cord that wrapped around his shoulder and went under his armpit.
All six of the elves bowed when Aeolwyn entered.
“So’Toka, Prince Aeolwyn,” the finest dressed elf said. “Welcome. I am Mor Xa’Axus. Commander of the Forces of the Leaf.” He gestured to his left. “This is Mor’a Frakkis, my subordinate. To my right is Jor Filantin, my mage. The others are my senior knights, Yr Lex, Yr Afrondin, and Yr Bixun.” He gestured at the man with the staff, followed by the three men dressed as soldiers.
“Well met, Mor,” Aeolwyn said. “Beside me are my aide, Veila, and my associate Reiva. Behind me is Jor Egnever, and members of my private guard, Pol, and Fuldan.”
“Mor is my title, young prince. You may call me Xa’Axus.”
“Then please, call me Aeolwyn.”
Xa’Axus gestured to the table and the assemblage all took their seats. Aeolwyn and the mor sat across from each other. Veila sat just to the left of him, and Egne to the right. His soldiers took whatever was left, but Reiva remained standing.
“You gave my knights quite a beating yesterday.” Xa’Axus’ comment expressed no emotion. He might as well have been talking about the weather, rather than the men of his army whose bodies lay across the snow.
“I could say the same,” Aeolwyn said.
“It was well fought, general. After reviewing your lines, we had expected an easy victory.”
The mor’s lack of emotion was unsettling. It was like he just didn’t have any. Perhaps that was something common to all elves. Aeolwyn silently chastised himself for not learning about elves and their culture. It would have come in handy now.
“Your position is strong, Aeolwyn. Why have you called this meeting? Do you wish to surrender?”
Aeolwyn looked at him, trying to fight down the nerves. He’d expected that the elvish leader would have understood why he’d called for the meeting when he sent them the bird. “We Camulani and elves have been enemies for far too long, Xa’Axus,” he said. “It’s time to put an end to that. I seek an alliance.”
Xa’Axus pulled the little statue out and placed it on the table. It glittered in the light of the pavilion. “Is that why you have brought us the statue of U’Lik?”
“A gift,” he said.
What sort of game was this elf up to? Was he trying to mine Aeolwyn for information? Or was it a game of advantage and disadvantage like would be played in Teorton? Aeolwyn didn’t know, and he didn’t like not knowing.
“You gift us what was already ours,” Mor’a Frakkis said angrily. So, they were capable of emotion. That was good to know. Perhaps Mor Xa’Axus was trying to stay calm to keep some sort of imagined advantage that he had.
“We’ll never ally with a Camulani,” one of the elvish knights grumbled.
Xa’Axus waved a hand at the knight. Aeolwyn didn’t understand the gesture, but the knight clamped his mouth shut and sat still, looking sullen. “We already have an alliance with King Drahius. Why would we break that to ally with our enemy of generations? We are not mercenaries who break their oaths to ally with the highest bidder.”
“Drahius will be dead soon,” Reiva said. “And you will too, if you don’t.”
The angry elf stood and slammed his hands on the table. “Is that a threat, human?”
Another hand gesture from Xa’Axus and the elf slumped back down into his chair. “I know your friends were killed yesterday, Yr Bixun, and that has upset you. But if you do not control your anger in this place, you will join them.”
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The mor turned to Aeolwyn and smiled. “That is a bold statement coming from an army that will be crushed between the castle walls and my knights.”
“We have more surprises for you, mor,” Egne said softly.
“More of your mages?” he asked, unperturbed. “We have some of our own.”
Aeolwyn shot a glance at Egne. It was his turn to chastise a member of his group. They had agreed that Aeolwyn was to conduct the negotiations, and everyone else was to stay quiet.
“Please,” he said. “Let’s not get into a war of threats here. I am not here to surrender, nor do I fear a renewed assault from you. But such a battle will be costly on both sides, as you must know, or you would have never agreed to meet with me.”
He paused, unsure of what to say next. He thought about Xabat, and the things he said to Aeolwyn’s friends. He had refused to hear his on fortune from the soothsayer, not because he was afraid of what he might hear, but because he believed no one but him was responsible for his fate.
He realized that his fate hinged on this moment.
You could be king.
“I have ambitions beyond Fenn Castle,” he said. “And for that, I need powerful allies such as yourself. Swear fealty to me, right here, right now, and I will give you the one thing your heart has ached for.”
The group of elves burst into laughter. The knights held their bellies as they guffawed. Even the mage chucked. The only one who didn’t was Mor Xa’Axus. Xa’Axus put his elbows on the table, leaned forward, and clasped his fingers together in front of him.
“How do you know for what my heart aches?”
He didn’t for sure, but he had a pretty good idea. Xabat had admitted to being chased out of Wickshire after they lost the arrowhead. According to his father, the Daal had been replaced many times since then, and Aeolwyn suspected that every elvish noble had their eye on the Daalship.
He decided to take a shot in the dark. “You want to be Daal.”
He leaned back. “Young prince, every elf wants to be Daal.”
“True enough, I’m sure,” Aeolwyn said. “But you’re the only one who will. And I can help you.”
“You?” one of the other knights chuckled. “How could a Camulani general ever help an elf achieve the Daalship?”
“The A’Lon’co’kal,” Aeolwyn said softly.
Mor’a Frakkis’ mouth dropped open. He looked as though someone told him that he could’ve grown wings and flew anytime he wanted to.
“How do you know that name?” Yr Bixun growled. “How dare you say it!”
“I’m a Camulani prince,” Aeolwyn said. “I wager I’ve seen it more than all of you combined.”
The room broke out into yells as the three knights all jumped from their chairs and grabbed their weapons. In a flash his own men were standing, swords at the ready. Reiva hadn’t pulled out her daggers, be she stepped forward, assuming a combat stance.
“Please, no violence,” Aeolwyn said. “I meant no disrespect.”
“Sit!” Xa’Axus yelled. “Another word and you’ll burn from the inside until there’s nothing left of you. I don’t give a damn who your wife is!”
The knights grumbled but let go of their hilts and sat down. Aeolwyn gestured for his guards to do the same. That was a close one. Yr Bixun looked horrified at what Xa’Axus had said to him.
The mor looked back to Aeolwyn. “You have it?”
“Not with me.” He hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much they knew about the conflict between him and Alfyn. He decided that he had to be truthful with Xa’Axus if he expected the elf to join him. “It’s with my brother in Teorton.”
“And if I join you, you will get it for me?”
Aeolwyn nodded. “In time,” he said. “But I will swear a Laryn oath bound with magic that it will be yours.”
The elves gasped. They knew exactly what that meant. An oath bound with magic couldn’t be broken. It was the same oath Reiva had given to him back in Tinar Outpost.
“Then I will do the same, prince,” Xa’Axus said. More gasps. They had not expected this meeting to go this way. They had probably believed that Aeolwyn would surrender.
“Mor Xa’Axus, you cannot!” Mor’a Frakkis shouted.
“He can, and he will!” Jor Filantin said. The elvish mage hadn’t said a word until now, and it made Aeolwyn uneasy. Filantin had a strange look about him that Aeolwyn had only seen once before—when he spoke to Xabat.
Jor Filantin suddenly began glowing red, and it stretched out to encompass both Xa’Axus and Aeolwyn himself. Aeolwyn glanced nervously at Egne who just gave him a wink and nodded.
Xa’Axus reached out and grasped Aeolwyn’s hands. He quickly bowed his head and then looked at him directly in his eyes.
“I, Xa’Axus, Mor of Aerwick and the Great Gardens do swear this oath to you by the Brothers and Sisters and Great God. I hereby swear fealty to you, Aeolwyn, Prince of Camul. I am your vassal, and you are my lord. I will cherish and honor that bond from this day until I am nothing but dust on the winds of the earth.”
His face stretched and contorted, and he shivered as the oath settled into him. He looked expectantly at Aeolwyn. It was his turn, and he was nervous.
“I, Prince Aeolwyn of House Camul accept your oath.” Pain suddenly lanced through his body as though every one of his nerves was ablaze. He fought it down and forced himself to continue. “I promise to be fair and just to you, asking nothing of you that I wouldn’t ask of myself. You are my vassal, and I am your lord. An honor I cherish now and to the end of my days.”
He paused to swallow and shake his head. The burning was getting stronger and stronger. There were only a few more words to get out. “I swear to you, Mor Xa’Axus that, when the time is right, I shall retrieve the A’Lon’co’kal from my brother’s possession and return it to you. I promise to offer you all the help in my power to gain the Daalship, should you need it.”
The last words came out at nearly a whisper, as though he were out of breath. The fire in his veins was white hot now, and it was all he could do to not pass out.
The red glow winked out, and the white-hot pain vanished. He dropped his head on the table as he gasped for breath. Xa’Axus did the same.
When he raised his head, Xa’Axus was smiling at him, holding two cups of mulled wine. He handed Aeolwyn one. “Let us toast our new alliance.”
They all began pouring wine for each other, Yr Bixun first of all of them, though he continued grumbling as he did so. There was less vitriol in his words though, and he sounded more like a soldier mocking another for putting his sword belt on backwards.
“Send a message to King Drahius,” Xa’Axus said. “Our alliance is at an end. We have joined Prince Aeolwyn’s army in the siege of Fenn Castle.”
Aeolwyn elbowed Veila. “I’m sorry Veila, but you’re going to be up all night. I need a thousand copies of a different message that we will send by catapult over the walls.”
Veila’s eyes widened with shock, but he pulled out another sheet of parchment and dipped his quill back into the inkpot. “What message, general?”
“To all the citizens of Fenn City. Prince Aeolwyn hereby swears to ensure your safety if you forswear your king, open the gates, and take up arms against him. No harm will come to you, and I promise as much food and drink as you can stomach.”
“A fine promise,” Xa’Axus said while Veila scribbled. “They must be starved near to death by now. I am certain the gates will open quickly and Drahius will be brought to you in chains.”
“I never liked him anyway,” Yr Bixun said.
The enormity of what Aeolwyn had done didn’t hit him until he was back in his own camp in his own tent. Men and elf had joined the lines and were celebrating long into the night. Aeolwyn couldn’t though. He struggled with the promise he’d made to Xa’Axus. How was he going to fulfil it? Alfyn would never willingly give the A’Lon’co’kal to him. He would have to take it by force.
But he had done the impossible. He, a Camulani prince had a new vassal: an elvish lord. They had been sworn enemies for generations. And now both of their armies were in camps scattered all across the siege lines getting drunk together.
He doubted the current Daal was going to take kindly to that.
His tent flap opened as he was pouring himself another cup of wine. He was well on his way to drunkenness but wasn’t quite there yet. He supposed he shouldn’t be hiding in his tent. Mor Xa’Axus was out there somewhere playing a drinking game with Galafar and Sir Jom. He needed to be out there with them.
Jor Bashi stepped in, closing the flap behind him. He had a broad smile on his face. He had a pack with him and a heavy coat on.
“You have achieved a great victory today. One that will be told for generations to come, Your Highness,” he said. “Your children will be staring at tapestries with your face on them. Ones that depict what has occurred today. Your father would be very proud of you.”
“Alfyn won’t. Going somewhere?”
“Yes,” he said. “I stayed with you for as long as I can. I am making my way to Gavinholm Isle.”
“It’s cold outside the heat domes. Can’t you leave in the morning?”
Jor Bashi frowned and shook his head. “I cannot. The calling is too strong to resist any longer. I must leave now. I just wanted to take my leave of you.”
Aeolwyn stepped forward and hugged the mage tightly. “I will miss you, old friend. I hope we shall see each other again someday.”
“We shall, young prince. And heed my warning. Should Xabat contact you again, remember that he brings doom with him.”
Jor Bashi paused for a moment at the flap of his tent and turned. “You know, I’ve been studying your family for decades, and I can still find no explanation.”
“Explanation?” He didn’t understand. Explanation for what?
“The Royal Family of Camulan has Inherent magic. It is expressed in each of you; a talent, if you will. Your brother Alfyn is magically gifted in the world of politics, as are you Aeolwyn. Your charisma is magical—even I find myself affected by it. It is why you seem to attract great people around you with seemingly little effort.”
Him, magical? He didn’t believe it. He had no affinity for hearing the gods’ voices. Bashi even tested him when he was younger.
“It doesn’t stop at you two, either. Your brothers Ulfnar and Wolfryn as well. Ulfnar has magical luck, where Wolfryn is gifted in battlefield prowess—don’t ever make an enemy of him if you can. Filliya is the most magical of all, though I could never divine her gift.”
“What of Davinya?” he asked.
“She is the most normal of all of you. She is gifted at hearing the voices of the gods. She will make a powerful mage, should she avoid the temptations of the darkness. I wonder though…,” Bashi paused, looking thoughtful. “Have you any native blood in you?”
“Native blood?” Aeolwyn asked, confused. “What are you talking about.”
“Something you don’t know about. I won’t press that any further. Farewell, young prince.”
With that the mage disappeared out of the tent. He had grown up with Jor Bashi. The mage had healed a great many of the illnesses Aeolwyn had been plagued with as a child, from broken bones, to sickness, to what should have been a fatal disease. Aeolwyn was going to miss him dearly.
Their conversation only served to confuse Aeolwyn. He was magical? That didn’t make sense. Then why couldn’t he use spells? And what did he mean native blood? He wanted to chase down the old mage and demand that he explain.
But he didn’t. Jor Bashi had tasks of his own to attend to; he’d avoided them for much too long, and Aeolwyn wouldn’t dream of standing in the way. He just had to accept and support the mage’s decision and wish him well.
Still, his last words haunted Aeolwyn. Xabat brings doom with him. He didn’t know what that meant, but resolved to do everything in his power to stop it, whatever doom may come.
He’d avoided his own task for much too long. He drained his winecup and left to join the party.
