Authors: Brian Fuller
The Chalaine watched Gen, worry knotting her stomach. His weariness and pain mounted with every mile forward. He bore up well considering his obvious discomfiture, though Maewen and Fenna shot concerned glances at him with increasing frequency. The Chalaine feared he might be killed if he rode much farther, but she could do nothing but pray he could endure whatever protection the builders of the city had prepared against him.
Before long, outbuildings cropped up along the road, most artistic and beautiful without any obvious, practical function save as gathering places. They passed several gazebos of similar design to the ones by the pool in the canyon. She wondered if they had already entered Elde Luri Mora without realizing it or if the gazebos and hall she and Gen saw were part of some smaller province. Before her, the road descended and curved between steep gashes in the hills. The river separated from the road and disappeared behind a hill farther east as the steady descent finally evened up.
As they rounded another corner, the city sprang into view and they called a halt. Before them the hills split apart as if hewn by a giant ax. A tall silver gate, untarnished and finely tooled, reflected the sun so harshly the travelers had difficulty inspecting them. One side of the immense gate was thrown open, and the road continued onto a bridge. Elde Luri Mora stretched out upon an island in the middle of a deep, blue lake formed in the womb of tall, fir-covered hills.
Impressively, the city seemed to lay as it first had centuries ago, pristine white buildings trimmed with gold and silver nestled in trees and fields of the richest green. The moons reflected clearly and ominously in the still water, their image disturbed only by wind ripples and reflected sunlight. Flowers and blossoms of every color lined its streets of white granite cobblestones, and as they crossed the long bridge over the lake, the Chalaine felt an air of peace and happiness envelop her, reminding her of the feeling emanating from Ki’Hal in the vision Aldemar had shared with her.
She smiled at Fenna, but her handmaiden had turned to wrap her arm around Gen who flagged, sweating profusely. Her mother noticed his distress and angled her horse closer. As they approached, Gen straightened himself with an act of pure will.
“Press on,” he said weakly. “I will rest when we arrive.”
Mirelle nodded and guided her horse toward her daughter. “See if you can do something for him, once we get him settled in and away from everyone,” the First Mother whispered. “I think he has exhausted himself. You may need to force him to sleep. Do you remember how?”
“Yes.”
Geoff, Dason, and a small contingent of Aughmerian soldiers met them on the other side of the bridge, faces happy at their arrival, though the Chalaine noticed Geoff’s frown upon seeing Fenna and Gen. She couldn’t tell if he were disappointed to see Gen alive or disturbed by his appearance. Whatever he felt, he greeted them heartily, his arm hanging in a sling.
“Chalaine and Fenna and Gen! The sun smiles on us again!” He beamed. “Thank Eldaloth. I shall need the story from both of you, of course! I do not lie when I say this may well be the most interesting book I or anyone else has ever written! But come! The Hall of Three Moons is amazing! You must see it, Fenna. It surpassed my wildest expectations!”
Dason approached, face beaming. He knelt and kissed the Chalaine’s hands. “I could feel you coming! I knew you would be safe! My heart nearly burst when I saw you disappear over the falls!”
“I am safe,” the Chalaine soothed, finding his affection strangely annoying. Gen watched them both expressionlessly, and she withdrew her hand from Dason’s grip, realizing what he probably thought of her. She turned to Geoff, and—to his utter delight—healed his arm.
Maewen urged them onward. As they passed into the city proper, the Chalaine marveled at the grace of the structures around her. Unlike human cities where monuments and buildings were built tall and in spite of the environment around them, Elde Luri Mora accommodated the terrain and the trees. Not one building rose taller than the tallest tree, and everything curved naturally to match the shape of clearings and openings in the foliage. There were no harsh angles anywhere, the polished white stone appearing shaped as clay rather than chiseled. Green vines tinged with silver and red snaked up the sides of white walls, accenting rather than overwhelming the architecture.
The silver and gold trim imitated the shape and size of thin-leaved creepers, reflecting the sunlight. Instead of groomed beds of flowers or well-pruned shrubs and trees, everything was let grow in its place without the governing of a gardener’s spade or woodsman’s saw. Crystal chimes rang in the pleasant breeze, and blossoms of pink, white, and yellows swirled thick about the road, exuding a scent that relaxed the nerves and set the mind to pleasant thoughts.
Since everything appeared so new and inviting, the Chalaine half expected the tenants of the buildings to emerge from the doorless thresholds. But the city’s denizens had indeed abandoned it, and it had sat hidden away in the hills for years until the Shroud Lake shard had been discovered and the road found again. Maewen was the first to find and enter it, and she told them that the road to the city practically rose from the ground to meet her feet as she walked.
The Hall of Three Moons stood in a clearing near a high hill, the tallest structure they could see from their vantage point. Towering trees abutted it from every side but the front. A border of pink and white flowering bushes ringed the building, and patches of purple and red wildflowers encroached upon the thin walkway that led to a wide, arched entrance with no door. The building itself was a wide dome, stretching some hundred feet into the air. Smaller domes were attached to four sides of the circle, creating an appearance of four corners. A semicircle patio extended away from the door, and Chertanne waited there, Captain Drockley at his side.
The Chalaine swallowed hard. Her fiancé was travel stained and unkempt, face unsettled and maybe even a little scared. Jaron came to her side, Gen slightly behind, sweat beaded on his forehead. Fenna took his arm and held tightly.
“Chalaine,” Chertanne said, voice ingratiating, “it is good to see you again.” Chertanne walked around Jaron to stand in front of Gen, hands on his hips. Gen returned the stare without blinking.
“You look simply awful,” Chertanne remarked disdainfully.
“He has slept but one night in the last five, your Grace,” the Chalaine quickly explained, “and was greatly taxed escorting me through the canyon.”
Chertanne ignored the Chalaine, eyes fixed on Gen. “I want you to know something, Gen,” and for half a moment the Chalaine thought he would thank him. “I will expect you to submit to the Pontiff for a full examination of your actions while you were alone with my fiancé. If I find out that you so much as. . .”
Chertanne’s last words were cut off as Gen’s free hand shot around Chertanne’s throat with such speed that those around him startled. Captain Drockley drew his sword and started forward cautiously.
“Don’t!” Gen ordered, face livid. “I won’t kill him.” Drockley held back. Chertanne’s eyes bulged, face turning red. “You listen to me, Chertanne. How dare you question my honor or the Chalaine’s after you visited every brothel and bawdyhouse in Mikmir! If you ever question her or me again, you had better be prepared to pick up a sword and fight. No one can keep me from you—not your guard, not your father!”
“I withdraw my statement,” Chertanne gagged, naked fear on his face. The Chalaine glanced at her mother, finding her face expectant, almost elated.
“Good. And one more thing.” Gen freed his arm other from a shocked Fenna and lifted his shirt to reveal his brandings. “Do you see this branding? It lets me know when the Chalaine is in pain. If I ever feel or discover that you hurt her in any way, I will come for you and Eldaloth help you when I do!”
Gen shoved Chertanne backward and the Blessed One landed hard on his backside. The Chalaine expected Chertanne to return some epithet. He instead gathered himself and practically ran into the hall. Captain Drockley resheathed his sword and followed after him, throwing Gen a challenging look. Much to the Chalaine’s surprise, Jaron patted Gen on the back, and her mother flashed him a smile before going into the Hall. Geoff already had his book out, scribbling intently as he walked. Maewen commented something to Gen offhandedly in Elvish as she passed by, though Gen didn’t acknowledge it.
The Chalaine, Jaron behind, stayed with Fenna and Gen, unsure of how to feel. Gen was miserable, and the Chalaine reached out to feel his forehead for a fever. It was hot, but as she touched him, it faded. Realizing what was happening, she pulled her hand away. Gen said nothing.
“What did Maewen say, Gen?” Fenna asked.
“She said I am a dead man.”
“Let’s find you somewhere to rest, Gen,” Fenna suggested, rubbing his arm. “I think the Pontiff will hold the wedding tonight. He said there was no time to lose, and he is not faring well. You should visit him, Chalaine.”
“I will.”
They went inside the hall, finding the other soldiers who had survived gathered there. The Hall of Three Moons stunned the Chalaine. A wide, oval window in the ceiling—glass tinted light blue—framed the three moons and cast a pleasant hue on everything below. On the north end of the hall stood a great throne elegantly carved from a pale wood. Three thrones sat one level below it, all carved of the same wood, though one was charred black. A raised dais encircled the room, and above it was a balcony with a bench offering a perfect view of the floor on which was painted a perfect replica of all of Ki’Hal before the Shattering. Softly arched doorways draped with a soft red cloth led into the smaller domes accessible from the dais.
Dason led them forward. “The Pontiff and the Ha’Ulrich have taken the domes closest to the main entrance. We have been given the one to the right of the throne.”
“Very well,” Mirelle answered. “You should all take your rest, you especially, Gen. I will visit you by and by.”
The Chalaine observed Gen as they crossed the floor, wondering what had inspired his sudden outburst against Chertanne, especially considering what she had done to him. He stumbled more than once as he walked, always catching himself. Sweat ran from him in rivulets as he concentrated, trying to fight off the pain. Fenna supported him along the way.
They found that the smaller domes contained separate chambers made private by curtains of the same cloth as the entrance. To one of these they led Gen, helping him onto a single red cushion placed on an outcropping of stonework from the wall. A series of small oval windows opened to the outside, and a simple chair sat beneath them. Gen removed his shirt and lay down heavily.
“What is wrong, Gen?” Fenna asked, face concerned.
“I am so tired. My head aches and I feel dizzy and hot.”
“Can you do something for him, Chalaine?”
“I hope so,” she said. “If you could go fetch some water, Fenna, and some food, if there is any.” Fenna nodded and left.
“And Jaron?” the Chalaine asked. “Could you wait outside and close the curtain?”
He complied without comment. The Chalaine came near her Protector and incanted again, breathing on his face. Immediately he fell asleep, though an uneasy one. She reached out and took his hand, and immediately he relaxed, face easing and clenched muscles releasing. When Fenna returned, the Chalaine pretended to concentrate.
“Is he going to be all right?” Fenna asked.
“It is a strange sickness, magical, I think,” the Chalaine lied. “As soon as I do the healing, it comes back. I will need to stay with him as much as I can.”
Fenna nodded and sat as Jaron brought her a chair from an adjoining room. The Chalaine sat as close as she could to Gen, finding ways to touch him surreptitiously to maintain the healing effect. She marveled at how it drained nothing from her to do it.
She ate and drank what poor provisions there were—hard rolls and leathery meat—and after some time her mother arrived, Maewen in tow.
“Jaron, Cadaen, come in here,” Mirelle ordered. “Did you put him to sleep, Chalaine?”
“Yes.”
Fenna’s eyes went wide. “You put him to sleep?”
“It is a talent the Chalaines have had for some time, among others, Fenna,” the First Mother replied. “It was necessary to get him to rest. He is stubborn and would insist on watching until he killed himself. We need to plan, however. The marriage will happen tonight, and after that, Chertanne will rule all kingdoms and we will be honor and faith bound to obey him. I fear what he will do to us, and Gen most of all.”
“Is there still no sign of Ethris or Shadan Khairn?” Jaron asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Maewen answered. “I just talked to the scouts, and they have found no evidence of either one. I find it hard to believe that they are dead. Both are powerful in their respective arts, but both stood in the thick of the fight. We can only hope they return soon. Besides Gen, Torbrand Khairn is the only one Chertanne fears.”
“Nevertheless,” Mirelle said, “they are not here and cannot help us. Maewen, has the Ha’Ulrich discussed what he intends to do when we leave? What path we will take?
“He has not,” she answered, “but I would guess that he will follow my lead. We really have only two choices since we must stay off the road. We go northwest, which is the fastest, or northeast and then west, which will allow us best use of the horses but is significantly longer.”
“Which will you recommend?”