“That you’ve bonded with Einar? Yes. They won’t be happy when they find out.”
“I know. We’re prepared.”
“I wish I could save you from that as well.”
She gave him a small, sad smile. “No one could. But we’ll be okay.”
“This will affect the magics for the arrows.”
He wasn’t asking. He knew as well as she did that it would. “I’ll keep you aware of what happens. I won’t endanger the Sinnale with inadequate weaponry.”
He took her hand and squeezed, a gesture that said more than his words could.
“You’ve lost a brother and a cousin in a war never meant for us,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t lose my cousin to the war. I lost her to love. I can’t fault her that.” He met her gaze. “I am happy for you. You and Einar…you share something deep. I haven’t seen you this content in centuries. That, at least, pleases me.”
This time her smile was genuine and big. “Thank you.”
They reached the armory then and switched back to speaking in the Sinnale language for Layla’s sake.
She held open a thick wooden door for them, gesturing them into a large room filled with strung bows, swords of various sizes, a few vests of chainmail and helmets, a plethora of knives ranging from daggers to throwing darts, a pile of what Nuala guessed were the makings for explosives, and racks of elf arrows—both the regular arrows typically traded with the Sinnale, and the fire-tips which were only now being allowed into Sinnale hands.
The fire-tips had arrowheads that burned as hot as lava after their release, deadly and dangerous. While they could slice through most barriers, including magical ones, they could also ignite major fires if not used carefully. Until recently, the king and queen hadn’t wanted that power in the hands of their neighbors.
Several elves created the fire-tips so Nuala was rarely tasked to make many. The king and queen had her concentrate on ordinary arrows—hers were some of the best and so traded well with the Sinnale before the war—and making her special arrows.
The material for which currently sat at the center of the room. A large stack of the pre-fletched, hollowed shafts waited for her to finish them. Several boxes of additional material were piled next to the stack—shrapnel to fill the shafts, arrowheads and leather wraps specifically designed for her specialty.
Without her magic, her spell to set the arrows, they would never fly. Too heavy and off balance when filled with small sharp shards of metal, the arrows should have been useless. But once set with her spell, they became a dangerous bomb, exploding and unleashing chaos wherever they landed. These arrows had helped her people win the last goblin war. The Sinnale were counting on them to put an end to their own war.
If she could get them to work now that her magic had mixed with Einar’s.
“Do you have everything you need?” Layla asked as Nuala studied her work area.
There was a comfortable-looking bench for her to sit at, all the tools she needed to hand, and a small, empty table to one side of the bench.
“Everything looks good. The table?”
“For water, meals. Whatever you might need.”
“She won’t eat while working,” Einar said. “But make sure there’s water for her.”
Layla left to get the water. Nuala stared at Einar for several moments, knowing he was thinking the same thing she was—could she do what was necessary anymore? Could she work the spell, the special magic only she’d ever been able to wield, and turn these arrows into bombs?
Ulric clapped Einar on the back of the shoulder, breaking into their silence. “Come. We’ll leave my cousin to her work and you and I can discuss some security issues.”
Though he went reluctantly, Einar allowed Ulric to lead him out. A moment later, a pitcher of fresh water and a glass were delivered and left on the table. Then Nuala was alone.
Chapter Twelve
Nuala stared at the hollowed-out arrow shafts, and for the first time since discovering this spell, knew real trepidation. She settled herself on the bench, took up the first hollow shaft and dropped in some shrapnel, filling it completely from the closed base where it had already been properly fletched, all the way to the tip where she inserted the point.
As she wrapped securing leather around the arrowhead, she closed her eyes and began the spell, sending power through her body, molding it into the song of enchantment and death that was the weapon. A quiet, mumbling swing of words fell from her lips to swirl around the arrow, infusing and setting it.
But as she worked, the song felt…different. A word, here or there, came out wrong and yet fit perfectly into what she was singing. The tone of certain notes changed, by a flat or sharp, a whole octave deeper or higher. Yet the rhythm felt powerful, the pour of magic through her body flowed easily. It didn’t fight the changes in the spell. In fact, the new twists of magic she accessed grew stronger as she chanted, hinting at the final shape without revealing it, bringing a certainty of purpose and strength both different and familiar.
She could almost feel the influence of Einar’s magic mingling with her own, turning into its own creation. That it mixed so easily, so well, so perfectly was both surprising and somehow expected. Yet, even as she sang, as she formed the spell and poured power into it, she had no idea what she was really creating. Still a weapon. Maybe even more powerful than her previous spell. But with a difference she couldn’t understand. Something more…personal. Something more precise…
When her music faded and she returned from the sensory realms of working the magic back to a more physical state, she stared down at the finished arrow in her hands. A faint golden glow faded as she watched. And then the arrow looked like any other.
What had she done? What would this new creation do?
She set the enigma aside, selected a second arrow shaft and attempted to set it with the original spell. This time, her power flowed in the old ways, lacking the changeable influence of Einar’s magic. When she was done, she’d created one of the original weapons she was here to set. Again she went to the arrow shafts, again the magic bowed to the original intention of the spell. But after another five arrows, the magic bent again, and Nuala made another of the strange anomalous arrows.
Late into the night she worked, remembering to drink only when she felt faint. Her body faded away with each spell-casting, so that she only noticed discomfort for brief minutes between the magics. In those moments, she felt the growing exhaustion that would eventually force her to stop and sleep, but she ignored both the physical and magical depletion to continue working.
When she could no longer concentrate enough to properly form either of the spells, she took stock of her work.
To one side lay almost a hundred of the new type of arrows. To the other, three times that many of her originally spelled weapons. She let out a breath and selected one of the new, studying it, feeling the magic within. She closed her eyes and opened her sense, trying to discern how the new arrow might work, but the solution eluded her. With her original arrows, she’d known as she made them what they would become. This time, the outcome was a mystery.
How could she give these to the Sinnale when she didn’t even know what they did? Would they even fly with all the shrapnel inside them, given the changes in the spell? So many uncertainties. And no opportunity to test any possible theory. The human council expected what they’d ordered, what they’d fairly traded for.
Now what?
She set the arrow back in its pile and gulped down the remaining water, not surprised to find her throat so dry it had tightened up. She moved to the cot Layla had provided in one dark corner of the room, curled onto her side, and was asleep instantly.
Though there were windows in the room, she found it impossible to tell how long she’d slept after she returned to consciousness. It was still dark out, so she could have slept for a quarter hour, several hours, even a full day into the next night. Sitting up, she noticed a basin of clean washing water had been brought into the room. The water pitcher was filled again, and there was a small plate of cheese and nuts on the table beside the water.
The idea of food made her stomach roll in disgust, but the water sounded like joy. Once she’d sated her thirst, took care of bodily functions, and paced a few times around the room to loosen up muscles, she returned to setting arrows.
When exhaustion took her again, it was full sunlight, though she still wasn’t sure what time. No timer chimes sounded through the city. No time device of any kind was left in the large room. As she worked, time lost meaning anyway, and she stopped only long enough to nap again, then returned to the arrows.
The sun was down, the room shadowed in the corners where the light from the hanging gas lamp refused to go, by the time she’d worked her way through most of the empty arrow shafts.
Einar quietly entered the room sometime during her working. But he remained as unobtrusive and invisible as only a well-trained bodyguard could. Even Nuala only barely noted his presence, and she was overly aware of him.
She let the last song fade away and placed the arrow she’d been working on the pile with the new arrows. The two piles had remained a three-to-one ratio of traditional to new. And she still had no idea what the newest arrows did.
The rest of the water in the pitcher wetted her dry throat before she finally turned to face Einar.
He didn’t even have to question her aloud. She could see his concern and curiosity in the slight raise of his brows.
“These—” she pointed to the larger of the two piles, “—are the arrows I’m here to produce. These others are new.”
“What do the new ones do?”
“I have no idea,” she admitted. “They’re different, a product of our melding. But…I have no idea what they’re capable of.”
He stared at the smaller pile. “What will you tell Ulric, the human council?”
She stood and stretched, letting her spine pop as she worked out the kinks of sitting for so long. “Ulric…Ulric knows we’ve bonded. He can sense the change.”
Einar nodded.
“I’m hoping to persuade him to let me test one or two of these before allowing the humans to use any of them. I don’t want to be responsible for any Sinnale deaths because the weapon backfires.”
“Reasonable. And you’ve managed to produce the arrows they traded for—at least a good number of them came out correctly. That bodes well.”
“Maybe.” Though she wasn’t sure what to make of this mixing of abilities from one moment to the next. “I hope it will be enough to satisfy them until we can figure out what these others do.”
“Ulric will make sure it is. Now, you need food.”
She blinked. Her mind had been on the rhythm and words of the new spell as she tried to analyze them for a possible explanation. Einar’s reminder that she needed to eat made her stomach growl.
“I guess I do need food.” She chuckled and left the arrows to join him in his position next to the door. “How long have you been keeping vigil there?”
“Inside the room? Not long. I didn’t want to distract you.”
His expression remained neutral, but she didn’t miss his careful phrasing. “Inside the room not long. How long did you watch over me from outside the room?”
“I’ve been here all along. I couldn’t leave you alone and vulnerable in a strange place. Even if we are surrounded by allies.”
He spoke as if she should have known better and her question baffled him. She should have known better. How else would Einar think?
“Come, Ulric has food prepared and waiting in a more comfortable setting.”
Without touching her, he led her back down the corridor. The lack of physical contact was exactly what she needed. After working so much magic, her skin was always overly sensitive, and a simple touch often hurt. Einar had always understood this, better than anyone else.
As she thought back on their years of friendship and loving, she realized he always did what was right and best for her—or at least what he thought was best.
The room he led her to was small but comfortably set with a long table and benches. The table itself was covered with more cheese, dried fruits and some fresh bread.
Layla looked up from setting out plates and greeted them with a smile. “I hope it will be enough. The war has been difficult on our food stores, but we’ve been doing better lately. We don’t have much fresh meat, but there is some dried meat available if you require it.”
Nuala waved that off. “I don’t need meat. Simple foods are best.”
They settled around the table and everyone quietly filled a plate. Einar watched her take her first few bites before taking any himself.
“I’m sorry there’s no wine,” Layla said into the silence. “There’s very little left in the city. It will be several years before we can start producing again.”
“Water is better for me now.” Nuala sighed. “But I will miss Sinnale wine. I have for the last few years. Your grapes always seem to produce more interesting flavors than ours.”
Layla smiled. “One of the things my parents got the best use out of when trading for weapons. Sinnale wine.”
She stared at Nuala for several moments and Nuala held her gaze, wondering at the considering look. She was used to a distant kind of reverence from her own people. In years past, humans had dealt with her with a kind of awe, but many humans approached the Glengowyn elves that way. She was one of many to them, not considered unique the way she was among her own people.