"But who is Akanra?"
"My turn, dear," he chided, reminding Ayalah of a parent scolding a small child. "Best not to be rude. What do you seek in this forest?"
She swallowed. "I am a warrior of—"
He nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, I know who you are. But what do you seek, I asked? Do not answer a different question from the one I asked."
She stared at him for a moment. "We seek a stone."
At this, Swynn giggled. "A stone? Well, go on! There are three hundred and seventy-three stones in this very clearing. You may take whichever you deem most worthy." He broke into peals of loud laughter, slapping his thigh and throwing his head back.
"Aged one," Greyson chimed in, "I believe we seek a specific stone. A large one, worth a considerable amount."
Swynn's laughter subsided. "Yes, yes, I know. I was only teasing." He wiped tears of merriment from his eyes and grew serious. "Listen to me, children. In the first place, you are meddling in things that ought not be meddled with by anyone who does not know the meaning behind them. This is serious, now. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Ayalah and Greyson exchanged a look and then shook their heads. Ayalah's patience was running thin; she had never been particularly gifted at solving riddles, and the old man had a strange way of speaking—something she couldn't put her finger on—that rubbed her the wrong way.
"This stone," Swynn continued on, unperturbed, "contains power beyond what you have ever conceived existed. You were sent here by your king, and that is well and good—but whose order is he taking?"
Ayalah stared at him, uncertain. "I don't believe you've met our king. He would never take orders from anyone. He has too much pride to do that."
Swynn eyed her shrewdly. "Indeed. And in the second place, just how presumptuous is this king of yours to think he can send a lackey in his place to come to my home and demand I hand over one of my own possessions?"
A lackey! She opened her mouth to protest.
"Hypothetical, dear," Swynn said. "And in the third place, it was not I who set those abominations on you last night. Think about that for a moment, if you will." He raised his eyebrows as if to punctuate his remark.
"Abominations? You mean those creatures?" Greyson asked eagerly.
The wizard nodded.
"But what are they?" Greyson asked.
Swynn shook his head. "My turn, young man. What are you?"
Greyson looked at Ayalah; she shrugged. "I am a smithy," Greyson answered.
"Ah," Swynn said, nodding but looking disappointed. "Indeed. Well, to answer your question, smithy, those revolting examples of what wizardkind can create are a recent invention, I believe. You see, the dark wizard Akanra has taken his servants and fused them with various animals to create hybrid beings—it is his idea of improving the human race, you see." He spat into the fire. "Disgusting."
Ayalah waited, unsure if it was her turn or the wizard's turn to ask a question. She and Greyson had finished eating now, and she felt pleasantly warm and satisfied.
Swynn looked up at the treetops. "Is it tomorrow already? Today always ends too soon." He stood up. "Well, I had best be going. You will find your way out of the trees if you head that way in a straight line." He pointed to a path in the trees that hadn't been there a moment before. "Ah, you may need this." He handed Ayalah a cloth bag that was knotted at the opening. "Give it to your king. Tell him you got lost in the enchanted forest, and you were never able to find me. He will believe you.
"Well, goodbye, goodbye. A pleasure chatting with you." He inclined his head to them and was off, moving through the trees slowly before disappearing from sight.
16
Ayalah stared after the old wizard in disbelief for some time after he'd left. The sun was indeed beginning to rise, and their fireside chat already felt like a strange dream.
"What's in the bag?" Greyson asked, snapping her back to the present.
She untied the knot and peered in the cloth bag the wizard had given her—but then immediately pulled back and resealed the bag, clamping her mouth shut and breathing slowly through her nose to keep from vomiting. "It's... a head."
"A head?"
"The head of a warrior of the Crown who went missing some months ago." She swallowed. Ordinarily a sight like this wouldn't bother her, but... "It—it's a bit mangled."
Greyson raised his eyebrows. "Why don't we leave that bag closed until we get to the palace?"
She nodded and rose. "Good idea."
It took them only a few days to reach the edge of the forest where they'd entered—Ayalah wondered if, in fact, the trees really had been moving that whole time—and, as she had expected, her horse was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. She was now properly attired once more in her warrior leathers (cleaned of all bloodstains), and the thought of wading through the tall grass in the heat of the sun, with no trees for shade, was not an appealing one. The only alternative would be to walk to the main road and then hitch a ride on a wagon, but the northern road was used so infrequently these days—merchants from Bolladoth came only once per week, typically—there was no guarantee they'd see even a single rider.
She sighed again and set out into the field of tall grass. It would be the shortest route, and hopefully a quick one. She contented herself with the thought that, if nothing else, she would soon be rid of the smithy. He had proven himself to be an unnecessary burden, constantly arguing with her and not even holding a piece of the prophecy. She was more than ready to move on to try to find the real man her piece of the prophecy had spoken about.
Greyson, for his part, followed behind her merrily enough, not seeming to mind the tall grass now that they were both on equal footing. He began to whistle.
Ayalah tried to be patient—she really did. But already she was feeling irritable: the sun, the grass, the need to walk because her horse had run off. She wheeled on him.
"Stop it."
"The whistling?"
"Yes. The whistling."
He rolled his eyes but obeyed. She nodded and began walking again.
"You know," he said, "you are the most negative, angry—"
She spun around again to face him. "Enough. I don't care if you like me. I was trying to help you because I thought you had a part of the prophecy, but apparently you don't. My mistake: I uprooted you for nothing, and I wasted my own time and effort. Let's just deal with each other—in silence—for another few days, and then we'll get back to Miltinoth and never have to see each other again. Okay?"
She turned without waiting for a response and walked quickly, not slowing down until his silhouette was barely visible through the tall grass.
It took almost a week of complete silence and passive-aggressive body language for Ayalah to begin to soften again toward the smithy. For one thing, there was no point in staying angry with him: after all, she would soon be rid of him for good and could continue with her quest to find the next prophecy holder. But for another thing, he never seemed to return her sidelong looks, and he really was helping her by carrying all of their bags. Somehow the heat out in the grass didn't seem as oppressive as the heat in the forest, though the sun still blazed and burned her cheeks; and since she wasn't as irritable and short-tempered, she felt a little more forgiving.
Still, it took another couple of days before she was willing to have a conversation again, and even then it took her the entire day of walking to come up with something to say that sounded friendly and yet wasn't an apology.
They settled for the night on the edge of the grass, just another day's walk from the city. A few lights twinkled in the distance, though no other sign of life could be seen. She had captured a field hare earlier in the day, and it was with real enthusiasm that Greyson built up a small fire for them to have a hot meal for the first time since their run-in with Swynn the wizard in the forest.
They were out in the open now, with no trees for protection, but somehow she felt safer than ever. After all, she reasoned, if they were totally ex
posed, that would mean anyone else in the area would be exposed as well, so they couldn't sneak up on her. She sat beside the smithy and let go of her sword pommel—she hadn't even realized she'd been gripping it pensively as she had surveyed the scene. "Thanks for building the fire," she said. It had taken her all day to think of the nicety; it was a phrase, in fact, she had never uttered in her life.
Greyson barely glanced at her. "Sure." He speared the rabbit on a stick he'd picked up somewhere and began to rotate it over the flames.
A long moment of silence elapsed. Ayalah didn't know what else to say.
"You know," Greyson said finally, "when I was a child, my parents used to get into fights a lot. I would get upset, and my mother would sit me in front of the fire and sing to me."
"I barely remember my parents," Ayalah said. "What kinds of songs did your mother sing?"
At this, Greyson looked up. He searched her face for a long time, as if suspicious of something. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know. Lullabies. There was this one..." He trailed off and shook his head again.
"Yes?" she prompted.
"For some reason, it stands out in my mind." He began to sing softly, rotating the hare over the fire as he sang:
Go along, my child, sail the lonely blue
The land of friends and myst'ries has long awaited you.
He smiled shyly when he finished. "I never was much able to hold a tune."
Ayalah shook her head. "Don't be silly. Was that a popular song where you grew up?"
"No. At least, I never heard anyone else singing it. Maybe that's why it stands out."
"Maybe." Ayalah smiled and accepted her portion of the hare from Greyson's outstretched hand, but her mind was whirling. Could this be the second part of the prophecy? Something embedded so deep in Greyson's mind, he didn't even recognize it for anything more than a nursery rhyme? Yes, it must be: her own part of prophecy told her that A seed you'll find within his mind that I have planted deep—surely, she hadn't been mistaken, then, and Greyson was, in fact, the one she was meant to find.
Sail the lonely blue: Well, she thought, that narrowed it down, at least. That meant the next piece of the prophecy would be in one of three places: the Naral Isles, Olekoth, or Hodaroth. Myst'ries could refer to either the unexplored islands of the Naral Isles or to the unexplored top half of the continent of Olekoth, so that eliminated Hodaroth. But friends: that could only refer to Olekoth, to the ancient alliance between Miltinoth and Olekoth.
"What are you thinking about?" Greyson asked.
"Nothing," Ayalah said, shaking her head. She took a bite of the roasted rabbit and chewed until Greyson shrugged and looked away.
Perfect. Now all she needed to do was report to the king, get rid of the smithy, and find an excuse to visit Olekoth and search for the next piece of the prophecy.
17
They arrived in the city, waited until the king could see them, and then reported to the palace as required. Ayalah had just enough time before the summons came to send a one-word letter to Gavin: Olekoth. Once in the palace, they again waited for more than an hour before the king showed up, and again he entered looking bored.
"Well?" the king asked, once he'd seated himself at the front of the room.
"Warrior Tarall, Sire, reporting the status of my latest assignment," Ayalah said formally.
"Yes, yes, get on with it."
"Sire, we were unable to retrieve the stone you asked for. The forest was enchanted somehow: it was inhospitable, with no water, and the trees seemed to move so that we were going in circles. Finally, we were forced to return or else perish of thirst."
The king stared at her with undisguised hate. "You dare return empty-handed, Warrior Tarall?"
With any other warrior, she knew, the king would have accepted this logical excuse and contented himself with a slap on the wrist for the warrior in question. When it came to her, however, he did not value her life enough to deem this a fit excuse for failure; she wondered how he would punish her.
"I did not return completely empty-handed, Your Majesty," she said. She held up the cloth bag Swynn had given her.
"Well, bring it forward then," he said.
She stepped forward, handed him the bag, and stepped back again. He glared at her for a moment before untying the knot and looking in the bag; then he recoiled and shoved the bag at one of his scribes, who took it reluctantly.
"Hum," he said, tapping his fingers on his leg. "I see." He turned to Greyson. "Smithy, do you attest to the truth of this story?"
Greyson nodded. "I do, Majesty."
"Hum," the king said again. "Smithy, you will continue assisting Warrior Tarall in her endeavors until the job is done. Warrior Tarall, you will return with that stone or die trying." He smirked as the shock of this pronouncement registered in Ayalah's mind and on her face.
"Your Majesty," Ayalah said, trying to remain calm, "if you would give me a real warrior to go with, one who could actually—"
"The smithy will meet all your needs, I am sure," the king drawled.
This time, Ayalah didn't need to pretend to be annoyed with the assignment. Regardless of the impossibility of actually attaining the stone, the thought of spending another month with Greyson made her want to scream; still, she tried to control the rage that was building within her. "But Majesty, he is a hindrance and a liability. He slows me down. Surely you'll see that if he puts me in more danger than—"
"Enough!" the king said. "This is not open for negotiation, Warrior Tarall."
Ayalah opened her mouth to object once more, but suddenly the doors flew open.
"There you are, my love!" It was the woman Ayalah had seen coming out of Gavin's room weeks ago—or was it months at this point?—only now she wore a dress made of black silk that made her look striking and regal. She strode to the king and kneeled before him. "Pardon my interruption, lord."
The king flicked his hand irritably. "Of course, Tazarah. What could be so urgent?"
So she had been right, and it was one of the queens! Ayalah congratulated herself internally, without betraying so much as a smirk to the room full of people.
"Well," said Queen Tazarah, rising gracefully and speaking so that everyone could hear, "it's not urgent, per se, dearest; it's just that I wanted to ask a favor." She beamed at the king and opened her eyes wide, in what Ayalah supposed was meant to be an innocent look. "I've just received a letter from home—it seems that the last time I visited, I forgot to bring my favorite necklace and earrings back here with me. Do you remember which ones I mean, lord?"
The king nodded. "Yes yes, of course. Tazarah, can't you see I'm the middle of official business?"
The queen looked around the room, as if seeing these witnesses for the first time. "Apologies, my lord. But do you think you could send someone to retrieve them for me? I really don't know what else I could wear with this dress, do you?" She gestured to her chest, which lacked any ornament but the sheer silk she wore, and leaned in toward the king.
"You interrupted me because you want someone to go to Olekoth just to—" the king began heatedly. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. "Yes, of course, my love. I'll see that it's done right away."
"Oh, thank you," the queen purred. She curtseyed to him and sashayed across the room to the door; all eyes—including those of the king and Greyson, Ayalah noted—followed her until the door closed behind her.
"Well, Warrior Tarall," the king said, returning his attention to her. "Perhaps a new assignment would be more to your liking. You will sail to Olekoth and retrieve my queen's jewels for her."
"Retrieve—! But Sire, this is no job for a trained warrior; why, a simple errand boy could retrieve them for you."
The king smiled icily. "Or errand girl."
Without waiting for a response, he rose from his chair—"That will be all."—and swept from the room.
18
Four nonstop hours in the training arena sparring and fencing with the newest recruits did l
ittle to soothe Ayalah's anger. She now paced up and down the street before Gavin's house, attempting to calm herself before knocking on the door, lest she take out her anger on some unsuspecting child-servant of his.
Finally, she gave up and pounded on the door. She barged past the child who opened it, stomped into the kitchen, and found Gavin sitting at the little table in the corner, a full mug of ale in one hand, another mug across the table from him.
"You were expecting me?"
He nodded. "I could hear your cursing from inside. With the doors and windows shut." He raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
"That pathetic excuse for a king has crossed the line this time, Gavin. I have half a mind to march right back up to the palace and assassinate him where he stands. The entire city will thank me for it, and you know it."
Gavin took a swig of his drink and said nothing.
She paced the small kitchen as she spoke, taking care to keep her voice low, her rage controlled. "Would you like to know where he's sending me this time? To Olekoth. Do you want to know why? Not as a diplomat visiting an ally, not as a warrior completing a heroic quest. He's sending me there to retrieve some jewels for one of his spoiled, brainless wives. Jewels, Gavin! Of all the insulting, unacceptable—"
"Enough." Gavin held up one hand to stop her. "Ayalah, isn't Olekoth the very place you need to go?"
She stopped pacing. "Well, yes. But that's not the point. He doesn't know that."
"Ayalah." Gavin gave her the same piercing look he'd been giving her her whole life, the one that made her feel silly and childish.
"What?" she said. "The queen?"
"The other queens are spoiled and brainless, I'll give you that," he said. "But Tazarah is clever and vengeful—you should be happy she's on our side."
"Our side?" She slowly felt her rage shrinking. "Then you sent...?"
He nodded. "Tazarah and I have an... an understanding. Did you think she interrupted your meeting with the king by chance?"
She sat at the table and stared at the mug of ale Gavin had set out for her, not wanting to meet his eyes. "She did seem a bit vapid."