Chapter 3
Wodred
Even after all these years, Lady Melelea’s beauty strikes me like a blade to the chest. Seeing her here, alive and well, after so long believing her dead, is a miracle I don’t discount.
Her long purple hair is wild, coming free from some braids, as if she ran here straight from sleep.
She wears a robe of silk, covering her nightgown, and her silver eyes are wide with alarm.
“Did you have a vision, my lady?” I ask, solemnly, my mind alive with worry. Lady Melelea has proven her sight many times, and I know that they are not to be taken lightly.
“Not just a vision, Wodred,” she insists, her eyes wild. “I was mind-sharing with the demon. He’s at the tower and will attack soon! We must do something!”
This is concerning. If what Lady Melelea says is true, there’s almost no way for us to stop it.
We are in Ilustan, in the south of Orik.
The Mage’s Tower is in Adrik, far north of here.
We wouldn’t be able to send a message warning them fast enough or send soldiers to them soon enough. Our hands are tied.
But I would never tell Lady Melelea that. She spent so many years being dismissed and ridiculed, and I could never be the one to do that to her.
“Go to the War Room,” I tell her. “I will rouse the king and send him to you.”
The relief is evident on Melelea’s face. “Thank you, Wodred. I knew you would help me.”
“It is my pleasure, my lady,” I reply truthfully, taking care to keep my feelings out of my voice. “I will bring King Rognar to you shortly.”
At that moment, a human lady comes around the corner. I have seen her here and there around Castle Ilustan, most often trailing after Melelea. She must be one of her ladies-in-waiting whom the trolless brought with her from Adrik.
“My lady!” the human begins. “What is wrong? What roused you from your bed?”
“Escort Lady Melelea to the War Room,” I order, breaking into her worried questions. “She requires an audience with the king.”
The human’s eyes widen at my words. “The king? Are you sure? It is the middle of the night—”
“It is not your place to question your lady,” I reprimand gravely. “Just take her to the War Room.”
“Thank you, Wodred,” Melelea says again, giving me a small smile. “Thank you for believing me and taking this seriously.”
“Only a fool would dismiss one with your gift,” I respond. “Now let us hurry. It sounds like we have no time to waste.”
???
AN HOUR LATER in the War Room, all is tense as everyone listens to Lady Melelea recount her vision. King Rognar and Queen Adalind are there, as well as the Axe to the King, Gunag. A few other generals and advisors were also called. We all listen in uneasiness as Lady Melelea finishes her tale.
“. . . I could feel his intentions,” she is saying. “He needs only one mage, and then he’ll have the power to begin his plans. He craves vengeance and power above all else. If he gets to feed on one of magical blood . . .”
She trails off, but her implication is clear. Our demon problem isn’t over yet.
“This is grave news indeed,” Queen Adalind says, a frown gracing her face. “When will he get there? Has he already arrived?”
Lady Melelea responds, concern on her features. “It is happening now, as we speak. He may have already succeeded.”
“Then, before we do anything, we must know what is happening. Naiva?” Queen Adalind says.
The young lady-in-waiting from before starts at her name being called as she stands behind Lady Melelea’s chair. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Bring Lady Melelea’s scrying bowl and a pitcher of water. We must see what is happening at the Mage’s Tower.”
Naiva curtseys low. “Right away, Your Majesty.”
The lady-in-waiting scurries away to fetch the implements, the door swinging shut behind her. The council is quiet for a few moments as we wait, then Gunag breaks into the stillness.
“Are we sure that this is actionable information, My King? Could it not have merely been a bad dream?”
I bristle at Gunag’s words. I know him, trained him when he was younger.
He is brash and arrogant to a fault at times, skeptical of anything that he can’t see with his own eyes.
But his words are an insult to Lady Melelea, and that cannot stand.
Especially when I look across the table and see her slightly wilt at the offensive implication.
She had to live with her former husband mocking and belittling her gift constantly while he was alive.
I’ll be thrice-damned if I allow her to be so slighted now that he’s dead.
“Your words are ignorant, Gunag,” I say, before King Rognar can respond. “Lady Melelea has had her gift her whole life. She knows the difference between visions and dreams. You insult your king’s mother with your skepticism.”
Gunag has the grace to look chagrined at my rebuke. “I meant no offense to the Lady Melelea, of course. I just meant, it has been quiet these past few weeks since Grazrath was ousted from Barakrin’s throne. Can we be sure that he even has the strength to assault the Mage’s Tower?”
“All the more reason to believe my mother’s words,” King Rognar interjects.
“An archdemon like Grazrath would never be content to live in hiding like an animal in the woods. He believes Anar’i to be his birthright.
He would never stay down when he could do something to increase his power.
It has been too quiet these last few weeks. It makes sense that he would act now.”
“But, My King—” Gunag begins.
“Enough, Gunag,” I bark, again surprising everyone.
I am known to be the quiet one, the one with a level head, but I am not level-headed now.
Not when it comes to Lady Melelea. Not after having failed her all those years ago.
“Lady Melelea has proven her gift many times in the past. You are showing your ignorance by allowing your skepticism to blind you to that truth.”
“It is all right, Wodred,” Lady Melelea interjects. “I do not expect people to believe me just at my word. Not everyone believes in soothsaying.”
I hate her words, her defense of one who insulted her. It reveals more than she thinks, that she was taught to downplay her gift and accept offenses from others. She should never have been made to internalize such beliefs.
“Only the foolish would dismiss you after you have been right so many times in the past,” Queen Adalind speaks up. “I believe you, Melelea. That should be enough for you, Gunag.”
The orc looks angry to be chastened by our human queen. “I am merely saying—”
“You are merely saying insults to my mother, Gunag,” King Rognar interrupts. “She is sasari, a seer, like my grandmother before her. In Trillin, sasari are revered, and their wisdom and visions prized. You dishonor my mother and her gift with your repeated questions.”
That seems to shut Gunag up, and at that moment, the lady-in-waiting returns, holding a basin and a pitcher of water.
“I have your scrying materials, my lady,” Naiva says, placing them on the table before Lady Melelea.
“Thank you, Naiva,” the trolless replies, taking the pitcher of water and pouring it into the metal basin. It appears to be beaten copper, with runes etched on the sides, made for this exact purpose.
“I will attempt to see what is happening at the Mage’s Tower and project what I am seeing for the room,” she announces.
Her fingers trace over the air above the scrying dish, glowing with magic, and a large orb of light appears in the space above the table, Lady Melelea using her illusion magics to project what she is seeing for us all to witness.
At first, the orb shows the still surface of the water in the basin, then the water ripples and colors shift, images showing the surface.
Soon, we are looking at the tops of trees, as if we are flying above a dense forest. The perspective shifts, and we see a tower in the distance, stretching into the night sky.
An alarm bell clangs in the distance, getting louder as we get closer to the structure.
Then we see it, a form with large bat’s wings stretching out behind it, flying off from a wall.
It is very obviously carrying another person, one who squirms and wriggles like it is trying to get away, but cannot.
“Grazrath,” breathes out the queen as we all stare in horror at what we are witnessing.
“Can you get closer, Mother?” the king asks. “See where he is taking his prey?”
“I can try . . .” Lady Melelea grits out, the effort of scrying and projecting obviously taking its toll on her.
The image moves and shifts, getting closer, showing the demon in more detail, his pebbled violet skin marred on the chest and part of his face with smooth human skin, revealing his vulnerability.
He holds a frightened-looking mage in a cruel grip as he takes off into the sky.
There is nothing we can do but watch helplessly as he takes his prisoner.
Then, without warning, he turns to look directly at us.
No, not us. We are looking at him through the illusion spell.
The one he is looking at is the one scrying for him. Lady Melelea.
“Break the connection!” I shout, but I am too late.
With a snarl, the demon swipes a clawed hand and rends the images.
Lady Melelea cries out in pain, and the illusion goes dark.
The trolless slumps in her seat, her head lolled back, and blood trickling down her face, as if the demon’s claws struck her.
Her eyes are closed and she’s still as death.
“Mother!” cries out King Rognar at the same time Queen Adalind calls, “Melelea!”
In an instant, I am out of my seat and grabbing the trolless in my arms. I place my ear against her chest and hear the faint thump of her heartbeat. “She’s alive! Get a healer!” I order. “Send them to Lady Melelea’s chambers. At once!”
Without waiting to see if anyone is obeying me, I move to carry the unconscious trolless to her rooms, followed by King Rognar and Queen Adalind, though I barely mark them.
All my attention is focused on Lady Melelea.
Grazrath attacked her somehow through the scrying.
Her actions were dangerous, and we went in unprepared. She’ll never get hurt like that again.
Not if I have anything to say about it.