Chapter 12
Melelea
Dinner is a cheerful affair, seated around the table at Wodred’s sister Sawa’s home.
They have a long wooden table with benches running down its sides, almost as long as the King’s Table at Ilustan, just to accommodate everyone.
Sawa’s twin, Hali, has come as well with her mate Drika, and the two orcresses help wrangle their nieces and nephews, who climb on them like trees.
The orclings are everywhere, speaking, laughing, playing.
Sawa sits and rests, heavily pregnant, while her elven mate, Kirigard, makes dinner and sets it before us.
The elven man is quiet, like Wodred, but he periodically checks on his mate, giving her soft touches and murmuring low to her in her ear, making her smile at him. They are a love match, it is clear.
I can barely keep track of all the names that are thrown at me, but I am doing my best to keep everyone straight.
There is Kiva, my little friend from the road, and her older sister just above her, Lyra.
The oldest two of the children are brothers, Janag, the second oldest, and Shokir, the eldest orcling.
Shokir is eleven summers, just about to reach his training age and all he can talk about is joining the Horde.
He tells me, quite seriously, “I hope to have my own cohort, someday, like Aunt Hali. Maybe even be a general one day, like my uncle. The honor of Clan Xonok will be in my hands.”
I nod gravely at his proclamation, said in a voice that hasn’t even cracked with age yet.
I would never be one to mock dreams, though, especially when I know their power.
Behind Shokir, I can see Sawa’s face grow tight as her son speaks, though she fights to keep the worry from her eyes.
I can understand it. I still remember the fear I had of Rognar joining the Horde, of completing his training.
My sweet son, going off to learn to kill people.
My only solace was that he would no longer be in Guruk’s reach, no longer a target for his father’s abuse.
I hoped that he would be safe under Wodred’s tutelage.
“Will you join the Northern Horde, then?” I ask Shokir. “When the time comes?”
“Yes,” Shokir says. “My mother has already made arrangements with Uncle Wodred. I will train with Aunt Hali’s cohort.”
“You better be ready, Shokir,” Wodred says from across the table. “Hali is the strictest captain in the Northern Horde and she will be harder on you because she knows your potential. She will not be your aunt there, but your captain.”
“I’m ready,” Shokir proclaims. “I don’t want her to be easy on me. Those of Clan Xonok are not afraid to be tested in the fire.”
“Well said,” I approve gently. “The Northern Horde is where my son, the king, trained. There is no better place to do so. But be sure to write to your mother often. We mothers have the right to worry when our orclings go off to train.”
“And the fathers too,” Kirigard interjects, placing a dessert of elven honey cakes on the table in front of us. “Don’t forget me, Son, when you go off to glory.”
“I won’t, Father,” Shokir promises. He sounds so mature and grown up in his seriousness, but the effect is ruined as his face brightens and he takes one of the cakes to eat, stuffing almost the whole thing into his mouth at once.
It’s nice to see the childish action; orclings shouldn’t be in too big of a rush to grow up, after all.
The world will harden each of us soon enough.
As Wodred’s family finishes their dessert, Sawa leans back in her chair and sighs, placing her hands on her large belly in contentment. “What shall we do now that dinner is done? Games? Songs?”
“What do you do in Ilustan after dinner, Uncle Wodred?” asks Lyra eagerly.
Wodred casts a glance at me. “Often, after the meal is done, we hear one of Lady Melelea’s stories and see some of her amazing illusions.”
“Illusions!” exclaims Lyra, looking excited and enchanted all at once at the idea. She turns pleading eyes to me. “Please, Lady Melelea, can we see them?”
“Lyra,” scolds Sawa, “Lady Melelea is our guest who has traveled all day. She must be tired.”
Lyra looks chastened, and the other orclings look disappointed as well. It is not in me to leave such sweet children with such unhappy faces.
I smile. “I am tired. But perhaps, just a short tale?”
Sawa looks at me. “If you are sure . . .”
I nod. “I am.” Turning to the orclings, however, I take on a more severe expression. “But, you must promise to help clean up the meal with your father and go to bed after without fussing at your parents, all right?”
“We promise!” the orclings exclaim, looking excited and scooting forward on their chairs.
I push up my sleeves slightly, and lift up my fingers, Tracing a pattern in the air, I call my magics to me sending a scatter of golden stars up into the air. Everyone in the room gasps, even Dame Zera, who has seen my illusions many times before.
“This is a tale of my people, the trolls,” I begin, weaving more light together until two golden figures stand in the air above the table where everyone can see, a trolless and a mighty dragon soaring over her head. “It is called The Princess and the Dragon.”
As I spin the fable of Princess Alaria and her fated mating with the Dragon King Wyrdon, accenting every story beat with an illusory image that brings the tale to life, I can’t help but sneak glances at Wodred.
His eyes are warm and approving as I entertain his family and amuse his nieces and nephews.
Usually, he’s so hard to read, but here, in his homeland, he seems more at ease than I have ever seen him.
He catches my eye once when I look at him, however and his face shutters, like he is trying to hide his thoughts from me. What could he want to hide?
I bring the story to a rousing finish and shower the orclings with harmless multicolored sparks as I speak of Alaria and Wyrdon’s happy end. The children laugh with joy, even Shokir, who tries to appear so mature for his age.
“Another!” begs Kiva and Lyra.
I laugh at their exuberance, but their mother stands firm. “No, no. You promised Lady Melelea to help your father clean up and then go to bed without fussing if she told you her tale. Are you going to break your promise?”
“No . . .” Kiva says, though she sneaks a pleading look in my direction.
“I cannot help you, little one,” I tell her. “This is your mother’s house, and her word here is law.”
The orclings sigh and grumble at my words, but then get up and start clearing the table.
Sawa sighs as her children move to do as they promised. The orcress healer turns to me and says, “Thank you for your performance, Lady Melelea. I’m sure you are tired from your journey. Let me show you to your room.”
“Thank you, Sawa,” I respond, rising gracefully from the bench where I’ve been sitting, my travel dress brushing the ground.
I move to follow the orcress healer, but cannot help but take one more look at the rustic dining hall.
The orclings are helping clean up under the supervision of their father, while Zera speaks with Hali and Drika, Gunag staring at her from the opposite end of the table, blatant wanting in his eyes.
Wodred sits by the fire, sharpening and oiling one of his javelins.
His hooded, unreadable eyes catch mine and something in them makes my breath catch.
I quickly break the connection of our gazes and follow Sawa up the stairs to the back rooms.
“Our home is humble,” Sawa is saying, “but I hope you are comfortable tonight.”
“I’m sure it will be very nice,” I assure my hostess. “Far more comfortable than camping at the roadside as we have been doing.”
The orcress healer sends me a swift smile before leading me to the end of the hall.
She opens the door to a room where a cheerful fire is already crackling in the hearth and a large bed is pushed against one side of the room.
It has a large, intricately stitched quilt on it and a cedar chest at its foot.
It looks suspiciously like the master bedroom.
“Is this your room?” I ask.
“Usually, yes,” Sawa replies. “But for such an honored guest, it is yours for the night.”
“I cannot take your bed,” I tell her. “You are with child. You need comfort more than I do.”
“I insist,” Sawa says back, her tone brooking no argument. “You are the king’s mother. It is only right that you get the best room in the house. My baby and I will survive one night in the guest chamber.”
My instinct is to argue with her more, but manners dictate that I accept my accommodations gracefully. So, grudgingly, I say, “I thank you, then, for the use of your room. You are a gracious host.”
Sawa gives me another smile. “There is warm water in the pitcher for washing up. I will leave you to your rest, my lady.”
Then I am alone in the room. I notice that my satchel is already here, sitting on a chair next to the bed. I suppose my protestations didn’t matter very much if they had already decided this is where I would sleep.
Taking off my travel dress, I wash up briefly with the warm water provided, finding a cake of soap next to the pitcher with a cloth.
I long for a bath to really take off the grime of travel, but it would be ungrateful to ask for one when it takes so much work to fill a tub.
When I am as clean as I can get, I douse the lumen crystals and climb into the bed, luxuriating in the clean sheets after a week of being on the road.
I am just about asleep when I hear the murmur of voices coming from outside.
They are too far away to make out what they are saying and dampened by the window besides, but I think I can make out Wodred’s tell-tale rumble.
Curious, I get out of bed and creep across the floor. Unlatching the window, I open the pane of glass and strain my ears to hear the conversation below me.
A voice drifts up to my ears, Gunag’s brash tone. “ . . . and I’ll take the first watch, General.”