Chapter 16 Svenn
The road from Volundr to Kashran follows the ancient coastal path. White marble of the northern cliffs gradually surrenders to black volcanic stone. I ride slightly behind Rhianelle and her knights, my dark Noctral keeping pace with hers.
She wears her crown today. The delicate circlet of silver shaped in branching stag horns marks her as Volundr’s ruler. It catches the morning light, creating small rainbows across her Noctral’s pale mane.
Behind us, Tallulla and Lenna flank Deirdre in their traveling cloaks. Siofra follows with her newborn wrapped securely against her chest and Blaire rides close at her side. The infant stays quiet, occasionally making soft sounds that blend with the steady breathing of the Noctrals.
Kashran emerges from the black stone cliffs. No prayer flags flutter here and no temple bells mark the hours. The kingdom does not worship the same gods as Aelfheim.
The air changes as we cross the border. It grows heavier, pressing against my skin. The wolf running beside Shade’s Noctral seems subdued. He presses closer to the mount’s legs.
Our Noctrals don’t like the atmosphere either.
“Easy,” I murmur, stroking my mount’s neck. The creature settles slightly but remains alert.
“It’s strange that Cedwyn refused to come,” Lady Deirdre mentions to Rhianelle.
“Perhaps Kashran’s godlessness offends his sensibilities,” Eyepatch replies from the front of our column.
“They truly worship nothing?” Tallulla whispers to Lenna, both handmaidens clutching their prayer beads nervously. Their Noctrals sense their riders’ fear and begin to prance sideways.
“They honor the seagods,” Red says with a smile. “Selmora of the Deep, Othmar the Reef King, and worst of all, Kraethys. Cedwyn would probably call any statues of them in Kashran heretical. Some devout followers of Elior won’t even set foot in a kingdom that denies the seventy-seven.”
Something about that excuse bothers me. A scribe’s duty is to record, not judge. But I file the thought away as we near the Kashran border.
The guards stationed there straighten as we approach, their dark cloaks snapping in the wind.
“Lady Rhianelle Wiolant. Lord Rainer.” The senior guard inclines his head deeply. “We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Kashran.”
The formal words echo faintly against the stone. They fall into position ahead of us, guiding our party toward the mountain pass.
The path narrows quickly.
Black cliffs rise sheer on either side, forcing us into single file.
The sea disappears behind us, replaced by shadow and the slow climb of the mountain.
Pale lines appear on the black cliffs. They run horizontal across the stone at different heights.
The markings look old, weathered into the volcanic rock.
"What are those?" Red asks, pointing at the nearest streak.
I follow his gaze. They’re waterlines.
“The sea left them,” Rainer replies, gesturing toward a mark well above our heads. “Centuries ago, giant waves rose even this high."
I stare. We're already far above the shore. The idea of water reaching this height seems impossible.
“But we survived Tayum’s wrath. The seagods are kind," one of the Kashran guards says quietly.
As we climb higher, the air grows thinner. The Noctrals’ breathing becomes labored. Tallulla begins to struggle, swaying in her saddle. Her face has gone pale and she clutches the reins desperately.
Darstan wordlessly guides his massive mount closer. He positions himself behind her so he can catch her if she falls. “Breathe slowly,” he instructs.
She nods, focusing on his voice. Gradually her color improves.
Despite holding her newborn, Lady Siofra guides her Noctral alongside Lenna. “Fix your eyes on the horizon instead of the path. It helps with the dizziness,” she says softly, reaching out to steady the handmaiden.
Lenna does as instructed and her breathing evens out.
The fortress sits on the highest cliff. We dismount in a courtyard of black stone and stable hands appear to take our Noctrals.
They wear dark robes and guide us deeper into the fortress without speaking a word.
The entrance is a massive arch, unadorned except for a single symbol carved above the threshold.
The spiral crest of Kraethys.
We descend now, following stairs that wind deeper into the mountain. The temperature drops with each step.
“How deep does this go?” Red asks.
“To the roots of the mountain,” our guide answers.
The stairs finally end and we emerge into a corridor. Rhianelle’s hand finds mine in the darkness. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly. I squeeze her hand gently. I’m here.
She doesn’t respond in words but her fingers tighten around mine. I know she’s not worried about this visit.
It’s the war.
The seadragons will arrive the day after tomorrow.
From a shadowed alcove near the great entrance, a figure steps forward.
“Cousin.”
The voice comes from a tall, lean Kashran warrior clad in black. Long dark hair falls loose down his back, blending almost seamlessly with the volcanic stone behind him. His features are sharper than Rhianelle’s but the resemblance is unmistakable.
This is Kahedin Kashran.
Sole heir to Kashran and commander of its fleet. Back in Volundr the sailors whispered his name the way they whisper about sea monsters. His gaze finds me and I understand why.
Rhianelle releases my hand and embraces him briefly. He leans back just enough to study her face. “You really did marry a vampire,” he murmurs to Rhianelle.
The prince levels me another stare. I hold his gaze. He’s not hostile, but there’s nothing welcoming in it either.
At last, Kahedin’s attention shifts.
Something in his face eases when he finds Rainer.
“Uncle.” The word carries weight, real respect in it.
Rainer inclines his head slightly in return. “We require an audience with Rhydan.”
“Of course.” Kahedin steps back. “Grandfather is eager to see you, cousin.”
I know who waits beyond those doors. Everyone who has spent any time in Aelfheim knows the name Rhydan Kashran.
He was there when Casimir drew the first borders of the unified kingdom.
Old enough to remember a world before Aelfheim existed, the same breath of age that clings to the Aeonian.
The stories say he bargained with a sea witch once, bound his life to her Kraethys somewhere in the deep.
The creature hasn’t died yet, so Rhydan still lives.
We reach a set of massive doors carved from single slabs of volcanic glass. They swing inward without a sound, pulled by unseen hands. Cold air spills out from whatever lies beyond.
The wolf whines, pressing flat against the floor. It won’t come any closer. I don’t blame it.
I step through. The frigid air wraps around me like a second skin. The room opens into something vast, carved from the mountain itself. At its far end, Rhydan Kashran sits on a throne of silver. Even in that position, his head nearly touches the vaulted stone above.
Rhianelle’s grandfather is ten times the size of a normal elf. White hair frames his face and his skin is mapped with scars. His eyes are the color of deep ocean. They hold the weight of ages, the memory of things long forgotten.
A pair of healers attend to the lines running from his massive arms to crystal containers that glow with soft luminescence. They look absurdly fragile next to his monumental frame. His body requires more sustenance than food alone can provide.
“Little starlight,” the ancient being rumbles. The very stones beneath our feet seem to resonate with his speech. “You’ve finally come.”
“Grandfather.” Rhianelle approaches without hesitation, her small form dwarfed by his immensity. He extends his hand and she embraces it like a child hugging a tree trunk.
Those ocean eyes turn to the rest of us.
“You’ve brought outsiders.” The words fill the room without effort. “Rainer. Bring them forward. Let me have a look.”
The giant’s gaze sweeps over us slowly and lingers on me. I feel dissected under that ancient stare. “So this is the vampire husband. I’ve heard interesting things.”
His eyes move to Aefric, Darstan, Garrett in turn. “You’ve chosen well, little starlight. These aren’t warriors who’ll bend in storms.”
The knights bow as one to the king. One of Rhianelle’s handmaidens fumbles her prayer beads. They scatter across the floor and she scrambles after them, mortified.
Both Tallulla and Lenna are flushed. The seventy-seven gods they worship feel very far away in this room.
Rhydan’s eyes settle on them briefly. “Don’t be ashamed, children. Faith is a shield.”
“Grandfather.” Rhianelle steps back from his massive finger. Her voice is steady despite the revelations hanging in the air. “We need to tell you the Fae King—“
“Plans to attack Volundr?” He shifts, and the stone beneath us groans. “Child, I knew war was coming the moment your mother drew her last breath.”
I watch Rhianelle’s expression carefully. She doesn’t react beyond a slight tightening around her eyes. “Then you know we need Kashran’s help.”
Silence stretches, heavy as the sea beyond the cliffs.
“Kashran will stand with Volundr,” he says at last, voice rolling through the chamber. “As we always have.”
Relief breaks across Rhianelle’s face before she can hide it.
“Blood is blood after all,” he continues, ancient gaze settling on her with unnerving intensity. “But before we march to war, you must understand what you’re truly facing.”
He leans forward slightly. “And for that, little starlight, you must hear a story.”
“A story?” Rhianelle echoes.
Rhydan settles back into his throne. The movement sends a low tremor through the floor, dust sifting from the vaulted ceiling. Above us, stars wheel slowly in their eternal pattern.
“Kashran and Volundr were the first,” he begins, his voice filling the chamber like distant thunder. “Before Aelfheim existed and before anyone thought to unite the territories, we were here. Kashran on the black cliffs. Volundr in the mountains and shores.”