Chapter Two Elvine
CHAPTER TWO
Elvine
She dreamed of a city. A city aflame. Elvine was baffled as to which corner of her memory had conjured this place, for it was starkly unfamiliar.
She knew neither its name nor the cast of its streets.
Also, the manner of its construction was odd, the walls smoother than they should be, the buildings taller.
While these strange walls appeared immune to fire, their innards did not.
Flame guttered from every window and doorway.
People streamed past her in an intermittent tide of suffering, some afire, others not, all screaming at a pitch that told more of madness than pain.
She walked through it all with serene detachment, buildings toppling around her.
Above the dust and smoke, she could see a mighty hall atop a hill.
Unlike the flame-charred buildings, this was more familiar in style, as if the grand halls of many Veilwalds had been raised upon the same ground and forced into communion.
Elvine knew she had to go to that hall. That something or someone of the greatest import awaited her there.
But what it might be was a vague ball of confusion in her mind that refused to unfold into comprehension.
Making her way along a street littered with debris, human and otherwise, she turned a corner to behold a scene of slaughter.
Here lay a market square of some kind, but in place of barter and commerce, the people were busy killing.
Everywhere, they clawed at one another. Some wielded weapons, swords, knives, and axes trailing blood as they rose and fell with frenzied rhythm.
Others were content to use their hands, choking or gouging, their victims biting or clawing even as they gasped their last breaths.
And above all, the great, strange hall rose in majestic indifference.
As her eyes lingered upon the curious building, Elvine noticed a disturbance in the smoke roiling about its flanks.
Moving in a manner that no natural wind could conjure, the clouds shifted and parted.
But instead of revealing blue sky they created a jagged wound through which she could see only utter blackness.
Wider it yawned as the screams of the massed killers before her grew louder, the blackness tumbling free, cascading onto the city.
Buildings shattered and bodies tumbled as it swept down the tiered streets.
Elvine wanted to run but found her body was now immobile, clasped by some unseen fist and forced to watch the black wave sweep towards her. As it filled her vision she screamed…
Elvine blinked, finding the gesture repeated by the pair of blue eyes hovering an inch away from her own.
The eyes blinked again and retreated, revealing an unfamiliar face.
Elvine guessed the young woman before her to be close to her own age, dark of hair with a youthful comeliness at odds with the shrewd frown creasing her brow.
It bespoke a soul of considerably more experience than her looks conveyed.
As the woman stepped back, Elvine realised she was lying abed, the covers ruffled by whatever thrashing had resulted from her nightmare.
Bright sunlight streamed through the shuttered windows, enabling her to recognise her room in the harbour master’s house at Olversahl.
Also, her panicked gaze revealed a third occupant, this one familiar, if of only scant acquaintance.
Thera Speldrenda, recently crowned Queen of the Isles, spared Elvine only a short glance before redirecting her gaze to the dark-haired maiden. The queen said nothing, but her eyebrow rose in an unspoken question. The younger woman’s frown lingered for a moment before she replied with a short nod.
“Spear Maiden,” the queen said, turning back to Elvine with a grave smile. Seeing her clearly, and untarnished by recent battle, Elvine found her features were fine and strong, her gaze keen with unmistakable intelligence, while tinged with sadness. “It is very gladdening to see you awake at last.”
Elvine gave no reply, her head still fogged by the dream’s horrors. All she could do was clutch ineffectually at her blankets until the queen rose and began to reorder them. “This is Lynnea Trahleyl,” she said, nodding to her companion. “My Tielwald.”
“Tielwald?” Elvine repeated in a slurred mutter, the word summoning visions of Margnus Gruinskard. She remembered him lying on the wharf, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist. “Did he die, then?”
“Oh, you mean my great-grandfather.” Thera’s smile became a rueful grin. Smoothing the blankets, she straightened, clasping her hands together. “No. It would take more than a lost hand to kill him. But he was Tielwald to the Sister Queens. Not to me.”
With her confusion rapidly dwindling, Elvine decided the moment required more of her.
“I have heard much about you,” she managed, the words emerging in a croak.
At a gesture from her queen, Lynnea went to a small table, lifting a clay jug to pour water into a cup.
She held it to Elvine’s lips, the wonderful freshness of it further dragging her into full wakefulness.
“Even before you wore a crown,” Elvine went on once she had drained the cup, nodding thanks to Lynnea. “The Vellihr of Justice was famed as much for fair judgement as harsh punishment.”
“And I have heard much of you, Elvine Jurest,” Thera replied. “Especially these last few days.”
“Days?”
“You have slept a long time, stoking your mother’s fears, and that young Albermaine-ish mercenary she tells me is your brother.”
“Colvyn is not a mercenary.” Elvine paused to cool the heat of her tone. “But he is my brother.”
“Well, there’s a complicated story for another time. One of many you have to tell me, I think.”
Elvine watched the queen’s gaze slip to the spear propped in the corner of the room.
The way her eyes narrowed bespoke considerable suspicion, something Elvine felt said much for the woman’s instincts.
No aura, Elvine realised, turning back to Thera.
A glance at Lynnea confirmed that the spear’s gift was still present, though her aura was the strangest Elvine had yet seen.
It shifted hues in a continual, sedate haze of colours bright and dark, none of them threatening but all signifying that much was hidden behind this maiden’s pleasing face.
“I’m told my brothers died trying to retrieve that thing,” Thera said. “And you witnessed their end. Is it true?”
It took Elvine a moment to recall that Felnir Skyrnrak and Thera Speldrenda were siblings, along with poor, fatally courageous Guthnyr, lost on the lower Styrnspeld Sea.
“It was Guthnyr who claimed the spear,” Elvine said.
“The vaults collapsed. Felnir and Sygna…” She hesitated, seeing the sudden, hard clench of Thera’s jaw at mention of Sygna’s name.
“Continue,” the queen said, voice tight.
“I can’t see how they could have escaped,” Elvine went on. “I’m sorry. Guthnyr, Colvyn, and I made it back to the Sea Hawk. But the Nihlvarians found us soon after. My brother fought his way to a boat and we escaped. I know not what became of those we left behind.”
Thera moved closer to the spear, crossing her arms as she stared at it, as if in expectation.
“I do not gainsay your word, Spear Maiden,” she said.
“But, if my brothers were truly gone from this world, I believe I would feel it in my heart. And I do not.” Tentatively, she unfolded her arms and extended a hand to the spear.
“In any case, this thing seems poor recompense for their loss, if lost they be.”
“That may not be a sound notion,” Elvine said as the queen’s fingertip neared the spear’s iron head.
Thera’s hand paused and she let out a soft grunt before withdrawing her hand. “As my great-grandfather also advises. He wouldn’t go near it. Nor, for that matter, would anyone else. When you collapsed, your brother wrapped it in as thick a tarp as he could find in order to bring it here.”
“You show wisdom… my queen.”
Thera gave a short laugh before resuming her seat. “In truth, you shouldn’t be calling me that. I remain but Queen of the Isles only.”
Although Lynnea made no sound, she must have given some sign of either amusement or disagreement, for Thera’s gaze sharpened abruptly.
“Leave us,” she said, adding in a softer tone.
“Please. I would talk with the Spear Maiden alone, now you have assured me she presents no danger to my royal person.”
The queen’s Tielwald merely nodded in response, offering no formal farewell before departing the room. Elvine saw how she kept her features blank, but her aura pulsed a flash of red that told of concealed hurt.
“Trahleyl,” Elvine said once the door had closed. “Silent Song. Your Tielwald is mute.”
“Only in so far as her voice,” Thera said.
“In other ways she can be very loud indeed.” She gave a brisk sniff before speaking on in measured tones.
“As for how to address me, I find titles ever more burdensome and would be content for you to simply call me Thera. However, much to my Tielwald’s amusement and satisfaction, the people of Olversahl seem keen to place another crown upon my head.
Though there are those that feel it should be shared with the Spear Maiden.
” Noting Elvine’s baffled scowl, she added, “Not so long ago, they were ruled by Sister Queens. Many, it seems, hanker for a return to those days. I would be Sister Iron and you would be Sister Lore, which leaves us wanting for a Sister Silver. I could prevail upon Veilwald Synghild to accept the role but suspect she would find it detestable.”
Elvine needed no interval for contemplation, her answer immediate and emphatic. “No. Not for all the riches in all the world. I’ll swear fealty to you, once I’m able to crawl from this bed. But, please, never talk to me of crowns again.”