Page 5
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.
