The sun was shining brightly and a stiff wind was blowing out to sea taking with it the stench of too many hot days. It was the perfect day for the ship to set out, the sails already billowing with the impatient breeze. The ship was creaking as it rocked to and fro while the men worked to release the ties that held it steadfast. The rising tide was already lapping at the barnacle-encrusted sides with her salty tongue, waiting to carry the ship away once more on her foam crested back.

It was a perfect day but not for Kelgar. He would be left behind when the ship floated out to sea, left to shamble his way back to the castle. Left to guard a half-finished keep while his brother was off having another adventure. Left to crawl into bed each night beside a wife who shrank away from his touch.

Sir Eanraig was bidding farewell to his daughter who was looking well. Her hair was starting to grow back, red and luscious and she had a healthy glow to her cheeks again. His wife stood beside with their oldest child who was clinging to her mothers plait and gazing at it with the avid attention that suggested she was about to put it in her mouth. The blonde haired young woman stood and silently stared at her husband’s tearful farewell and Kelgar thought he noticed a twitch of annoyance on her flawless face.

At the shoreline his brother, Osras was bidding his wife farewell. They stood locked in a seemingly endless embrace.

Kelgar did not think Polina lay rigid and silent, doing her duty as his brother moved above her. Not like Illewen. It was all he could do to bring himself to touch her.

He smiled, a smile so brittle he was sure his face would crack along the scars and fall to pieces on the sandy beach. He wondered if his heart already had. Each scene he saw was one more boot, thoughtlessly crushing another meaty piece beneath its heel so that it grew smaller and smaller and mingled with the sand.

Sir Arwaduhn was there, kissing his pregnant wife tenderly goodbye. Beside them her sister’s family said goodbye to their father Denel, kisses from both the girls and finally their mother. Tears and sniffles all round.

He had asked if Illewen wanted to come down to the beach with him. Perhaps he had thought she might hold his hand and stand beside him as his wife, to say goodbye with the rest of his family. But she had not come. She had said she was tired and the baby was kicking. She wanted to rest. The baby was kicking, Kelgar could even see its movements sometimes. He longed to reach out and rest his hand on her belly, to feel his child moving inside her but he couldn‘t bring himself to. And she had never offered.

Close to the water the Duke huddled together with his cousin who had carried his little daughter out to bid him farewell. He had heard the rumours about the Duke’s wife, and he deeply pitied the man. When he saw the haunted look in the Duke’s eyes Kelgar knew he had no right to be miserable at the path his own life had taken. He had a healthy wife and soon, God willing a healthy child.

The King and the Queen stood waiting to send their best wishes with the men who would do their work across the sea. The King was wearing his cheerful smile, the Queen regal as always despite the heat and her pregnant state. The new Father was climbing up the steps to give a final blessing to the ship before it set off on its important journey.

Beside him stood the wives of the captain of the fleet and his first mate. The captain’s wife stood sombre and elegant, while Eyvir, the First mate’s wife tittered and giggled beside her.

“Have you come to bid me farewell then wife,” the captain rumbled, his face solemn, his eyes sad.

“Perhaps you have been doing the cracking of her shell Rasmus,” Lekha’s twin grinned beside him, “I tell you, my sister, she is warm and soft but you not believing me.”

“I did not come for you,” Lekha spat at her husband, “I come to say the goodbye to my brother.”

“Not today then friend,” Mahavir winked at the captain and embraced his sister.

They murmured together in their own language for a moment and Lekha kissed him carefully on both cheeks.

“Husband, you bring him back alive,” she growled at Rasmus who shrugged impassively.

“No stupid things, you hear,” she said a little softer.

Mahavir murmured something gently in their own language and then turned to his wife.

“Now you,” he purred, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her passionately.

“Mahavir, you must be so disgraced?” Lekha hissed and then returned to their language spitting out what sounded to be very grave insults.

But Mahavir wasn’t listening as his wife lunged at him, tipping him off balance.

“Now then lassie,” Sir Eanraig called out with a chuckle, “please don’t maul him too badly, he’s an important member of my crew.

Suddenly Osras was barrelling into Kelgar’s arms with a grin on his face.

“Brother,” Kelgar cried as the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

“Brother!” Osras replied giving him a hearty slap on the back.

Osras released him and gave him a stern look, “Yew’ll take care of the place here won’t you while I’m gone, keep an eye on everything.”’

“Yes, yes, of course,” Kelgar replied quickly.

“And don’t yew sleep with my wife while I’m gone,” Osras gave him a wink that was almost a scowl.

“Osras!” Polina shrieked slapping at him and Kelgar’s brother gave a great guffaw.

Kelgar gulped. There had been a time when he had come extremely close to doing just that. But that had been before they were married.

“Yew rotter!” Polina gave him another hearty slap for good measure.

“Yew know I’m just joking,” Osras chuckled, “but if yew do I’ll skin yew alive.”

Kelgar finally laughed, “Keep yerself safe yew great lout.”

They were all leaving him behind in the stagnant life that had captured him on Mhalwae. There was not adventure for him here. Nor love. Just life, plodding along, trying to make it through each day and steel himself for the night. God he wished he were getting on that ship.

“Good morning Gentleman,” Eanraig had let himself through the door.

“Normally we knock and wait to be announced,” Garald intoned, rising to his feet.

“Goodness me Eallair, he’s a cheerful one isn’t he. Where on earth did you find him?” Eanraig quipped with a grin.

Eallair fought back a smile, Garald was rather grim, though he certainly got the job done.

Garald towered over Eanraig, “Sir Eanraig Danachold Your Majesty.”

“Good, now we’ve got that over and done with,” Eanraig said briskly, striding over to the chair opposite Eallair.

Eallair watched the grinning man and Garald’s straight back heading towards the door. For a moment he wished his steward would stay. Of course, he could order him to but how would that look.

Eanraig plonked himself down into the chair opposite Eallair, crossing his legs nonchantly, one booted foot jiggling, “So lad… I came here to ask you a question.”

Eallair himself had been meaning to ask the older man something, but had spent the last days deciding to call on Eanraig and then retracting the order when his cowardice overcame him. Garald at least, was no stranger to how poor a ruler Eallair was. He was the one man Eallair truly could hide nothing from.

Eanraig went on in a rush, “Well, of course you know the quarters on the ship are dreadfully crowded. And, well, I’ll be taking the ship with me and wasn’t planning on three womanly additions even if two of them are very small and cute and don’t take up a lot of space.”

“So, I was hoping you could maybe find some room for them here in the castle. I’m going to need a couple of rooms at least… a nursery and of course a study. And a laboratory where I can continue with my experiments. If a library would not be out of the question I have, well… quite a lot of books weighing down the ship,” he gave a dry chuckle, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble of course.”

Eallair cleared his throat, “At present there isn’t room in the castle for anyone, though with the addition of the new working hands that accompanied you we can certainly get a move on with the building this summer. I can promise you a place by the end of summer, though I’m not yet certain about the laboratory and library, since many are still living on the ships. I can offer your wife and children some rooms on one of the ships until the new building is complete.”

He felt himself blushing with embarrassment though he couldn’t say why. He was completely flummoxed by this man who had always been so close to his Father. He could almost hear his Father’s voice of disapproval asking him why he was not doing more for the man who had been his closest advisor.

“I hope that’s alright with you,” he murmured.

“Well, I guess it will have to do,” Eanraig said briskly, beginning to rise to his feet.

Eallair swallowed to try and wet his throat which was becoming increasingly dry, “Wait one moment Eanraig. There is another matter I would speak of.”

Eanraig thunked back down onto the chair, his boots clomping on the table base.

“Well lad, what is it? Spit it out. You look like you’ve eaten a bad apple.”

Eallair gulped and continued, “Well, it’s just that… you must know of the sickness that’s been spreading through the people. Some have already died… the Cade girl, the Dryden’s little boy and the Ulcar’s as well. Countless other are ill. It has started to spread into the castle now too. Lochan’s steward’s family are sick with it and now its made it to some of the kitchen maids who knows how far it will spread.”

“Yes, I would have to be blind not to notice. Bharata has been out amongst the people doing what he can but we’re not magicians Eallair. I can’t offer you a cure, though I am flattered you would think it possible.”

“That’s not exactly why I wanted to speak with you,” Eallair hid his hands, which were beginning to tremble beneath the table.

“What is it then,” Eanraig sounded exasperated.

“What I wanted to know is, had you any knowledge of this illness before? Did you know before you landed on Mhalwae?” it was said, Eallair waited nervously for the reply.

“My dear lad, what are you trying to say here,” Eanraig whined.

“I want to know whether you knew of the sickness before you came here,” Eallair held his ground, though his hands were planted firmly on his thighs to stop their errant shaking.

“Lad, we had to rush here. Bharata, he can see things, things a man shouldn’t ordinarily. He told me of my daughter and how ill she was. And he told me there wasn’t much time. We had no choice. She’s my daughter Eallair,” Eanraig whined.

“Those little boys that died were somebody’s son,” Eallair murmured.

“So what is it you’re accusing me of here Eallair!” Eanraig’s voice was vicious as he scowled at the King, “Yes… we knew about the sickness. There had been deaths. Not many. We disposed of the bodies overboard and quarantined the rest. We thought we had it contained. Nobody sickened for a week before we landed here.”

“I see,” Eallair mumbled.

“No I don’t think you do Eallair. You may as well be accusing me of murdering those poor children though you sit here and do it in a gentlemanly fashion. I did the best I could given the circumstances. Any man would have. I had no idea the sickness wasn’t contained.”

Eanraig’s voice was growing louder, his shoulders shaking with barely contained rage. Eallair could not stand up to a storm like that and flattened back against his chair trying to make himself as small as possible.

“But why didn’t you tell us there was sickness on board. We might have been able to stop this,” Eallair mumbled.

“Because I didn’t deem it necessary information,” Eanraig snapped.

Eanraig took a deep breath, his body relaxing into its former languid pose, “Now. May I have your word that apartments will be made ready for me and my family by the end of the summer.”

Madlenka had lain awake for many hours waiting for her husband. She could not have slept even if she had wanted to. The baby was restless, as though sensing the magnitude of disruption that had reached them here on Mhalwae.

It was not the first time Madlenka wished herself a man. It was an agony to be left in the dark, waiting on the fringes to hear the news from home. She lay, frustrated and nauseous as the baby squirmed inside her, each bump reminding her that she was fulfilling the only important role she had.

The door creaked open and Eallair shuffled in.

“I thought you would have been asleep by now,” he murmured, squinting at her in the wan candlelight.

“The baby doesn’t feel like sleep,” she mumbled, “and besides… I’m desperate to know what was said in there.”

Eallair sat heavily on the bed, his head in his hands.

“Is it bad news?” she asked tentatively, but by the slouch of his body, the weary slump of his shoulders she knew that it was.

“Just let me get undressed,” he said struggling with his boots, each dropping with a thud to the floor. The baby kicked her hard.

She watched as he unlaced his tunic, pulling it up over his head, momentarily trapped as the arms got stuck. She longed to rush to him and help pull it loose but she did not. He tugged at his leggings, rolling them down over his long legs and then came to sit beside her on the bed.

“What happened Eallair?” she was frightened by his solemn look.

A dreadful clenching fear assailed her so she could only whisper, “My family?”

“Oh, oh no dear heart. Your family are just fine. Lomorrad is holding strong. Ulaanbaat too,” he said absentmindedly patting her arm, “in fact, it would seem you’re an aunt. Your brother has a little girl, Majbritt. Oh, and the banshee has had another girl too… Aloisia. Another little half-sister for you.”

Madlenka smiled a little as he used their name for her despised stepmother.

“But I suppose I shouldn’t call her that any more since I’m King now and it’s probably bad for diplomatic relations,” he grinned weakly.

“So tell me then, what is it that has got you looking so defeated,” Madlenka asked.

She listened as he related the situation to her, her heart turning icy cold at the mention of the God King. The baby was not happy either, punctuating the story with frantic kicks. Kendrick had never kicked like this… she hoped it meant another strong, healthy baby.

When Eallair finished she was silent for a moment.

“I could never have imagined this Eallair,” she murmured, “I scarcely even believed that N’Kasha existed. But then again, I never believed in Mhalwae either and here we are.”

Eallair didn’t smile.

“It is terrible news. I always held hope in my heart that someday we would win Branwhuld back. That I would return and take revenge for the death of my family. But now I’m not as sure. They say N’kasha has never been beaten. What if the Tassril and Emori join forces with him. The whole Northern Continent could fall to him,” Eallair’s voice sounded raw, as though he had talked for too long. Madlenka suddenly wondered if he had not also cried.

“You can’t worry about these things now my love. We must simply do the best we can. Trust in our allies, send envoys. Prepare for war,” she try to sound soothing but her voice was trembling.

He looked at her and she could see how exhausted he was. Things had not been the same since Sigurd’s death. He seldom laughed or joked any more. He did not seem to even want to talk to her these days, the nights they had spent plotting together only interrupted by passionate bouts of lovemaking were gone. He had retreated inside himself and she did not know how to coax him out again.

“I’m tired love, I think I’ll sleep now,” he mumbled.

He turned away from her, curling up into a ball.

She shuffled over to lie beside him, wrapping her arms around his trembling body. It was the only thing she could do.

Lochan felt distinctly uneasy. It was Eanraig. The arrival of the boisterous older man, who carried authority as easily as he wore his finely woven clothes had thrown him. This man was a trusted advisor of the former King. A friend who had suddenly materialised, bringing news of the outside into their silent exile. It should have been a good thing. But Eanraig’s presence had sent Eallair’s new found confidence scattering like a flock of disturbed chickens, their feathered arses ruffling in the breeze.

Lochan was worried.

He gazed at the scarred face of the older man, the flickering candlelight casting ghastly shadows over the humps and ridges of his congenial expression.

“So lads, it’s a nice setup you’ve got yourselves here. You’ve done quite a job these last years, though I can see a few places where some assistance might be needed. And of course, I’m happy to offer my services,” he smiled with affected modesty, one leather booted foot jiggling as he spoke.

“Yes, of course Eanraig. That would be very much appreciated. I know you were a great friend of my father and it is an honour to have you here,” Eallair simpered and Lochan felt the dreadful urge to slap him.

“But please, you must have much news from the outside world and as you can imagine, we are somewhat desperate for anything you bring.”

Eanraig slowly uncrossed his legs, leaning heavily on his thighs and gazed intently at Eallair.

“Yes, please Eanraig. Has Lomorrad risen against Faldorn yet. Surely they must have. Can we go home?” Radomir asked softly, looking tired and old.

His face seemed to hang from the dark circles under his eyes, the corners of his mouth only held up tentatively with the coarse whiskers of his beard. It seemed all the fight had left Radomir and Lochan was suddenly not sure it was a good thing as they sat facing a man he no longer knew if they could trust.

“No… Radomir, no. I’m sorry. But the news is not good at all,” Eanraig murmured, a pitying look on his face., “You see, Faldorn is the least of our worries.”

“What do you mean?” Eallair asked tentatively, “What could be worse?”

“Worse… worse is the God King N’nkasha. Yes I see you’ve all heard of him. Well my friends, it seems that the warlord Faldorn was only paving the way for him. He has risen up from the southern continents which are almost entirely conquered and now sits on the throne of Branwhuld,” Eanraig intoned with the morbid enthusiasm of someone relating a ghost story, his fingers absentmindedly tapping his velvet-clothed thighs.

He stared directly at Eallair as though judging how the King would respond to this news.

Eallair’s face crumpled with worry and disbelief, “N’nkasha? What could he possibly want with Branwhuld?”

“Think of it young Eallair,” Lochan flinched at Eanraig’s offhand tone but nobody corrected him as they listened intently, “Branwhuld is the gateway to the Nothern continent. If you hold those ports you can supply a war that could last for all time. It’s the perfect staging ground for the war to end all wars.”

“Good God,” Garrick mumbled underneath his breath, coming to life for the first time that evening.

“Yes, you may say that my red-haired friend. Indeed,” Eanraig nodded, looking round at the confused and frightened expressions of the men around him. Only Lochan kept his emotions hidden.

“But what about Lomorrad? Ulanbaat? Have these places fallen too? Has he taken the archipelago of Fjaerland? God… that’s our last defense before he could come here,” Eallair’s panic was audible as he stumbled through a list of their allies.

“Calm down now lad, take a deep breath,” Eanraig said evenly, “so far they’ve only taken Branwhuld. It is not so easy to wage a war with a spine of mountains like that rearing up before you. It will take a lot of timing and planning. But I can tell you, it will be on the cards. Lomorrad and Ulanbaat are holding strong and making ready lest the hordes of N’nkasha come pouring down the mountainside. But at least when we left things were still quiet.”

“Have you been in contact with Lomorrad at all Eanraig, Ulanbaat? How about Fjaerland? Did you tell our allies about your suspicions that we had survived?” Lochan asked.

“Indeed I did and what’s more I have messages and news from each of them to share with you. I’ve even had contact with some rebel groups in the southern continent. Our friend Bharata in fact, has relatives in many of the tribes. And of course you should be happy to know my lovely wife Tiatny is in fact a princess of Fjaerland, the twin of Ingskel who is married to your Queen’s very own brother. As you know Queen Inaris is a great friend of mine and seeing as she had a few spare daughters hanging around she was happy to offer me one which only makes our alliance stronger. And I tell you, Inaris did not take kindly to the news of the murder of Kaysa,” he gave a sympathetic glance in Eallair’s direction at the mention of his brother’s wife. Lochan could not help but think of their four pretty children… all murdered and gone.

“It’s no good to outlive your children… no good at all,” Eanraig tutted shaking his head, “Everyone is up in arms my friends. The known world isn’t going to sit back and wait while N’nkasha just takes it all.”

“Then you don’t think you could have been followed? Since everyone now seems to know of our presence here,” Lochan’s tone was cold as he scrutinised the older man’s face.

“What sort of fool do you take me for Lochan,” Eanraig’s face suddenly twisted in anger, “of course we weren’t followed. It took every precaution imaginable. Mhalwae’s location is secret as ever.”

“No, no, of course Eanraig… we understand. You’re a clever man. I’m sure you did everything necessary,” Lochan couldn’t help staring as Eallair apologised to the man who had just all but shouted at him.

“But then we must send an envoy,” Garrick suddenly interjected, “if there’s some possibility of retaking Branwhuld we’re going to need the support of our allies.”

“Yes, indeed Garrick… I was just getting to that. Our friends in Lomorrad were hoping if I found you, you would send some men to begin to plan a resistance. Queen Inaris would very much like a word too and I believe the Ulannbaatese would appreciate a visit. I’ve heard tell the Talmasians are stirred up too and you know the Itruskans are so intermarried with Ulaanbatese we can surely ask for their assistance. We are all going to have to bond together if we want to overcome this. Though the Inadden and Kimorese still seem to think this is not there problem, stubborn idiots and I haven’t heard news from Tassril or Ewori. We simply have to hope they hold to the peace treaty and don‘t break ranks and join with N‘nkasha.”

He smiled congenially, “I will off course go, and I can offer my ship… she’s much faster than any of yours with the adjustments I’ve personally made.”

“I’ll go too if Your Majesty permits it,” Lochan said, not looking at his cousin who was staring at him in confusion, “you’ll need someone who knows what’s happening here on Mhalwae and what we can potentially offer by way of assistance.”

“Fine idea, fine idea indeed. We’ll have to leave sooner rather than later if we want to make it back before winter begins,” Eanraig clapped his hands together heartily.

“Your Majesty,” Radomir droned with a miserable look on his face, “I’d like to request that you send me along as well.”

“But Radomir, I need you here,” Eallair said looking unsettled, “I can’t have all my good men sailing off during the harvest season. I’m sorry but you’re going to have to stay.”

“I understand,” he sighed, “it would have been nice to get away for a while, that’s all.”

“It’s not going to be a holiday Radomir,” Eanraig said snippily and then turned to Eallair, “we’re going to need some good men. Of course, I have my own crew but if you have a few trustworthy men we could use that would be very helpful. If possible it might be a good idea to get in contact with the underground rebellion in Branwhuld and see if we can’t smuggle out a few more refugees to swell the ranks on Mhalwae. We’re going to need to start preparations immediately. We should probably leave early next month.”

“Now… if we’re done, I do believe my lovely wife has probably delivered a baby by now and I’d like to go and check what type it is. Goodnight gentleman.”

And with that he strode from the room.

“But how did you find us here?” Eallair asked softly, the worry that Lochan felt apparent in his voice.

Lochan stared at Eanraig, awaiting the answer. What if they had been followed?

“Come now young Eallair, you do know I’m a genius don’t you?” Eanraig quipped, a wide grin on his scarred face, “If anyone could work out the secret of Mhalwae it was me.”

Lochan suppressed a grimace of irritation, “It’s Your Majesty now Sir Danachold.”

“Oh right… of course. Takes a bit of getting used to I imagine. Well then Your Majesty…. it wasn’t easy if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve spent the last years researching in libraries from one end of the known world to the other to find you. I’ve been searching for you ever since I caught rumour that you had fled to the mythical island of Mhalwae. Turns out it wasn’t so mythical after all eh? And there was evidence of it, though dispersed.”

“And we weren’t followed, if that’s what’s causing that dreadful frown Lochan,” Eanraig nodded in his direction.

The boisterous, small man gave a sudden shudder, “and we arrived just in the nick of time eh? For my poor little Morven that is. I had a feeling something bad was going on.”

“Yes, dear father, I wanted to thank you profusely, from the very depth of my heart for saving the life of my dearest and most treasured wife. I owe you a debt of gratitude which I shall spend the rest of my life repaying, a thousand thanks, a million blessings…” Alexis stammered with the most humble look Lochan believed the man had ever managed.

“I didn’t do it for you, you moustacheod hussy,” Eanraig grunted in irritation, “so save your pretty words.”

Alexis gave a surprised braying laugh, like a donkey kicked in the behind.

“I wasn’t joking you moron. Besides, if you want to thank anyone Bharata here is your man,” Lochan followed Eanraig’s gaze to the tall, dark man, standing silently graceful at Eanraig’s side, “If it weren’t for his healing magic Morven would surely be dead.”

“Then sir, I am forever in debt to you,” Alexis bowed deeply to the sombre man who merely narrowed his eyes. Small flecks of chalky white paint were still visible at his hairline.

Healing magic…. he tried desperately to stifle the bubble of hope that had risen unbidden.

“You might want to be careful what you say Alexis,” Eanraig chuckled, “Where Bharata comes from one does not make such promises lightly”.

Alexis swallowed hard, turning a pale shade of green.

“You must have much news from home. Has… has Faldorn fallen? Is it safe to go back?” the look of hope on Eallair’s face was heartwrenching.

“No Eallair… pardon me Your Majesty. It is not safe to go back. I have much news indeed. You should gather your men together and we can discuss the manifold news I bring you of the last few years,” Eanraig replied, his face crinkled and earnest.

Lochan did not like the look on the older man’s face. He too had held a little hope in his heart that perhaps the army of Lomorrad had come to Branwhuld’s aid, cascading over the mountains to smite their foes and restore their country to its former glory. But perhaps Lomorrad had fallen too.

The baby in Garrick’s arm gave a soft whine and Lochan grunted in exasperation.

“Garrick, do you really think this is an appropriate time to be dragging around the poor baby. She has a mother and a nurse. Don’t you think they would be more suited to look after her than you?” Lochan snapped.

“She’s alright Lochan, she promised not to be loud,” Garrick looked down at his red-haired daughter with dull-eyed adoration and Lochan found himself disturbed again as he had been many times since Garrick had proudly told her the name of his newborn girl.

“She’s a cute little mite isn’t she,” Eanraig smiled, staring down at the wide-eyed baby, “best not bring her along when we meet though Garrick, if you don’t mind.”

Garrick look crushed but Eanraig ignored him.

“So Gentleman, I suppose it would be best if we just keep it to a few upper level types. Sorry Alexis, I believe that doesn’t include you. Who else have you got here? Is Radomir lurking around here somewhere? Of course, if that’s alright with you, Your Majesty,” he sent a hearty wink in Eallair’s direction.

Lochan thought it prudent not to remind Eanraig that he was only a knight. Eanraig had been, however, the old King’s chief science advisor.

With a great heaving clunk the door swung open with a gust of hot summer air. Blinking at the sudden light in the gloomy throne room Lochan could make out a slender silouhette with a large belly.

“Eanraig!” an outraged voice demanded, and the form of a heavily pregnant woman with long, flaxen plaits and a glare on her face swam into view.

“Tiatny my love, my treasure. What seems to be the problem? We are rather busy here. Men’s business you know,” he chuckled uneasily.

“Men’s business,” she spat, “Perhaps you would be kind and show to me the women. I am getting the baby and if you do not be fast it will be here on floor.”

“Well now, you don’t look sleepy at all princess,” Lochan cooed to his daughter who was smiling up at him with wide eyes.

Eallair was standing silently by the fireplace. Lochan could barely look at him. In the past month his cousin had changed in ways that Lochan could not even begin to fathom. He knew he should be pleased that Eallair was finely showing signs of taking up the reigns to his struggling kingdom. Garrick couldn’t have been happier. Lochan felt as though he had lost a friend.

“I just can’t believe that was the end of it Lochan. Where did the warrior come from? Shouldn’t there be some repercussions from her death. I just feel like this isn’t over,” Eallair sniffed with a scowl.

“Your Mama certainly won’t be pleased if you’re still wide awake little sparrow. She’ll say that papa didn’t do his job properly and I’ll get a sound talking to.”

Yvaine nodded up at him still smiling all newly cut teeth and gums.

He knew it wasn’t true. In all likelihood mama wouldn’t even notice if Yvaine were still awake when she retired. She was so exhausted these days even her daughters whimpering cry would not wake her. And so Yvaine grew more and more silent, almost as though, aware that her crys could do no good she had decided against bothering anymore. Lochan would sometime find her, fat, silent tears running down her soft cheeks as she sat ignored in her crib.

He had taken to having her with him during the day when he could. When he was working she would sit with her back warm against his booted calf playing quietly with her dolls. If he went riding out to the farms she was tucked cosily into his tunic, lying still against his chest her wide eyes gazing in wonder as the fields sped by. But of course he couldn’t take her everywhere so there were days she spent with her sickly mother. Lochan had asked Maeve to keep an eye on her when she had Yvaine but Maeve couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“You had better get sleepy fast little miss. Because it is most certainly after your bedtime.”

He glanced at Eallair and was unnerved to see him staring at Yvaine. He didn’t like the predatory look his cousin was giving her, like a fox that had crept into the chicken coop and was gazing down into a nest of downy, yellow chicks.

He carefully deposited her into the crib. She smiled up at him and he thought his heart would stop from the sheer, overwhelming force of his love for the tiny girl. He bent down to kiss her forehead and searched around for her doll.

“Go to sleep now princess,” he murmured as he pulled the blankets over her. She lay silently, her dark, dark eyes unblinking, “Go to sleep.”

He strode across the room, uneasy with Eallair’s presence. He still hadn’t mentioned why he had come to visit at this time of night. He began to put away some books that were lying messily on his desk. Eallair followed, so that Lochan was cornered between his desk and the bookcase.

“Can I do something for you Your Majesty?”

Eallair did not correct him as he usually would when he called him majesty. Lochan swallowed, trying to clear the lump that was fast forming in his throat.

“Yes, Lochan. There is something you can do for me. Not just for me. For the Kingdom,” Eallair was gazing at him mournfully. He looked older than Lochan had ever seen him, his face had somehow hardened and set like drying plaster so that Lochan almost expected to see cracks forming.

“I almost died Lochan,” Eallair murmured.

Lochan felt his heart stutter. It was the thought that woke him sweating and panting in the night, the nightmare that stalked his dreams. The ultimate failure, the death of his young cousin, his failure as the older and wiser to take care of his friend, of his Kingdom. He sucked in a long shuddering breath but Eallair was not finished.

“A man gave his life for me Lochan. He died… for me,” for a moment Eallair looked helpless and frightened, the mask he had worn more and more often the last year, “ and all I could think about was my son, my tiny son handed my Kingdom at the age of a year. My baby son.”

Lochan thought he knew where this conversation was headed and he was suddenly desperate to forestall the conclusion, “ It would have been alright Eallair. Garrick and I, we would have taken care of him, helped. And Madlenka, she’s tough woman and she knows how to rule. If something happened, God forbid, we know what to do.”

It wasn’t true. If Eallair died the people on Mhalwae’s spirit that had already sunk to such low depths might have been irretrievably crushed, like a tiny chick’s body under the boot of a farmer as he rushed into the coop to find the fox’s carnage.

“But Lochan, I almost died and left him with nothing. No plan. Nothing to help him. Nothing. What did Sigurd leave for his son? Did he leave him with some plan to manage the lands he would inherit? Did he plan a wife for his son? What did he leave him?”

And there it was, Eallair had said it. Lochan knew what would soon follow.

And yet when his cousin said the words it still felt as though he had been slapped in the face, “What I wanted to ask you Lochan, my cousin, my friend is if you would do me the honour of granting your daughter’s hand to my son, Kendrick, Crown Prince of Branwhuld and the island of Mhalwae.”

The fox glanced up, its muzzle stained with blood and tiny yellow feather plastered to its fur. Lochan saw that its eyes were grey and sad.

He tried to speak calmly but found he could not, “But Eallair, she’s only a baby!”

He saw his daughter, her tiny body grown, breasts budding from the top of a corset, flowers in her long, brown hair, he saw roving grey eyes following her every sway as he walked her down the aisle. He saw her maids stripping the gown from her pale body, those wide eyes peeping frightened from above the blankets as a man with grey eyes pulled them from her clutched fingers. He saw the man, pushing his daughter, his little Yvaine down on the bed as tears of pain ran down her pink cheeks.

“She’s only a baby Eallair,” he whispered.

“So is Kendrick. He’s only a baby. But he deserves to have a father who has planned for him and so does Yvaine. There isn’t a better match for my son, nor one I desire more. I know that Yvaine will grow into a beautiful, gracious woman and I sincerely hope that my son will be a good man, a good ruler though perhaps it is too much to ask for with a father like me. Please Lochan. Won’t you please do me and my son this honour?”

Eallair’s face was hopeful and questioning in the candlelight, the closest thing to a smile that Lochan had seen in a month tentatively flickering at the corners of his mouth.

How could he refuse? He would have done anything for this man. Anything. He would have thrown down his life to protect him. He could not refuse him his daughter.

“Yes,” he choked, fighting back hot tears, “The answer is yes okay.”

With a sudden and brilliant grin Eallair threw his arms around his cousin pressing him close against his chest.

“Thank you Lochan. Thank you.”

Eallair’s head snapped up as the steward announced in a low voice, “The Earl of Moraghdu.”

He carefully shut the door behind Radomir’s back.

Radomir hesitated at the doorway. Eallair sat stiff backed in his chair, his eyes which had briefly passed over Radomir now fixedly staring into nothingness. The room was murky, lit by a single candle that hissed and spat as though fighting to light the cavernous space.

Radomir tiptoed forward, a superstitious fear settling on him. He had never seen an Eallair who did not turn nervously to the door, awkwardly push himself from his chair to greet a visitor. Radomir had always wondered if it wasn’t a trick to appear more confident. He had met many a faltering ruler who insisted on standing tall above his subjects, or perched high above them on a dais. It was the ones who could project that kind of power while seated that were truly confident.

Eallair sighed and slumped back in his chair.

“Well Radomir. What can I do for you?”

“Your Majesty, I have come to ask that I be allowed to take my wife back now. It has been many months in which I have been denied her company and I wish it to end. I would like her to move into my chambers in the castle.”

Eallair stared at him unblinkingly.

“I suppose the baby can be given to one of the peasant families to take care of. I do not wish it harm, but I will not have it my rooms.”

He heard his voice shaking as he mentioned the accursed child. He coughed to clear the lump in his throat and growled, “I simply won’t have it.”

Eallair leaned forward resting his weight on the front of his chair. There was a coiled tension in the set of his shoulders, the jut of his jaw and Radomir was oddly reminded of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.

“I don’t think it’s a very good idea Radomir,” Eallair murmured, his eyes not meeting the Earl’s.

Shifty bastard, it was just like him to look away as he handed down a man’s sentence.

Radomir felt the anger surging and roiling in his stomach. Who was this snivelling wretch to deny him his rights as a husband? He had been patient for months and months, through Valeriya’s long illness, through atrocities and infidelity, punishment and seeing his wife with another man’s baby lying in her pale arms. He had been through it all.

And yet he still loved her.

He still loved her achingly and horribly, a twisting knife in his gut so painful it kept him awake at night as he bit down on his pillow to stop the tears from coming.

“She’s my wife! I have the right to see her!” he heard himself suddenly shouting as Eallair stared at him.

Well, he would see how this Majesty did without his beloved Duke to tell him what to do.

“You cannot deny me my rights as a husband. It is against the law. If I desire my wife to return to me then so it should be,” he scowled.

It was his right. His Godgiven right as a husband to see his wife. They could not keep her from him. His wife, the filthy priest couldn’t take that from him though he may have taken so many other things. The joy of seeing the first child lying in his wife’s arms as his own. The sanctity of their marriage. Her body. Perhaps even her mind.

“My rights,” he hissed, “my wife.”

They had kept him away from the priest. They had threatened him with all kinds of punishment lest he lay a hand on the dirty beast. None of them meant anything. Not a thing, but the worst threat of all. That he never be allowed to see his wife again. So he had been patient. He had waited. But he had waited long enough.

He was startled from his internal rant by the jarring sound of the King’s voice.

“Your rights? Your rights Radomir? What rights would those be? The right to beat your wife into a bloody pulp at every chance you get?”

Radomir stared in shock at the King. His face, normally so docile and forgiving was twisted into an angry sneer. His eyes usually soft and understanding were hard as glassy marbles.

“Your rights? I decide what your rights are do you understand. Don’t you dare come in here and tell what you are entitled to and what you are not. I decide.”

He took a deep breath and continued, “Now. I do understand your predicament. And you have behaved as I requested. She is your wife, but I have a few conditions.”

Radomir nodded, defeated, swallowing the tears that were embarrassingly threatening to work their way up his throat.

“I do not give permission for you to live with your wife now, but I will grant you visiting rights. You may see her a number of times a week. She is still ill and the restoration of your marriage will not be easy on either of you. Later it may be that you live together once more but for now this is the concession I am granting you.”

The King scowled, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes glinting in the candlelight.

“But so help me God, Radomir, if you lay a hand on her you will have me to answer to.”

“That is all. You may go,” The King dismissed him with a disgruntled wave of his hand.

Radomir bowed deeply, “Thank you Your Majesty, I am in your debt.”

Lochan pushed the heavy door open gently and they silently filed in. Eallair sat motionless, his head slumped on arms which were draped heavily on the sturdy oak desk. His shoulders sagged as though the weight of his responsibilities had become too much to bear. His long hair dangled over his face, matted and snarled. Faint traces of rusty red stained the links of his mail and Garrick well knew also the creases of his hands.

Garrick knew because his hands had once been stained by the blood of a friend, of a sister, of his mirrored other half. For days now Eallair would find the dried remnants of Sigurd’s death, caked on the tip of his boot, crammed beneath a fingernail, tarnishing a link or belt buckle. Garrick remembered how it had run into his very fingerprints as though he had dipped his finger in her blood and pressed it to the page to sign the death warrant. He felt a pang of sympathy for Eallair, and a shudder of raw sorrow for his own loss. And Sigurd, he had been a good man who didn’t deserve the hand fate had dealt him. A brave man in the end and Eallair should not forget the sacrifice he had made. Garrick just hoped it would not break him.

“Eallair…” Lochan murmured.

Eallair did not move.

“Eallair, are you asleep? Wake up please.”

Eallair’s head jerked up as though a ghostly hand had tweaked the puppet string. Garrick saw that if he had slept it could not have been for long. His face was ghastly white, dark rings rippling away from bloodshot eyes. He rose woodenly from the chair, sliding it back into place with a neat thud of oak against oak as it hit the table.

“Any news,” his voice was hoarse from sleep and Garrick assumed, sobbing.

Poor lad.

“We’ve got patrols scouring this side of the island but none has turned up anything so far. The watch on the sea say there’s no sign of any ships out there. She seems to have appeared out of thin air, we can’t find any trace of how she got here,” Lochan’s voice was dry and calm.

“We’re going back out again,” Garrick added, “expanding the patrols further into the forest.”

“Good, I’ll come with you,” Eallair’s voice took on a recognisable tone.

Probably do the lad some good to get out. Nothing worse than staying cooped up inside and thinking. Garrick knew. He had been locked in his room for weeks after she died, with nothing to do but think, over and over how things would have been different if he had only just…

“No,” Lochan replied bristling, “It’s simply not safe out there for you Eallair. What if you get hurt?”

Garrick snorted in irritation. There was nothing he hated more than Lochan babying Eallair. The lad was a King and sooner or later he was going to have to live up to that reality, but his overbearing cousin made it too easy for him to take the safe route out.

“But Lochan,” Eallair wheedled, “I think I could be a great deal of help. I’m doing nothing sitting here. I need to help.”

Correction, there was one thing Garrick hated more and that was Eallair playing the sniveling child to his cousin. Sometimes Garrick couldn’t help but wish he would grow a pair. The Kingdom would be better for it. Either that or Lochan simply take the reigns and be done with it. This charade had gone on long enough. It was painful to watch a King pandering to his subjects.

“No!” Lochan almost shouted, “I simply won’t have it. The last thing I need is to be worrying about you getting yourself killed out there. I have enough to concern myself with all that’s going on.”

He jabbed a finger towards the King, “I won’t allow it.”

Garrick thought he had gone perhaps a teensy bit too far. He glanced at Eallair whose face had gone from pale to an ominous red.

“Ah Lochan…” Garrick began but was interrupted by Eallair suddenly snapping to life.

“You won’t allow it?! You?! Who are you to allow me anything?!”

Lochan’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he backed away from Eallair who was stabbing the air in front of him with an accusatory finger.

Eallair’s voice suddenly went cold, his features pulled into a taut grimace, “you forget yourself cousin. Remember who is King here. Now go and get my sword. I’m coming with you and I expect a full report on the status of all the patrols on the way.”

Garrick felt like cheering. He had to clap his hands against his thighs to stop them from applauding on their own.

The lad had balls after all.

Lochan looked ill, “As you wish Your Majesty.”

The snow had been melting for days so all that was left were muddy patches that sucked at Sigurd’s boots. In the valley everything was dank and wet and streaming, the rigid pine trees dripping with rain from every needle as a mist rolled up from the sea to settle at the foot of the mountains.

Sigurd was cold and uncomfortable, mud splattered up to his knee and soggy socks crammed into squeaking boots. He longed to go home to Varda, thaw out his feet in a bucket of steaming water and crawl into bed beside her hulking, warm body.

The King, who Sigurd suspected had developed a little cabin fever from the long winter cooped up inside the drafty castle, had insisted they go out to survey a new building site at the first sign of thaw. The morning had been relatively warm, a weak sun shining through a thin guaze of clouds but the day had grown progressively grimmer. Now, faced with the long trudge back to the castle, Sigurd wished they would soon turn towards home.

“See Lochan, wouldn’t this make the most perfect place for your castle?” Eallair smiled knowingly at the Duke who was looking entirely unimpressed.

“Your Majesty, if you permit me saying so, we have not even begun to finish the fortress. It is madness to even begin to consider a new phase of building. You need not be concerned on my behalf, I am quite content to remain in my lodgings in the castle. There are docks to be built, and barns to be finished. We are sorely lacking in men. We should not even be entertaining the thought now,” Lochan huffed, his face grim, “I believe Your Majesty needs to focus on more important things.”

An icy drop of rain slopped down from the branches above and trickled down the back of Sigurd’s tunic, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. He reached up to rub some warmth into the back of his neck and froze as he heard a soft crackle.

He swung around, eyes scanning the forest but there was nothing there. The rain was growing heavier, making pattering sounds on the mossy bracken and he turned his attention back to the King.

“But come now Lochan!” the King grinned, spreading his arms wide as thought to embrace the Duke and the surrounding forest, “look around you. Would this not be a fine place for a castle. The mountains to your back, a steep climb from the sea. Plenty of available wood. Certainly a bit damp today, but nothing a snug fire wouldn’t fix.”

Lochan stared at his cousin in trepidation, “I don’t know why you are even thinking of this now Majesty. We have not the resources nor the men. We must stay focused on defending the shoreline. Perhaps in a few years, maybe more. We just do not have the manpower.”

There was a faint rustle from the forest. The hair on the back of Sigurd’s neck stood on end as he peered into the gloom trying to determine the source.

“Did anyone else hear that?” he wavered.

“But have you not thought of the defensive possibilities Lochan?” The King went, apparantely oblivious to Sigurd’s concern, “What if the shoreside fortress were to fall. Where would we retreat to? There’s nowhere but the forest and a few scattered farms. They would have us surrounded in no time. But if we had a second line of defense, a fine, strong castle at the foot of the mountains we could make a stand. Even survive a siege. You must see the sense in it.”

It was probably just a frightened squirrel. He was just on edge because Varda’s time was so soon. Every little sound she made would wake him the night as he lay by her side, counting her breathing, terrified to hear a cry of pain.

“Well, Your Majesty. You certainly do have a point there,” Lochan gazed at the King appraisingly, “a second line of defense would certainly serve us well. But I stand by my point, there is no sense in beginning building on a second project when the first is not even near done.”

Sigurd was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable, though he could not say why. He peered again into the forest, heart pounding, looking for the squirrel, scanning the dark surroundings. Something felt wrong, his skin was tingling with it.

“Your majesty,” he mumbled, “I really think we should be heading home…”

“What’s that Sigurd?”

The King began to turn when suddenly the bushes exploded as a dark figure launched itself towards them in a blur of black and the frightening glint of silver.

Sigurd’s ears rang with the whistle of cold steel slicing through the rain as it struck out towards them. His heart thudded, a frightened creature shuddering in the depths of his chest and without thinking he tumbled into the King, awkwardly knocking him out of the path of those terrifying blades.

With are horrifying pressure, then release the blades sliced through Sigurd’s flesh, tearing and grinding against his ribs to skewer the hysterical creature leaving it twitching and jerking.

All around him was the clamour of angry shouts, the singing of swords ripped from their sheaths, guttural words spat in a language he could not understand. And there was pain, a great gushing torrent of it that spattered against his spine and burnt up to his brain. With a sickening slither his attacker dragged the clawed weapon from his chest in a welter of his own blood.

Blurry flashes as Lochan and Cordell’s swords carved through the mist, plunging into the dark figure again and again until he sank to the ground.

Sigurd coughed, blood foaming on his lips and dribbling into his beard. He saw the dark blots dropping to form fat splots on the ground at his feet. With trembling fingers, head spinning he felt the ragged edges of the wound, the meaty flesh ripped open.

“What in the blazes?” Lochan growled, “it’s a woman!”

He knelt just clear of the pooling blood that was gushing from the fatal wounds in her body, a tide that was waning since her heart had ceased to beat. With every spasm of his own, Sigurd felt thick blood oozing out between his clasping fingers.

“What the hell is wrong with her face?!” Cordell exclaimed, peering at the hagged, rotten green of her skin.

Lochan gingerly ran a finger across the dead woman’s cheek, “It’s paint is all, see underneath. She may be pale but she’s human enough. Only human.”

Human. Only human. Sigurd was human. Sigurd was torn, Sigurd was shredded, his blood pouring out of the hole he futiley tried to stop with his slender hands.

He sank to his knees, toppling like a felled tree as everything slowly went black. Beneath him the ground was slick with rain, mingling with the oozing mess that was his blood. Above him the menacing pines peered down their, needled heads bending ominously in the rising wind.

“Lochan! Lochan! Sigurd’s been hurt. Please Lochan! Help him!” Eallair whimpered somewhere far above, where the pine trees were.

“Oh God. Please help him.”

“Could pirates really venture this far north? Why?! What possible reason do they have to come up here?” Eallair muttered, massaging his creased forehead with an unsteady hand.

Garrick’s eye glanced over his friend’s face, noting the deep line forming between his eyes from too many worried frowns, the dark pouches beneath his eyes from too many sleepless nights. Eallair had aged visibly in the years they had spent on Mhalwae, his face crinkling and folding like the map that had led them there. He was only young, though the enthusiastic boy Garrick had once known had all but fled. Now Eallair sat, hunched over, his back humped like an old man’s, his shoulders sagging wearily.

“I suppose they could be evading capture by some fleet by skirting north into the Draldor. We don’t know what is happening back home, it is possible Faldorn has his fleets patrolling further south. He may even have taken Lomorrad, who knows if they could stand firm against his armies,” Garrick shifted in his chair, rubbing his stiff legs. He had walked long that day in the cold, checking the patrolling men for any sign of ship on the horizon bearing the ominous black flag.

“Or they may have been avoiding foul weather. Who knows what drove them this far north,” Lochan added.

“We aren’t strongly fortified,” Eallair murmured, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, “What if there was more then one ship? I don’t think we could withstand a full scale attack. We simply don’t have enough men.”

“Let’s worry about that if we have to Eallair. We’re doing everything we can to protect the people. The scouts on higher ground will spot any ship before it even gets close to the harbour. Rasmus is on alert, the ships are manned and prepared to block the mouth of the harbour if necessary. Our position is better than you think. The men are ready for battle. And it is unlikely that a passing ship would spot us at all. The harbour is hidden from view. Remember, we didn’t see it ourselves until we did a second pass,” Lochan’s voice was both reassuring and commanding.

It worried Garrick that Eallair was so reliant on their counsel. It had not gone unnoticed that every decision made lately on the island had come directly from Lochan or from his own self. It frustrated him that his King could not step into the shoes of a leader. At first Garrick had believed it was only teething pains as the newly crowned Eallair got his head around the duty he had inherited. Garrick still held hope that Eallair would finally come into his own and be the leader they needed. He knew Lochan had given up that hope.

Eallair was lucky he had such loyal friends. A lesser man would have taken advantage of the situation.

“But do you see what this means. We are not the only ones who know about Mhalwae. If pirates maraud this far north surely they know of the location. They cannot have been far out if the little girl managed to swim in to shore. And if they know about the island, well, surely it is only a matter of time until Faldorn does too,” Eallair looked over helplessly at Garrick.

“If only the poor, wee lass could tell us. I’ve no idea what tongue she is speaking though. Never heard it myself before now. Even Rasmus couldn’t recognise it and I did believe till now he had travelled the whole known world over,” Garrick shifted again, trying to relieve the discomfort in his hip joints.

“Where could she have come from? Do you think she’s from the Borderlands? Do you believe those lands even exist? And how did she end up here? It makes no sense!” Eallair crossed his legs with a soft thud as his heavy boots clumped together.

“It’s a decent question. Perhaps the rumours are true. Maybe the Talmasians are to be believed and there’s something out there besides deserts,” Garrick replied.

“Drat the fire has gone out,” Eallair whined, but Lochan was already standing to address the problem, “Oh, thanks Lochan. What would I do without you?”

What indeed, Garrick thought as he stretched his aching legs before him, feeling the rush of blood tingling down through the cramped muscles and into his booted feet.

Lochan poked aggressively at a hulking log until the thing crumbled in two to reveal a hidden, glowing, red center. The fire crackled and spat, as some smaller logs caught, dusty, dry bark peeling back in blackened curls.

“Well done Lochan, it was getting a bit nippy in here. When’s this bloody weather going to break. It feels like it’s been winter for an age,” Garrick shivered slightly, crossing his arms a little tighter against his chest, “it makes me miss Branwhuld. At least then you knew it was going to be bleeding cold for a month but then it would be over. Here it feels like summer never even happened before.”

“We’re lucky to be here Garrick,” Lochan mumbled, rubbing at his bad arm staring into the fire, the flames casting eery shadows on his face.

He went to sit beside Eallair who had resumed rubbing his forehead vigorously with calloused fingers. Garrick was reminded that those callouses were not the product of war, but built up from the etiquette of peacetime tournaments. Eallair was a skilled swordsmen though he had never had to test it. Eallair had not waded into battle as Lochan and Garrick had. For now his sword remained unstained. Garrick’s had run with blood that had worked its way into the grooves of the hilt so it would always be a dark, rusty red. He was sometimes surprised it was not the same with the palms of his hands.

“What if Faldorn comes here? What if he finds us? He will kill us all,” Eallair’s hand floated before his mouth which hung open in a terrified gape.

Garrick felt a surge of rage, fiery and hot in his belly, “God’s teeth he had better not come here or I’ll have his balls for a money bag! Just you see him try.”

Eallair snorted suddenly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something… a little less hairy?” he choked and began to cough.

“Need a pat on the back their Eally, something go down the wrong way? Hope it wasn‘t black and curly.” Lochan pounded heartily on Eallair’s back which only ended with him coughing even harder between guffaws.

“Quit it you two,” Garrick growled but he couldn’t help but grin, “from what I hear Faldorn hasn’t got anything big enough to hold a decent amount of gold anyway.”

“Perhaps you need to start a collection then Garrick. You can hang them all around your belt. One in every colour so to speak,” Lochan snickered, thumping Eallair on the back as he choked again.

“Oh you be quiet before I decide to start collecting right now!”