“Velixar’s army,” she corrected. Harruq kissed her cheek and rolled over underneath their blankets. The cold winter night dragged on, silent but for the lapping of the lake against the shore. A lone owl hooted once, then quieted.
Harruq turned about and pulled Aurelia into his arms and held her tight.
“What…” she started to ask, but he stopped her with a kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers. When she stroked his face with her fingertips, she felt tears. She needed no explanation, no excuse. After a quick glance to make sure Haern slept far away by the lake’s bank, she climbed atop her husband.
Afterward, she cuddled him, feeling her body meld with his. His rough hands encircled her waist.
“Forever,” she whispered. “You’ll have me forever.”
“I don’t deserve it,” he whispered back.
“And you never will. But since when did that matter?”
They slept until morning, the winter’s bite held at bay by their warmth.
6
“I hope Harruq and them are doing better than us,” Tarlak grumbled as he joined his companions in their meager lodgings. Lathaar looked up from his seat at the table, several cards in hand. Dieredon sat opposite him, holding cards as well. They were in their room above an inn. It was cramped, with two beds, a table, and a small chest to store their belongings. Over the past week they’d drawn straws to decide who slept on the floor. For the third night in a row Tarlak had drawn poorly, and he had begun to wonder if Dieredon was cheating.
“Cards?” the wizard asked, pointing toward Lathaar’s hand. “Since when do you gamble?”
“I gamble nothing, except perhaps my pride,” Lathaar said, scrunching his face as he looked at his hand. “Though I wonder if I have even that left. Take a look. What do you think I should discard?”
Tarlak walked over and frowned.
“That,” he said, pointing at a crudely drawn prince.
Lathaar tossed it down. Dieredon quickly matched it, then placed the remaining two cards of his own down, revealing another matching pair.
“Your loss again,” the elf said. When Lathaar scowled at Tarlak, he only grinned.
“Never said I knew how to play, either. Was just surprised that you did.”
“Have you made any progress with the king?” Dieredon asked as he gathered up the cards.
“Evidently getting an audience with King Stephen is akin to asking for a private conversation with Ashhur,” Tarlak said. “And don’t you dare correct me about that, Lathaar. I’m in no mood.”
Lathaar stood and stretched his back.
“We’ve stayed here under his majesty’s request,” he said. “And we’ve played along, all to plead our case before the throne. But instead we’ve gotten nowhere, and warned no one. It won’t be long before a number of refugees and traders arrive, bringing who knows what sort of bizarre rumors with them. If we’re to be believed, we must act first; otherwise we’ll be lumped among the madmen.”
“He’s right,” Dieredon said. “Why this delay? I come as official envoy of the elves, and even then I am turned away from the palace gates. Something is amiss.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” asked Tarlak. He crossed his arms and scowled. When he realized the other two were looking at him, he raised an eyebrow.
“What? Oh. Wait. You’re both kidding right? You want me to open a portal directly to the king?”
“Can you?” asked Lathaar.
“There’s no wardings here,” the wizard said. “So hypothetically, yes.”
“Then I think it time we do so,” said Dieredon.
“We’re apt to get killed,” Tarlak insisted. “We’ll be trespassing, perhaps taken for assassins. Bigger problem is I can’t go somewhere I haven’t seen. Have either of you been to the throne room before?”
Both shook their head. Tarlak sighed.
“Get your things ready. I have an idea, but it won’t be fun. Our time is running out. Any longer, and we’ll have an army of demons and dead conveying our message a lot louder than us, but by then it’s going to be way too late.”
They ate a meal in the commons area of the tavern, deciding any deviation from their normal pattern might attract notice. A few came over to Lathaar to discuss their troubles, and the paladin listened, giving advice when he could, and providing a sympathetic ear when he could not. Tarlak amused a few people by summoning an ethereal flute that played a rather popular tune. Dieredon stayed in the corner, watching everything.
When night fell, Tarlak cast a spell of invisibility over the three of them.
“I can’t do much about the noise,” he explained once the spell took hold. “Being unseen won’t mean much if you make a cartload of noise walking around.”
“I could make it to the castle unseen without need of a spell,” Tarlak heard Dieredon say from his right.
“Yeah, but I don’t think we can say the same for our paladin friend.”
From his left, armor clinked and rattled as Lathaar shifted nervously.
“I oiled it best I could,” he said.
They headed down the stairs, trying to be quiet as possible. For Tarlak in his robes and Dieredon in his oiled leather, this was hardly difficult. Lathaar, however, felt like a gargantuan drum, an invisible metal can of noise. Part of him was glad he couldn’t see the winces his friends made as he followed after.
Tarlak had put a small rock in his pocket after casting the spell. When inside the folds of his robes, it was invisible, but when he took it out and held it in his hand, it regained visibility. Using the rock as a floating guide, Lathaar and Dieredon followed Tarlak out of the inn and into the streets of Kinamn.
A few torches lit the crossroads, but the rest of the streets were left to darkness. Thin clouds hid the stars, and the moon peeked through only occasionally. The streets themselves were wide and smoothly paved, so following the floating rock as it glimpsed in and out of existence proved fairly easy. They traveled north toward the castle, stopping only when guards in groups of four passed by, a gold symbol of a cautious fox emblazoned on their red tunics.
A thin wall surrounded the city, along with several fields and wells. The castle itself had a second wall, only high enough to reach Lathaar’s chest. An iron gate blocked the initial entry. The rock hovered still for a moment just within sight of that smaller wall and then vanished. Lathaar paused.
“You guys hear me?” Tarlak whispered.
“Aye,” whispered Dieredon, so close to Lathaar’s right that the paladin jumped.
“And that clatter must be Lathaar,” Tarlak said, his voice still low. “Good. There’s four guards watching the gate, and several more patrolling. I’ll cast a sleep spell on those two on the left. Climb over fast as you can, and head for the castle’s main doors. I’ll wake the guards once you’ve made it over.”
“How will you know?” Lathaar asked.
“I won’t. Just move quickly. Well, not too quickly. Dear gods, you’re louder than a smithy’s workshop.”
Lathaar approached the wall, feeling like an idiot as he took step after careful step. He could see his own skin and armor, and it took a great amount of self-control to walk toward the guards without fear of being spotted. The heads of the guards were easily visible over the wall. When a patrol of four walked past, leaving just the two at the closed gate, Tarlak cast his spell.
Their heads drooped, and their shoulders slumped. Lathaar scrambled toward the wall and flung his arms atop it. He grunted as the heavy weight of his armor screeched and groaned. What the Abyss was he thinking? Why hadn’t he removed it back at the inn? Shouldn’t Tarlak have convinced him to do just that?
“Quiet,” Dieredon hissed directly behind him. Strong hands grabbed his waist and shoved upward. With the grace of a falling boulder, Lathaar toppled to the other side. There was no hiding the noise. Both sleeping guard startled awake, looking worried and embarrassed. When they saw no intruders, they chuckled nervously and stood a bit straighter at their posts.