The Azure Rider Ch. 07

Orion pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as the first trees began to appear. The snow under his boots had hardened into a slippery sheet of ice over the last few days and it impeded his progress a little. Orion hoped grimly that there would be fresh snow further north. He was on a tight schedule and could not afford unnecessary delays.

The bare, snow laden branches of oaks and willows stood silhouetted in eerie silence against the moon-lightened night sky. Orion knew from his last visit that a few miles in, the trees would come alive as he passed underneath them, the spirits of dryads and tree nymphs that resided in them stirring in the presence of a human. The writhing branches were not very pleasant to walk under, as Orion had learnt from experience, and even if he managed to dodge their clumsy swipes, he would surely get deluged in the snow shower that came loose from the flailing branches. For now, the soft whoosh of Ice's wings above the Forest was the only sound that he could hear, but unwilling to take any chances, he wrapped his cloak tightly around himself.

The dryads, like many other magical creatures that Orion had witnessed over the years he had spent here, avoided travelling southward into the Kingdoms of Lohenstraad and Vandan. They did not like the cold or the long nights of the Ancient Forest any more than he did, but ever since the Great War had started, they had had no choice but to migrate northwards. The constant violence of the war ravaged lands that lay behind him affected the magic inside these creatures, often pushing them over to the side of darkness, though not as frequently as it did that to witches or wizards.

Whenever Orion was alone, like now, his mind travelled back to the source of all misfortunes that had befallen Agatha- the prophecy. He did not know who had truly begun it; in all possibility, it had started as a wild story spun by some lazy crack-peddling tarot card reader in a marketplace somewhere in Vandan nearly seventy years ago, but it had spread like wildfire through idle tavern chatter and general gossip. It spoke of a Thistle Dragon born under the shadow of misfortune, and a fated Rider born in the throes of a civil war. The prophecy proclaimed that when the Thistle Dragon claimed this Rider, the Great War would finally end and a new era of peace and prosperity would begin. When Orion had first heard of this prophecy, he had jokingly asked Ice if he had mated with an Imperial Dragon lately. To his utter horror, Ice had provided him with very gruesome details of his copulation with Ligviette, an Imperial Dragon who was bonded to Petronella Bartholomew. Orion had decided to leave Regstone before anyone discovered what Ice had done, and he had received apoplectic messages from Petronella throughout the next decade, berating him for not being able to keep his dragon under control. The first time Orion had received such a letter, he had responded that Ice was a sentient, powerful being, not a pet as Petronella clearly presumed Ligviette to be, and he had no intention of controlling his actions. He was sincerely sorry for the predicament Petronella found herself in, and was happy to be of service to her in any way to make up for Ice's presumed infraction. Needless to say, it only angered her further and caused her to send a volley of letters and curses wrapped in envelopes for the next decade.

A faint rustling sound interrupted Orion's musings. Warily, he reached for his sword and lowered the hood of his cloak, straining his eyes to spot the intruder through the patchwork of moonlight that filtered through the bare branches overhead. A hooded figure approached him slowly, and Orion relaxed a little, recognizing the graceful gait of an Elf. He raised his hands in front of his face to show that he was unarmed, and for better measure, called out softly, "I am Orion Lanthechild, son of Gervase Lanthechild and I come in peace."

The Elf stopped in front of him and lowered the hood of her cloak. Lyriel smiled radiantly at him, her porcelain skin shimmering faintly in the light of the moon.

"I know who you are, Orion," she said gently, her soft, husky voice reminding him of times he would much rather forget, "I am simply surprised to see you here."

***

Orion glanced sideways at Lyriel as they walked through the gilded, ornate hallways of Thorondell, the main abode of the Elven Inner Council. The Elves were ruled by a pyramidal democratic system, at the head of which stood the Inner Council, containing seven members. Finthalion, Orion's longtime friend and partner-in-crime, now served as a member of the Inner Council, a fact that did nothing to ease his premonition of an untimely death sentence. Lyriel looked gracefully ageless despite the fact that she was nearing two hundred, and from the little that they had conversed, Orion had learnt that she still worked at the Loom in the eastern fringes of Ost-in-Edhil. He had planned to ask for a cloak for Agatha from someone at the Loom if Finthalion decided to leave him alive after today, however, Orion was not eager to have that particular conversation with Lyriel.

Lyriel led Orion into a dome ceilinged, white marbled hall that was empty except for a row of ornately framed, shimmering canvases of artwork on the wall, depicting the history of the Fair Folk.

"Wait here," Lyriel said gently, "someone will usher you in soon."

Orion nodded his thanks and glanced at the door on the far end of the chamber. It was behind that door that the Inner Council convened every fortnight, and since Lyriel had sent word before her about Orion's arrival with intelligence about the Chains of Damnation, the Council had assembled there at an impressively short notice. The double doors opened and Finthalion walked out with his arms spread wide, his woven blue cloak sweeping the white tiles behind him.

"Welcome my friend," he said in his musical, deep voice, a gentle smile on his face affirming the depth of his affections. Elves rarely smiled.

"You look well, Fin," Orion said, then strode towards him and returned the embrace. He followed Finthalion into the Council hall and considered the scene before him, recognizing a few of the faces seated around the burnished, oval table. There was Illimitar Jorieth, his longtime mentor, Almar Zummeris, Lyriel's father, and Elnaril Miralamin, the Rider of the only Malachite Dragon to have ever existed. They nodded and smiled at him, staring back expectantly with alert expressions or steepled fingers.

"Well, Orion," Fin said, assuming his seat by the table. "Lyriel said that you bring news of the Chains of Damnation."

Orion cleared his throat and turned towards Finthalion. "Yes. It is being used to contain a Thistle Dragon atop one of the towers of the Castle of Regstone. She has been there for nearly sixty years now, which means we were duped when we travelled to Regstone. Incidentally, the Thistle Dragon in question, Elpis, has claimed.... your daughter... as her Rider."

There was a stunned silence across the room at this proclamation.

Then Finthalion raised an eyebrow and said, "my daughter?"

"Yes. Borne by the late Queen Estrilda."

There was a single moment of deathly silence, then Finthalion rose from his seat and strode towards Orion. "Come with me," he said, and marched out of the chamber. Orion followed him, and Illimitar Jorieth swiftly followed both. Finthalion led them to a discreet antechamber some way off from the Council hall. Once Orion and Illimitar entered the room, he shut the door and turned upon Orion, looking agitated and distraught, again, a rare occurrence for Elves.

"My daughter? Why are you telling me now? Where did you find her? You must take me to her right away, Orion!"

Orion sighed and rubbed his temple. "Take a seat," he said to Finthalion, and nodded to Illimitar to follow in his example. Illimitar led Finthalion towards a stone-hewn divan by the wall. Illimitar had trained Fin and him together in archery, sword fighting, horse-riding and bodily combat for nearly twenty years, and Orion felt safer with the man present. He cleared his throat and started speaking, leaving nothing except his own relationship with Agatha. He had a suspicion that Finthalion would not be particularly pleased to hear of it. Finthalion's countenance became steadily stonier with every sentence he uttered, and by the end of a quarter of an hour, Orion was certain that he would not leave the place alive.

"So let me rephrase," Finthalion whispered once he had finished speaking, "you discovered my daughter in a tavern full of men with ill intentions, and instead of informing me of it instantly, kept her like a lamb for slaughter and married her off to a good for nothing fellow against her will to serve your own ends?"

Orion winced and said, "that would be the gist of it, yes. Please understand, I had no choice but to--"

"YOU HAD NO CHOICE? YOU HAD THE CHOICE OF COMING TO ME, ORION, AND I WOULD HAVE FREED ELPIS FROM THE CHAINS OF DAMNATION INSTANTLY!" Finthalion rose from his seat and roared at Orion, his face red and his grey eyes stormy. He raised a hand and Orion was thrown backwards against the wooden door behind him, the burnished paneling and two of his ribs cracking simultaneously from the impact. Finthalion raised his hand towards his suspended body and curled his fingers, his face twisted with rage and grief. Orion started to feel his airways choke from Finthalion's curse. Dimly, he heard the pacifying voice of Illimitar trying to dissuade Finthalion from killing his friend. And perhaps, he was successful, for the deathly pressure around Orion's neck eased, and he collapsed onto the ground on all fours, sputtering and wheezing, trying to blink away the white spots that danced at the edge of his vision.

However, it seemed that Finthalion had decided that if he could not kill Orion, he would cause him as much pain as humanly possible, for Orion found himself sprawled across the floor from a hard kick in his ribs. Finthalion perched himself on top of him and drew his hand back for a strike.

"Fin-" Orion croaked, dimly reflecting that he was the one who had taught Finthalion such an ungracefully human method of sparring. Finthalion, beyond reason, brought his fist down to connect with the side of Orion's face. He did not stop at one blow and Orion made no attempt to stop him even though he could have. By the time Illimitar had pulled Finthalion off of Orion, he was unconscious and his face was mangled beyond recognition.

***

Orion woke up to the soft, soothing hands of Lyriel drawing a damp rag across his face. She gave him an angelic smile as his vision sharpened. Orion realised that he was lying on a cot in an unfamiliar wooden cabin, similar in structure to the one he had occupied for nearly fifty years during his time here.

"I will never understand Finthalion," she sighed, dousing the rag in a bowl of water. "He is ruled by his anger just as much as a human. His time with the humans has changed him, I am afraid."

"Where is he?" Orion asked.

"He is setting his affairs in order, with the intent to leave for Regstone as soon as possible," Lyriel informed him. Orion made to rise out of the bed.

"Hush, rest now," Lyriel reproved him ever so gently, trying to push him back into the covers. "Your ribs haven't healed yet."

"Where is he, Lyriel?" Orion asked again, disregarding her entreaties as well as the sharp stab of pain in his chest.

"He is in his home, Orion. Illimitar is with him. He is set to accompany Finthalion on his quest."

Orion groaned and raised himself from the bed, and ignoring Lyriel's reprimands, shuffled out of the door of the cabin. On the little porch outside, he met with Illimitar, who seemed to have come to meet him.

"How are you doing?" Illimitar asked kindly, cocking his head to get a better look at his fading bruises.

"He can't leave now. Take me to Fin, Illimitar," Orion responded with a groan.

They found Finthalion in his little wooden tree house, located in the middle of an oak grove. Finthalion ignored Orion studiously and turned to Illimitar. "We don't have long, Illimitar," he said grimly.

"Fin, you can't take her out before the Prince's coronation." Orion said urgently. "If you take her out now, there will be utter carnage. There are nearly a hundred guards posted in and near the southeastern tower, and they are all alerted to the possibility of an abduction attempt like this. On the night of the coronation, they will be relocated to keep an eye on the guests that congregate from all over the land, and that is the window of opportunity we must be after. There would be a lesser number of witnesses, less bloodshed, consequently, a slimmer chance of Vandan attributing the blame on me and declaring the Treaty null and void. You must understand, Fin, my involvement in this matter must remain a secret, otherwise we will lose the Disputed Corridor almost certainly."

When Finthalion spoke, his voice was chilly. "If you think for a moment that the filthy, lying, scheming humans of your land will adhere to their meaningless declaration of peace when it does not suit their convenience, then you are a bigger fool than I thought, Orion. Despite all of your caution, the Olbrechts will blame you anyway, to save their own faces if for no other reason. "

"I know," Orion nodded, "but without a readily available reason, even Fredenand will not be foolish enough to start a battle in the middle of winter. Our men are used to the snow and the wind, their men are woefully deficient in that regard. Once the winter is past, the Thistle Dragon will be reinstated in Lohenstraad and Agatha trained to fight in battle. The Imperial Dragons will not join the war once that happens, because Dragons don't fight their immediate kin. That, coupled with our alliance with the Forgers will ensure that Fredenand will think twice before starting a battle so heavily ill-favoured."

"You think," Finthalion whispered, "that I will let you keep her with you and let her risk her life for worthless, dishonorable humans like yourself?"

"I don't think she'll care much for what you or anyone else thinks," Orion said mildly, privately impressed by Finthalion's deeply proprietorial regard for a daughter whose existence he had been unaware of a few hours ago. "And if I remember correctly, the woman you once loved was one of the filthy, dishonorable humans that you seem to detest so much."

Finthalion started towards Orion again, and Illimitar stepped swiftly between them.

"If you take her out now, all of her sufferings will have been for nothing, Fin," Orion reminded him.

It took the better part of an hour to convince Finthalion, and when Orion finally stepped out of the tree house, dawn had broken over the city of Ost-in-Edhil and the birds, fairies and pixies were stirring up quite a racket.

***

Agatha's spirits improved remarkably in the light of the new information that Orion had provided. A tinge of impatience coloured her nightmares now, for even in her sleep she knew that they were not real, and Fredenand's visits were rendered tolerable by the new hope that he would meet his demise fairly soon. The most welcome improvement, however, was in her handmaid's temperament. Georgina went from brusque and cynical to sympathetic and accommodating, offering her stories about her own adventures when she had escaped with Agatha or when she had worked undercover for the Sacred Hand. Agatha's days were no longer spent in bitter loneliness; on most afternoons, she was found listening to her handmaid's stories with rapt attention as Georgina did her hair.

Two weeks later, on a grey, hazy afternoon, under the shadow of a sprawling, gnarled oak tree, Agatha read her wedding vows to Prince Fredenand in front of a pot-bellied dome-headed high priest. King Olbrecht watched from afar with tearful eyes and Princess Sira scowled at them from his side, palpably uncomfortable in a whale bone corset and a flowing, jewel-encrusted red silk dress. Prince Fredenand was gentle and reverential to her that night, and Agatha nearly regretted putting the consumption curse on him a few days ago. After he finished, he pulled out of her and said that she wasn't half bad for one who had lost her maidenhood a while ago and Agatha's regret dissipated quickly.

The day of Prince Fredenand's coronation dawned grey and murky and despite the weather, Agatha felt shamelessly cheerful. She had thrown herself into her horse-riding lessons with Princess Sira for the past two weeks and her arms and torso were beginning to feel strong and supple again. When she sank into her bathwater late that afternoon, the unceasing patter of raindrops on the tiled roof above her chamber soothed her soul, and freedom felt so close that she could almost taste it in the damp, salty air.

Georgina took over her preparations for the coronation ceremony after she stepped out of her bath. Once all the other handmaids were successfully shooed out of her wing, Georgina dressed her in a chemise, then a heavy, suffocating whale bone corset, then another equally heavy woven red dress, studded with precious gems from the Forgers' Mountain. She completed her attire with a stiff cloak fastened at her neck, and Agatha, now feeling distinctly bad-tempered from the heat and humidity, tried to pry her legs open. They stood firmly clamped together from the layers of fabric swathed around them.

"How am I supposed to ride in this?" She whispered desperately.

"Hush," Georgina said, "I will change you into breeches before the time arrives." She directed Agatha to sit in her chair before the mirror, and while weaving her hair into an intricate web of braids, patiently explained her due course of action that evening.

***

Prince Fredenand's coronation was the grandest affair Agatha had ever witnessed in her life. It outdid the celebratory feasts in the Great Hall of the Rubenstraad Castle, the song and dance ceremonies held yearly in memory of the assassinated Prince Elrond, even the birthday celebrations of their own crown prince, Tristan Constantine. Nobles and high born lords came from all over the continent, the delegations from Rubenstraad clad in dour furs and leather (and sweating profusely in them), the nobles from Luteri in colourful robes cinched with embellished cummerbunds, lords from across the South Sea wearing luridly coloured, jewel-encrusted turbans and long, shimmering robes with intricate golden thread work. Agatha recognised Lord Archibald Mannering and Lord Algernon Rhynster in the Rubenstraad delegation; they stared inquisitively at her whenever they crossed paths, but Agatha was not brave enough to do anything more than offer them a tentative smile.

The food was more extravagant and diversified than anything Agatha had ever seen; vividly coloured exotic fruits were artfully arranged on silver platters, herb-roasted cheese-crusted lamb, chicken and partridge swam in thick, delectable gravy and fountains of mead, mulberry gin and red wine were placed every so often along the long tables.

The rites for the Coronation were over shortly, and Prince Fredenand, now standing tall and proud under the weight of the heavy, intricate crown atop his brow, joined the celebrations enthusiastically. Agatha kept adjusting the simple golden circlet wrapped around her braids and smiled vapidly as a seemingly endless queue of delegates offered her gifts and their compliments. She apologized for her husband's conspicuous absence from the throne beside her and ardently wished they would enjoy their stay in Regstone. The men walked away full of enthusiastic praises about the grace and the beauty of the new queen, and unanimously proclaimed that Fredenand was a very lucky man indeed. Then they immersed themselves in appreciating the food and the drink and the scantily clad curvaceous serving girls who sashayed past with laden platters and all thoughts of the new queen were hastily obliterated from their minds.