Twenty-Eight

Welcome to the Realms of Aurealis

“So, what happens now?” Gratia asked finally.

There was a long silence.

“I am in service to King Quathrobe, d’Vandreice. I cannot permit you to continue. It would be treasonous.”

Demivolsh’s jaw knotted as he clenched his teeth tightly, a look of deep irritation etched into his features. “Leave now Sharloss and I shall not bring you into this. She shall be framed as the traitor and punished. I shall leave it there, you can continue to tend his son until he is better. There are other ways to dethrone a king.”

The mage gave a throaty and surprisingly youthful laugh. “Oh, don’t play me for a fool, Vandreice. I know your like. I have no option but to take you back to the palace, by force if necessary.”

“I don’t think so, old man,” he snorted.

Sharloss gave a mocking frown. “You wish to challenge me, Vandreice? You wouldn’t last one blow.”

Emulas’s jaw slid from side to side, thoughtfully. “Perhaps we could even the odds slightly, sirrah?” Sharloss frowned. “You know, there is something I have always wondered...”

There was a pause before the Mage spoke. Although his voice remained rock-solid, for some reason Gratia could sense his unease. “Oh, and what might that be?”

An ugly smirk spread like treacle across Emulas’s face.

Before Sharloss had a chance to react, a bolt of bright emerald shot from the warlock’s clenched fist and hit Cathchart’s staff with granite impact, shattering the wood and sending splinters through the air at such speed they lodged in the walls.

“Why didn’t you keep your gift of sight in something less vulnerable?” The warlock gave a snide chuckle.

The mage stood statue still, his eyes suddenly wide, a surprised look etched across his face.

“Now Sharloss, shall we see if you really could beat me blindfolded?”

“I assure you Vandreice, you shall not win.”

A sickening chuckle escaped his lips. “We – or rather, I – shall see. Don’t,” the warlock said, giving Gratia a warning look. He mumbled something and the gypsy screamed in pain as the silver stiletto in her hand burned white hot. She dropped it instantly.

“What happened?” The mage gave a worried frown and turned his head in the direction of the scream. “Gratia, are you hurt?”

The gypsy gritted her teeth. “No grandfather, I am not,” she lied.

“I’ll make you regret this Vandreice,” the Mage hissed.

“As might be, as might be.” The warlock waved a hand nonchalantly.

“Gratia, leave the room.”

“No, no!” d'Vandreice said. “I think she should stay and watch. It’ll be good sport for her.”

“Gratia, go.” There was an urgency in his voice.

“Take one step and I shall send your body to the four corners of the world and your soul straight to hell.”

Gratia stood where she was. Something wasn’t right about her grandfather’s tone. It was more of a command then a request. It had to be for her own safety, but what was he going to do?

“Vandreice, no child should have to witness such atrocities.”

Demivolsh clucked softly again and cast an eye over Gratia. “You truly are as blind as a bat, sirrah. In case you had not noticed, your granddaughter is very well endowed for a ‘child’. You are not deaf as well, are you? Perhaps you should hear me service her needs before I finish you. That would be a nice symphony to take to your grave, would it not?” He chuckled.

There was a second's hesitation.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Vandreice seemed taken aback by the incredulity in the mage’s voice. He clucked thoughtfully, then glanced back at Gratia. She shivered.

“Wouldn’t I?” He took a step towards her and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip, jerking her around to face him. “Wouldn’t I now,” he whispered again. 

The gypsy stood stone still, looking straight ahead at his chest, her breathing constricted.

“I’m warning you!” Again the voice held a sternness that Gratia didn’t understand. To Demivolsh this was all a game, the more Sharloss threatened, the more the warlock wanted to do it. Surely Sharloss sensed this? He had to!

“Well, missy,” he was addressing her now, “what do you say, eh? Shall we play a little game? Would you like that?” 

Before she could answer, he flung her forcefully onto the bed. She screamed. He undid his outer buckle and slipped the belt out like a snake’s tongue, pulling the heavy tabard over his head. Emalus’s torque toppling to the floor with it. Gratia scrambled to her knees, losing her balance on the springy bed. Emalus’s bare chest was exposed and he was undoing his trouser belt...

“Demivolsh d’Vandreise,” Mage Sharloss’s voice thundered.

...He yanked the heavy leather strap free and flung it to the ground, unbuckling the silver fastenings clumsily in his haste.

“Demivolsh d’Vandreise,” Chathchart thundered a second time.

“What?” the warlock spat, pivoting angrily on his heels to face the mage.

“Goodbye.”

“Wha–?”

Mage Catchchart Sharloss raised his hand and uttered one, faint word. The room was illuminated as bright as day by a dazzling flash of light from outside the shattered window. Gratia watched, stunned, as the body of Emulas Greshloy gave an earth-shattering scream more piercing than any blade, and slowly crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

The modestly-sized, two-drawn black gilded carriage burned fiercely well into late morning despite the best efforts of the landlord of the Black Stork Tavern to extinguish it. The frozen guards were granted animation once again, but had no idea how they had gotten there or for what purpose. The body of Emulas was returned to the palace and buried with full honours for having died whilst protecting Mage Sharloss’s granddaughter from wolves. After a private conversation between King Quathrobe and the Mage, no more questions were asked about the whereabouts of Demivolsh d’Vandreice. 

Gratia sat silently in her quarters, watching her grandfather feeling his way from the window to the chair in which he sat down. It felt strange to see him so vulnerable.

“I would be able to cope, grandfather.”

“No my child, no. I love you too dearly to jeopardise your life in such a way. Believe me, if there was a way I would use it, but there isn’t.”

“Don’t talk down to me. I can fight as well as any other.”

“I don’t dispute that, my dear. The thing is, you shouldn’t have to. When I summoned you here it was temporarily. Whether you left by your own will or with me, it was only temporary.”

“And you’re certain it is going to happen?”

The mage nodded reluctantly. “Yes, it is going to happen. A month, maybe two – civil war will brake out.”

Gratia shifted irritably and her brow furrowed. “So, you’re just going to pack me off again, to some new kingdom, hope it’s better for me there then it is here?”

“You can’t stay here.”

“I won’t leave.”

“You’ll be killed.”

“You’re my grandfather.”

A silence fell.

“You’re my grandfather and you’re all the family I have. I don’t want to lose you now. I’d rather stay and take my chances.”

The mage sighed.

“I would never send you away if it meant losing you, but if you stay I shall certainly lose you, and I will not risk that.”

“How can you be so certain I would die?”

“I do not pretend to be any great soothsayer, but I feel it. Many shall fall in this war.”

“Who will win?”

“I do not know. Tears come out of the future so much clearer then laughter.”

“What about the Prince?”

“I shall continue to cure him. He is showing signs of recovery, albeit slow. To leave him now would be treasonous and I have my honour.”

“I see. So that’s it? I leave now and that’s it. You expect me to leave you here, blind, and live with myself?”

“My sight has gone for the moment, but not for ever. I can remedy that, given time. You, however, I would not be able to mend so easily should you break. Your death would be a greater handicap to me than the loss of my sight – it would be the loss of my soul.”

“Do not need me, grandfather. I let people down who do that.”

“I don’t think you ever could let me down, little one. If anything, I failed you all these years, but I will not let you die here. There is still so much of your life left to live.”

“Where do I go?”

“I have been thinking about this. There is a place I know of where I believe you shall be relatively safe. It is a peaceful country and governed by magic of a lawful type, but it is many moons from here.”

“I have travelled for days on end with little rest, that does not bother me.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant. I do not mean it is many days from here, I mean it is many moons from here. It is not of this planet, my child.”

Gratia’s face paled.

“The Capulan Sea was no great obstacle to transport you over, my powers are capable of much greater distances.”

“Another world? Planet, another– moons?” she mumbled numbly. “You mean, to a star?”

“Well, it is not exactly the heavens, but yes, another planet. It is a safer one. I shall be watching over you, I promise you.”

“Hmm.” Gratia’s eyes darkened with thought, her body trembling slightly.

“Please, for me. Just until I have done my duty here. Then I shall return for you and bring you home.”

There was a long silence and then the gypsy girl gave a slight smile and her eyes glistened brightly.

“The stars, hmm? To Tir Na mBeo?” She licked her lips, an explosion of curiosity filled every corner of her. “It was my destiny to travel, wasn’t that what they said? But to the stars, to Tir Na mBeo, now that would be the adventure to end all adventures. I shall go, grandfather. I trust you.”

The mage seemed slightly taken aback by her sudden willingness to go. Uncomfortable with his loss of sight, he gave a slight nod. “You are certain?”

“No, but what choice do I have? I’ve never seen a star before.” 

A wide grin crossed her lips.

That night they stood together under the black, moonless sky, hand in hand. He gave her a large pouch of coins and provisions. As the wind picked up and her dress flapped about her ankles, the old mage pulled her close and hugged her with the strength of a bear.

“I’ll return for you, I promise....”

She was overwhelmed by a sensation of weightlessness. Wind whipped viciously at her hair and dress. She felt ice-cold and her fingers were numb.....

Epilogue

Sunshine warmed Gratia’s face and she could hear water – a brook. Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Her body ached as if she had fallen from a horse and bruised her very bones. She had no idea how long she had been there.

Sitting up, she caught a glimpse of a fawn disappearing into the undergrowth and a bird shrilled high up in the trees. Sunlight dappled the velvety-soft grass with a complicated patter.

“Are you all right?” A voice startled her and she twisted her head sharply.

A tall, sturdy man stood in the shadows of the glade watching her intently. There was a peculiarity about his appearance. His light complexion starkly contrasted his rugged looks and his hair was smoothed back from his face, there was a white streak running through it. Something about him wasn’t quite right. Then she saw his ears – they were pointed! A thought flashed across her mind of a creature with long chestnut hair cascading down to his waist and paper-white features – Zieb^Dum. The man was a cross-breed, a man-elf.

Blinking and wincing as a light wave of nausea clutched her gut, she nodded slightly. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

The man looked satisfied with this answer, but did not move. His stare was making her uncomfortable.

“Who are you?” She frowned.

There was a long pause. Eventually he took a measured step into the sunlight.

“Reverend Judge, at your service.”