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Chapter 8
Part 2
Fendrick watched as Tristan’s killer skulked off with the torso of a woman, her blood trailing over the forest floor. He continued pressing his hands to Tristan’s wound, as Dai approached from behind.
“Want me to go after them?” asked Dai. He looked down at Tristan, wincing at the bloody wound in his chest.
“Help Welk. Then find Raffi. Deal with those two if you see them.” Dai nodded and headed over to Welk, patting him on the back and seeing to his wounds. Fendrick tapped Tristan’s cheeks gently with two fingers. His hopes to rouse him were answered, as Tristan spluttered into consciousness.
“Fendrick…” Looking up at Fendrick, Tristan mustered up his strength and grasped at his arm. “Let me die. Go, deal with those interlopers.”
“I won’t, sir.” Fighting Tristan’s grip, he kept his palm firmly against his mentor’s wound. “We have some healing balms – if I go after them, Welk or you dies. At least you both have a chance now.”
Tristan chuckled, “I’m a goner. Don’t waste your time with me, boy.” Feeling the fluid bubbling up his lungs, he coughed into his hand – colouring his palm dark red. “You were always soft. Strong, but soft. If Fenerra finds out you left loose ends—”
“Dai will deal with them, in time. They won’t get far before having to stop to tend to her wounds. You need to rest, Tristan. Leave it to me.” Fendrick locked eyes with Tristan, his gaze conveying his sincerity. Tristan’s mouth cracked into a weak smile. He closed his eyes, and placed his hand over Fendrick’s.
Having finished up with Welk, Dai emerged behind Fendrick once more, “Welk is stable. He’s seen worse.”
“Thanks, Dai.” Fendrick smiled up at Dai, his eyes filled with tears.
“Fendrick... I’ll get after Raffi now. Don’t blame yourself.” Clasping his hand over Fendrick’s shoulder for a brief moment, Dai looked down at Tristan’s limp body. Fendrick continued keeping the pressure on Tristan’s wound. The already weak heartbeat had stopped, and Fendrick sobbed over his mentor’s body as Dai let go of him and headed back into the forest.
Ifan roused from his sleep, face first in the forest floor. The sunlight sprinkled through the forest canopy, warming his skin. Spitting out leaves from his mouth, he struggled onto his back, rolling off the weight pressing him down. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he gasped as he realised that he had just tossed Mari off his back into the dirt.
“Shit! Sorry, Mari, Sorry!” Brushing the dirt off her body, he spun her onto her back and wiped away the muck from her face. Her skin was clammy and cold, and paler than he’d ever seen. His heart sank in his chest as he lightly slapped her cheeks, “Mari. Mari… Mari.” Placing his ear to her mouth, he could feel the light breeze passing through the forest, but no breath. “No. No no no no no. NO!” Birds scattered overhead as Ifan’s eyes flashed white once more. “You were fine! You’re going to be fine!” Ifan started rhythmically pounding on her chest, periodically placing his ear back to her mouth to check her breathing. Two hours passed in five minutes, and Ifan could barely feel his arms anymore. His eyes were puffy and red from crying and his throat was hoarse.
“You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” Ifan chanted over and over as he continued his attempts at resuscitating Mari. Collapsing over her torso, he wrapped his arms around her and sobbed into her dress, finally accepting her fate.
Chapter 9
Part 1
Birds sounded off in the trees surrounding the cathedral, the sun bathing the procession as it made its way to the grand entrance hall. Ifan walked behind his sister’s coffin, alongside his cousins and uncle, dressed in a black suit and tie. The Inarellian flag in the courtyard was flying at half mast, and a group of bards sung Mari’s childhood lullaby.
A silent bed on which we rest our heads,
Weary from the day,
We slumber sound, we sink to sleep,
We wait for morn’,
So we can play,
Another day
Crowds of people had gathered outside the cathedral grounds watching through black iron bars as Mari passed into the church out of sight. Stepping inside the entrance hall, past angelic statues and stained-glass windows, Ifan shuffled into the church hall, sidling into a pew before sitting alongside his sister. She held out her hand for Ifan’s, and interlocked her fingers in his, squeezing tightly. Her face remained forwards as Ifan turned and smiled at her through tears. The crown on her head peaked out of a crimped, black bob, and her black dress flowed off her shoulders like water before collecting on the floor in a heap. Her eyes were fixated on the cardinal stood at the pulpit at the head of the chamber. Through thin wire spectacles, the cardinal nodded at her before addressing the room.
“We are here today, to celebrate the life of the late Princess Mari Ferch Rhydian.” Muffled cries could be heard throughout the church as the cardinal continued, “Gone too early, and dearly beloved by her family, the public and the Queen. Mari led a life of adventure, alongside her brother, Prince Ifan, in service of the crown and her people. A dab hand at the arcane arts, Mari was enrolled in magic school at the age of eight – spending time away from her parents and siblings, time that she was thankful for, but with regrets for lost time with family. After graduating with honours from Gwynedd’s School for the Magically Gifted, Mari joined the Magical College of Caerfyrddin, where she studied under the magical greats of Inarell. Mari dedicated her life to the pursuit of knowledge, before harnessing that knowledge and wielding it for the good of her countrymen, as an adventurer in the Guild, Terananth, under the watchful eye of Guild Master Hephaestus.”
Hephaestus was stood on the pews several rows behind Ifan and the Queen, wiping away tears from his eyes with his small green hands. As his name was mentioned, glances from around the room landed on the Guild Master, some held disdain, others sympathy. His eyes welled up with pain, and his heart was mired in guilt. I could have done better; I should have been more sceptical about that request. Hepheastus struggled through the proceedings, when Gustov placed his large hand on his boss’s shoulder, his face stony and unwavering. Glancing up at Gustov, he mouthed, “Thank you,” before turning back to the cardinal.
“—and we remember her for her contributions to the arcane, one of the youngest masters of conjuration and author of many important scientific works in the field. On this day, though you may all be stricken with sadness, we ask that you remember the good times you had with Mari, and the joy that she brought you. Dwell on the happiness that she gave to your life and the past experiences you shared. Would you please all join me in singing our first hymn, as we lower Mari to her final resting place.” The organ rang out as Mari’s coffin was lowered into the royal tomb, alongside her mother and father. Ifan and his sister struggled through the hymn as the choir of angelic voices carried the burial to its end.
The funeral soon wrapped up, and the guests made their way to the wake being held in Ifan’s childhood home, Gwynedd Palace. The illustrious halls were bathed in ornate decoration: portraits of old Kings and Queens, landscapes of the Inarellian countryside, some more abstract pieces favoured by the current Queen, Ifan’s older sister, and intricate wall mouldings constructed by now ancient architects. Crowds of people had gathered in the reception chamber. Its great ceilings held fantastical glass chandeliers, whose lights were extinguished. Temporary, but nevertheless lavish braziers were dotted around the room, leading to two curved staircases that led to the deeper chambers of the palace. Lit with regular wax candles, their dim light helped brighten up the room – its windows lay high in the walls, providing light to the upper level of the chamber, but leaving the lower level awash in scattered diffuse daylight.
“It’s odd seeing this room lit with anything besides the white light from the chandeliers.” Ifan lifted the flute to his lips, sipping gently at the sparkling wine.
“That it is. We can’t waste what little magical energy we have on such trivial things as lighting. We’re hard pressed keeping the city portals running as it is, and the water purification networks have been struggling as of late too.” His sister placed her empty glass on a tray being held by a nearby waiter, before swiping a full one. “The population are growing restless, and the politicians are locked in discussions about what to do about Fandelran.”
“Have we learnt who Mari’s killers belonged to?” asked Hephaestus, drawing the group’s eyes down to meet his own.
“There are rumours that they belong to Prestelwyn. Or a group professing to be Prestelwyn,” replied the Queen.
“The ancient civilisation of elves from Pen-y-lyn? That accursed place?” Hephaestus scarfed down a handful of hors d’oeuvres, covering his mouth with his small hands as he munched greedily on the small pastries and crackers.
“Yes. I’m privy to some of our defence discussions, but the government are keeping this close to their chest, lest the public run rampant with worry of ghosts and ancient spectres.” Taking another sip of her wine, the Queen continued, “I wish I knew more, as I’m sure you do as well. Even in my position as sovereign I am not guaranteed access to our top-secret intelligence briefings. The government have me hamstrung at the best of times, cursed to remain a simple figurehead of the state.”
“Gwen…” Ifan twisted his face into one of pained sympathy, eliciting a weak smile from his sister.
“Nevertheless, you can be sure, Hephaestus, that I shall do all I can to include Terananth in discussions on our next moves. We’ll need your expertise and adventurers like Ifan to help clear out the monsters that have begun to nest in Fandelran.”
“Your majesty.” Hephaestus bowed at Gwen, his mottled cap struggling to stay on his head.
“Thanks, Gwen.” Ifan nodded in her direction.
“Enough shop-talk, boys. Let us drink to Mari, my beloved sister.” Gwen raised her glass and was joined by Ifan and Hephaestus. Gwen and Ifan bent lightly to bring themselves to Hephaetus’ level, before clinking their glasses together in celebration for Mari’s life.