Spellbreakers (48 page)

“I am sorry, guys,” she said. Her voice broke then.
The elvers turned to look at her.

“I am not sure I can do this after all. I really want
to come to Kaleva with you, it is just that...”

Ljung looked at her with infinite sorrow in his eyes,
but he nodded in silence.

It would break his heart, she knew it, but he would
not stand between her and Leal. He would let her choose. She loved him the more
for it, and finally the tears welled up because how could she leave such a wonderful
man?

And that is when the shouting and whooping came
through the trees, and the rumble of hooves, and a tall palomino horse came
galloping break-neck down the road.

“Waaaaait for me!” came the shrill call, and there was
Leal, Leal,
Leal
! The heir to the Escarran throne,
running headlong down the road in a drab olive green tunic, her hair sticking
out in all directions, and a look of deranged happiness in her face!

“Oh, oh, oh,” said Daria, and she spurred her horse
back. The black stud ate the distance, and he and the palomino gelding crashed
together halfway, but Daria and Leal miraculously stayed on the saddle, reined
their horses in and embraced so fiercely that bones crackled.

“What, what are you doing, you crazy princess?” asked
Daria when she could speak again, after dismounting from her horse for a less
perilous embrace. The elvers had ridden up to them, and Leal embraced them both
in turn, laughter and tears of emotion mixing in her face. Ljung kissed her
heartily on the lips, laughing. Hawkeneye hugged her and kissed her hand, like
a high lord, and then he laughed, kissed her mouth and hugged her again, much
harder. Leal screamed wildly with joy, holding him as tight as she could.

“I am coming with you,” said Leal, to all three, “if
you will have me, that is.”

Daria hugged her again, her heart bursting with
relief, happiness,
a liberation
from all sorrows.

“You silly princess, of course we’ll have you!
I
will surely have you every night, until you beg for mercy,” said Hawkeneye with
a wild gleam in his pale, cold eyes that left Daria perfectly flabbergasted.

“But what of your heritage, and your responsibility to
the kingdom and all that stuff?” she asked, giggling incontrollably.

Leal took a deep breath.

“I believe
,
I have come to
honestly believe, that I might better serve the kingdom by helping you against
the
draugar
. I would be a very indifferent queen anyway. Amata is much better
cut for the job. She loves to be at court, she’s pretty, judicious, and
well-behaved, she can embroider and play the harp, and I bet she is dying for a
royal wedding and a nest of children. She’s only fifteen, but Father is not
that old, and he is in very passable health. There is no reason to think he’ll
leave the throne anytime soon.” Leal made a quick gesture to ward off evil.
“Amata will be a perfect queen. And I have a more suitable part to play, for
the kingdom and for all of us.”

Daria and the elvers watched her questioningly.

Leal turned to look up at the road she had just come
down galloping. Much slower, a second horseman, in a hooded cloak, came down at
a sedate pace, leading a pack horse loaded with heavy panniers.

“I will bring
him
to Kaleva. I think he might
be of help there. And if with his help, the
draugar
can be stopped, that
is so much good we did for Escarra and everybody else.”

Daria stared at the approaching figure with fierce
concentration. He was riding Leal’s mare, the mare that had already come all
the way to Kaleva and back. As he came closer, he threw back the hood of his
cloak, and a shock of wild white hair shone out in the morning sun, over a
smile just as luminous.

“Cousin Dee?” exclaimed Daria, incredulous. “But you
are the Master of Enchantments!”

“Indeed I am, child,” he said smiling. “And I am told
that there is a need for war-spells up in the north, if the whole west is not
to fall into rack and ruin.”

“But I thought, I thought, I thought...”

“You thought that no magician of Escarra had cast a
live spell in three hundred years. It is so. I have all that is needed to a war
magician, except the magic itself. But from what I hear in your tales, I’d be
astonished if the Elders of Elverhjem and I, putting our heads together, would
not come up with something useful.
Useful and maybe less evil
that what was done three hundred fifty years ago under the Roca Entravessada.
What do you say, Kjetil Alversen Haukka-Silma’a? You are the Warlord of the
Elverlaen. I believe that ultimately the decision rests with you.”

Hawkeneye smiled and took the magician’s forearm in an
iron grip.

“It will be an honor to fight by your side, Lord
Dionis. I know you’ll be a most worthy ally. Your wisdom saved my life once
already. Magic is powerful in the Elverlaen, but is seldom put to warlike uses.
Perhaps you can help us shape it to the purpose. It might be the only chance we
have. We will be indebted to you forever.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” said Dee trying quite in
vain to conceal a pleased, gratified smile. “For over fifty years I visited the
world only through my books. Bring me to see the northern kingdoms, Leal. I
can’t wait to see the sea, and these fabulous ships of yours.”

Daria groaned miserably then, and all the others
laughed.

“Of course,” said Dee in a much more severe tone,
drawing himself to the full height of the Lord Dionis, the King’s brother and
his right hand in all matters, “It would make international relationships easier
and some soothe some ruffled tempers if, once in Kaleva, you would start the
proper diplomatic negotiations and arrangements to take this lady’s hand in a
more … shall we say, proper fashion. Guillem can hardly refuse at this point,
but it would please him if the correct forms were observed, for once. She is
still, after all, a royal princess of an ancient and honoured house.” He gave
Leal a stern look,
then
winked.

“It will be my pleasure, my Lord,” said Hawkeneye
bowing.

“And as for you, my dear…” said Dee turning to Daria.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I doubt very much that there’ll
be any strain on international relationships on my account, dear Dee. I think
that
we
can do things a bit more
privately, thank you very much.”

She gave Ljung a quick look, and he smiled.

“That doesn’t mean you are ever again going anywhere
without me,” Daria added, emboldened.
“Never, ever again.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” said Ljung with a bow of his
head. “I’ll be quite glad to hunt with you, now and ever.”

And so it was a joyful party that went down the
Escarran
mountains
that clear summer morning. They
were all bound in a web of different kinds of loyalty, brotherhood, and love, and
although they rode towards darkness and doom, they rode all together, side by
side, as friends.

Epilogue

Kjetil Alversen Haukka-Silma’a, Ljung Leuksen
Sinkka’a-Reissu, Leal, Daria, and Dee took active part in the dreadful war that
swept the northern kingdoms seven years later. Their deeds were sung high and
low all over the north and west and became the stuff of legend. But this is a
different story.

Black Admund died three years later of the gout at the
age of seventy-six, leaving his sixth wife a widow. She was eighteen. After a
decent time of mourning she married a young Karelian sea captain and lived a
long and happy life, despite the troubled times that soon followed.

Shortly after Admund’s death Kareli, led by Hristo
Straightaim, became involved in the northern wars, and Hassia, the old Karelian
ally, sent an army to their aid. A contingent of Escarran archers joined the
Hassian army in their march north. Thus the centuries-long feud between these
two nations was ended. Although Hassia and Escarra never became cordial
neighbors, no new Challenge was ever issued.

Amata became queen of Escarra at the age of twenty-six.
She reigned wisely and justly. Her beauty was renowned throughout the western
kingdoms and beyond. Four royal princes and countless noblemen begged for the
honor of her hand in marriage, but she refused them all. This, too, is a
different story.

Lacking the extremely fine workmanship needed to put
together an elvren-style composite recurve bow, the Escarrans retained their
plain longbow, cut out of a single stave of yew, as their weapon of choice.
However, it became fashionable among smart boys of all classes to wear their
hair long, something previously unheard of anywhere south of the Narrows. A
talented herbalist in Argell invented a potion that could harmlessly bleach a
young man’s hair to silver-white overnight. She never revealed the ingredients,
and within half a year she made a fabulous fortune selling it to the dandiest
young men of Escarra.

The End

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