"How are you feeling?" Ella closed the infirmary door behind her, giving Tanner a weak smile. With the exception of Tanner, Ella, and one new occupant who lay sleeping in the bed at the back of the room, the infirmary was empty.
"I've been better," Tanner replied, wincing as he pushed himself upright in bed. "But Coren does a good job of easing the pain."
Ella moved to the side of the bed, resting her hand atop Tanner's. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner. I didn't know what to say."
Tanner shook his head. "It's all right."
"No. It's not. You risked your life to find the truth. You realise if anything had happened to you, Yana would have killed me in my sleep?"
Tanner spluttered. "Don't make me laugh." He clasped his hand to his stomach, choking laughs escaping his throat. "It hurts when I laugh. Yana would never have killed you. She's not as fierce as she looks."
Ella raised an eyebrow but didn't say a word.
"All right," Tanner acquiesced. "She might have killed you."
"She most definitely would have killed me. Tanner, why?"
"Why what? Why did I stay?" Tanner drew a deep breath, grunting in pain. "I don't have any children, Ella. The gods never saw fit to grant me that gift. Rhett was the closest thing I ever had. With my brother moving south, I never got to see them much, but I would have done anything for them. And from the moment I met you, I could see the same love in you. And the way Rhett spoke about you in his letters." Tanner rested his hand on Ella's, smiling as he shook his head. "He loved you so fiercely. I couldn't protect him, but I can protect you."
It was only the tickling sensation on Ella's cheek that let her know she was crying. She sniffled, shaking her head. "That's not something you have to do."
"Oh, I'm well aware. Something tells me you have no problem looking after yourself, especially with that shadow you call a wolfpine." Faenir grumbled at the mention of him, not bothering to lift his head from where he lay curled up by the door. "If you do nothing else in this world, you protect your family, Ella Fjorn. And let me tell you, whether you swore the oaths or not, you are my family now."
An interconnected series of tunnels, just like the one Ella currently walked down, linked all the chambers, alcoves, and caverns of Tarhelm. Ella ran her hand along the smooth stone of the tunnel as she made her way from the living quarters to the southern gate. The tunnel wall held none of the usual roughness of hewn rock. It was as flat and unwrinkled as polished steel. Yana had explained to her that the entire outpost had been carved using the same magic that Farda, Coren, and Farwen wielded. But knowing it was one thing, and understanding was something entirely different.
Every fifty or so feet, beams of light sliced through the dimness of the tunnel, particles of dust and powdered rock floating in the illuminated air. The main chambers utilised lanterns and torches. Some of the larger caverns even had openings in the rock ceiling to maximise natural light. But in the tunnels, it wasn't practical to keep lanterns burning, so long circular passages, no more than half a foot in diameter, were utilised to funnel light from the outside. Yana had called them 'light vents'.
Ella stopped at the nearest vent, squinting as she stared within. The light that now drifted through was dawnlight. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon.
"Come on," she said, scratching the top of Faenir's head, picking up her pace.
The tunnel opened into a small chamber no more than twenty feet wide and half that across. Four guards in various leathers and steel breastplates, leaned against the walls and sat about on upturned crates.
Standing near the entrance to another tunnel on the other side of the chamber was Coren. The woman was garbed neck to toe in plate armour, a helm with a thin slit for eyes resting in the crook of her arm. It had been almost two weeks since Coren's offer for Ella to join her at dawn, but if the woman was surprised to see Ella, she showed no signs of it. "Good." Coren offered a slight upturn of her lips. She nodded towards a bench that sat to the left side of the tunnel entrance. "Put that on."
Ella looked down at the bench, her gaze falling on a folded shirt of mail and a heavy-looking set of steel plate armour that was laid out meticulously: a breastplate, helm, pauldrons, a pair of greaves and bracers, heavy gloves and boots, and every other piece of armour Ella had ever seen. "Why?"
"Just put it on."
Ella stared back at Coren for a moment, but eventually acquiesced. Whatever the woman had planned that required a full plate armour, Ella wasn't sure she wanted to know. But if she was going to have any hope of keeping Calen safe, she needed to learn whatever Coren had to teach.
Ella let out a sigh and picked up the coat of mail by the shoulders, letting the links unfurl with a series of clinks and jingles. She slipped her arms through, hefting the mail over her shoulders, letting it slide down over her torso. She looked down at the set of steel plates and armour laid out on the bench. "All of it?"
"All of it."
The sun was barely visible over the Veloran Ocean in the east as Ella stepped from the tunnel out onto the mountainside, the armour clinking as she walked, weighing her down, sweat already forming on her brow and the small of her back. Donning the mail and armour had given her a new appreciation for those that did it on a regular basis, and not simply for the weight of it or the awkward movement, but for how claustrophobic it felt. She was an insect encased in a carapace, her body unable to breathe.
Coren and Faenir stepped out of the tunnel behind her. Faenir brushed his side against Ella's hip, attempting to alleviate the anxiety that she had only just noticed was setting in.
The tunnel to the eastern gate led out into a small basin dotted with trees and bushes, through which a rivulet flowed. The Firnin Mountains rose around them, sweeping out and upwards, winding peaks of sandy-brown rock and twisted-limbed trees, the occasional patches of green dotted about. The squawks of early birds and the whistle of the mountain wind filled the air, accented by the burbling of the rivulet.
"Please, in the name of Heraya, tell me we're not climbing to there." Ella pointed towards a jagged peak that jutted up towards the sky to the east, looking as though it was only vaguely connected to the mountain they now stood on.
Coren laughed, shaking her head. "Not yet. You would most definitely die if we attempted that. Today we climb to that peak." Coren pointed towards a nearer peak that still looked as though it reached a few thousand feet higher than where they were currently standing. "There's a copse of fir trees at the top, and the view is spectacular."
Ella rolled her head, trying to relieve some of the tension that had already begun to set into her neck and shoulders. She puffed out her cheeks. "How is this going to help me?"
Coren smiled and started walking. "Try to keep up."
Within minutes of trekking up the side of the mountain, Ella's legs were on fire. Her lungs heaved, every breath vibrating in the helmet Coren had insisted she wear. Ella had always considered herself to be physically fit. She had always spent her days being active, working in the forge with her dad or helping her mam tend to the wounded and gather herbs and plants. But she supposed trekking up the side of mountains in full plate armour was a slightly different thing.
Faenir, however, loved every second. The wolfpine loped ahead, flitting between the sparse trees and shrubs, leaping between ledges of rock, his fur ruffling in the wind. Ella couldn't help but smile at the sense of freedom that touched the wolfpine's mind — that was something she was still getting used to: the ability to sense Faenir's emotions, to feel his thoughts. If she focused hard enough, she thought she could even smell through his nose. Everything became sharper and clearer: the freshness of the wind, the distinct scent of pine needles, the damp of moss.
Minutes became hours as they climbed, and the burn in Ella's muscles turned to unceasing agony. Her legs refused to obey her commands, her stride more a hobble than anything else. Her lungs heaved, dragging in ragged breaths. Sweat saturated the shirt and thin trousers she wore beneath her armour. Ella lifted her head, seeing Faenir padding along beside her, a low whine emanating from his throat, Coren walking a few feet ahead, only partially visible in the glare of the sun, which seemed to burn hotter in the North than it did in the South.
Ella let out a gasp as her armoured foot caught a rock and she stumbled. She held herself upright for a moment, but then her legs spasmed, and she dropped to the ground, the vibration jarring her arms as her palms slammed against the rock. Her stomach turned, and her mouth began to salivate in the way it always did right before she needed to vomit. The familiar acidic taste hit the back of her throat, and Ella emptied the sparse contents of her stomach out onto the ground in front of her, vomit spilling through the opening in her helmet.
She pulled off the helmet and tossed it to the side as she knelt, drawing in short breaths, the taste and stench of vomit clinging to her throat, her lungs and muscles burning.
"We can turn back if you need to."
Ella lifted her head to see Coren standing in front of her, staring down, arms folded across her chest, an emotionless expression on her face.
"Why do I have to wear this?" Ella coughed as she lifted her hands and pulled herself upright on her knees, her breaths heavy and laboured.
"How tall are you?" Coren asked, turning to face Ella, the light of the rising sun glinting off her metal helmet.
"How tall am I? What does that have to do with anything?" Ella let out a sigh as Coren stared at her. "I don't know, five and a half feet?"
"And how much do you weigh? I'd wager two thirds what most men weigh. Maybe half."
"What's your point?" Ella asked, shifting irritably.
"In a battle line, none of that matters," Coren said, moving so she stood in front of Ella, her dark eyes glinting through the slits in her helm. "If you're slightly smaller or weaker, your brothers and sisters will protect your flank. Strength is not in the individual, it is in the unit. But you don't have the training, the discipline, or the time to fight that way. If you are going to stay here, you are going to have to contribute. When you're standing face to face with a man in plate armour, head and shoulders above you, a fury in his heart – what will you do then? You have Faenir to protect you, but what if he needs you to protect him?"
"I would never let anything happen to him." To Ella's own surprise, a snarl caught in her throat, and her fingers clenched into a tight fist. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Faenir had turned to face her and Coren, the hackles on his back raised.
Coren took another step closer to Ella. "I cannot teach you to become a sword master in the time we have. That takes years – decades, even. Nor can I load you with slabs of muscle. But I can teach you to never stop. I can train you to push through the pain, to carry the weight on your shoulders. You need to be willing to fight harder than anyone who stands in your way. You need to be able to demand your body keep moving when your legs are burning, your lungs are heaving, and every fibre of your being is screaming at you to stop. That is what it takes."
Behind Coren, Ella could hear a deep growl resonating in Faenir's throat. The wolfpine took a few tentative steps closer. Ella drew in a deep breath and curled her hands into fists, her fingers dragging over the dirt and dust that coated the rock, then hauled herself to her feet, ignoring the pain. Without so much as a word, Ella picked up her helmet and strode past Coren, clenching her jaw with every step. The peak didn't look far. If she could keep at a solid pace, she could make it in less than half an hour. If she took it slowly, her body would hurt less, but the pain would last longer. It would be better to just push through. "Try to keep up."
Ella collapsed to her knees as she reached the summit of the peak, tossing her helmet to the ground a few feet away, spluttering as she dragged in lungfuls of air. Even as she knelt there, her legs shook, screaming in pain. She let herself drop down onto her back, her armour clinking against the stone, the warmth of the sun on her face beating away the bitter chill of the wind.
Her hair was matted to her face and head by sweat. Every piece of exposed skin was cold as ice, whipped and bitten by the wind, though her body as a whole was on fire. Her muscles seared with pain, and the heat of her body baked within the armour she wore. When Coren had said she climbed the nearest peak every morning, this was not what Ella had envisaged. She swallowed, trying to add some moisture to her dry lips.
A shadow moved over Ella's field of vision, blocking out the light of the sun. Ella squinted, letting her eyes adjust, but before they did, a wet tongue dragged across her face, accompanied by an uncomfortably warm breath. Ella let out a laugh, scratching the side of Faenir's enormous head. "Get off me, you lummox."
The wolfpine whined and licked Ella's cheek once more before prodding her in the side of the head with his wet nose and plodding off to drop himself somewhere in the sun.
Footsteps passed, a shadow momentarily blocking the sun. "Water?"
Ella grunted, lifting herself to an upright position and turning to see Coren perched on a rock near the edge of the peak, looking as though she had barely broken a sweat, which irritated Ella to no end. But irritated or not, at that moment, Ella would have sold her own soul for a drink of water. Gritting her teeth, Ella pushed the pain to the back of her mind and pulled herself to her feet, stumbling slightly as she did.
Ella snatched the waterskin from Coren's outstretched hand, glaring at the woman, who smiled back smugly. She dropped down near the edge of the peak, letting out an unashamed groan as the cold liquid touched her lips. The waterskin was over half empty when she finally pulled it away from her mouth, dropping her forearms onto her knees, trying her best to slow her deep, laboured breaths. The acrid taste of vomit still clung to the back of her throat from earlier. She had never gotten sick from physical exertion before. It wasn't a particularly delightful feeling.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Ella narrowed her eyes as she lifted her gaze to Coren's, but before she said anything, she realised what Coren was talking about. From where they sat at the summit, they could see everything for miles around the Firnin Mountains. Rolling hills; squared-off sections of farmland in varying stages of yellow, brown, and green; rivers carving their path through the earth.
"Over there," Coren said, pointing towards a swath of dark green woodland, "is the Elkenwood, the town at its edge being Merchant's Reach. The city of Elkenrim lies just out of view to the east." Coren moved her hand left, pointing towards an enormous mountain range that dwarfed the Firnin Mountains. "Those are the Kolmir Mountains, and the fortress at their feet is Fort Harken, the empire's military chokepoint between here and Al'Nasla."
"That's where Farda went." Ella felt something pushing at her elbow. She looked down to see Faenir's snout poking under her elbow. After a second, the wolfpine's whole head came through, and he rested his chin on Ella's lap, his eyes gazing out over the landscape below.
Coren let out a soft sigh, turning to meet Ella's gaze. "Who do you think Farda is?"
"I know he's a mage," Ella snapped. She hadn't meant to react so irritably, but she was sick of being treated like some wayward child, and the pitiful smile that spread across Coren's face only served to further fuel the fire of Ella's irritation. "And he's already told me he's a Justicar for the empire." Whatever that truly means.
Coren turned back to the landscape that spread out below, letting a breath out through her nostrils. "Farda is more than a mage. I'm assuming Yana or Tanner told you what I am? What Farwen is?"
Ella nodded, her heart twisting at the thought of how Yana had said Farwen described the loss of her dragon. Like every piece of her was broken at once, with no way of putting it back together. Ella pulled her elbow in tighter around Faenir's neck and head, scratching at the side of his fur-covered cheek with her fingers.
"Farda is not a mage. He is a Rakina, like me, and like Farwen. It is a word in the Old Tongue that means 'One who is broken', or 'One who survived'."
Ella's words caught in her throat, and she shook her head. "What… what are you saying?"
"Farda was once a Draleid – one of the finest of his time, and a close friend of Alvira Serris, our leader. When I was only a child, my master, Kollna, used to tell me stories of Alvira, Farda, and Eltoar Daethana. She used to hold Farda up as an example of what a warrior should be. Not in how they should fight, but in how they should carry themselves, in how they should treat those they protect. But a year or so before The Fall, Farda changed. He drew into himself, grew reclusive, grew cold. I had only met him a handful of times, but even I could feel it."
"I…" A thousand questions peeled through Ella's mind, yet she could barely form even a single sentence. Her heart palpitated, and her breath caught in her throat. If Farda had been alive at The Fall, he had seen at least four hundred summers. "What… what happened?"
Coren shook her head. "I truly do not know. But he was not the same man. My master went to see him on many occasions and always came back troubled. In the years since The Fall… whatever he was, and whatever you think he is, he is not that person. His heart is cold and black, and his hands are covered in blood."
"And there is no blood on your hands?"
Coren held Ella's gaze for a few moments, the right corner of her mouth lifting slightly before she turned away once more, letting silence descend.
"Farwen believes you have druidic blood in your veins."
Ella didn't answer. She simply continued staring off into the distance, her fingers methodically scratching under Faenir's jaw. The wolfpine responded with a satisfied grumble.
"I'm inclined to agree with her, though we both may be wrong. We met a man almost two hundred years ago, a few miles north of the Aonan Wood. He travelled with a hawk twice as large as any I or Farwen had ever lain eyes on – much like Faenir. His name was Galveer, and I believe the hawk went by Kurak. Farwen and I were exhausted and starved after fleeing from Imperial Inquisitors in Aeling. When we stumbled into his camp, he didn't so much as bat an eyelid. It was as though he had already seen us coming. He offered us to share in his food and the warmth of his fire – which was no small thing. In the wilds, kindness is not often rewarded. We'd been running for so long. We were so tired."
"What does any of this have to do with me being a druid?"
Coren stared at Ella for a moment but didn't answer the question directly. "Galveer noticed Farwen holding her hands beside the flames, fingers growing raw and red, unflinching." Coren's voice trembled a little. She sniffled, pressing her tongue against her top teeth. "She started doing that after she lost Syndril. Particularly in those first two centuries. Anyway, he asked us outright if we were Rakina. To which we answered by drawing our swords."
"What happened?" The words slipped out despite Ella's best efforts to hold on to her irritation at Coren for not giving her a straight answer.
"He didn't even flinch. Neither did the hawk. He told us what he was, but more than that, he told us of a man like us, who had survived The Fall and was building strength against the empire."
"Coren, I'm sorry, but I still don't see how any of this pertains to me."
"Apologies," Coren said. "When it comes to stories, I tend to ramble. We travelled with Galveer for weeks as he brought us to Aeson. Along the journey, he told us of some of the things he could do, of how he and Kurak were connected. That was how Farwen recognised what you are. Everything about you and Faenir is the same. The way you move together, the way he acts around you. When we asked Galveer about Kurak, he told us that some druids inadvertently bond with specific animals. When that bond is created, the animal grows larger, stronger, more intelligent. Their thoughts and feelings bleed into the druid, and the same happens the other way around. It is clear that Faenir is a recipient of these qualities."
Ella looked at the wolfpine who still sat with his chin resting on her lap, his golden eyes looking up at her as though he were proclaiming his innocence for whatever crime Ella thought he might be guilty of. Even then, she could feel the touch of his mind, distant but present, and she knew without a semblance of doubt that Farwen had been right. Ella was a druid.
Turning so her legs draped over the edge of the cliff, Ella let out a heavy breath and lifted the waterskin back to her lips, only for a low grumble to sound beside her. She looked down to see Faenir staring back at her, his head only just lifted off his paws, his tongue hanging from his mouth as he panted.
Ella narrowed her eyes. "You're not even tired."
Faenir grumbled again, the noise sharpening to a whine at the end while he turned his head.
"Oh, fine. You only ever want it because I have it. You know it, and I know it." Ella let out a puff of air, shaking her head. "Open your mouth."
Ella proceeded to tip the waterskin sideways, letting the water pour out in a thin stream. Faenir tilted his head, lapping at the stream as it fell, most of it splashing off his face, wasted. Ella couldn't help but laugh, scratching the top of Faenir's head with her gauntleted hand.
"Here."
Ella turned, wincing as Coren's armour reflected the sun into her eyes. As Ella's eyes adjusted, Coren handed her something.
"What is it?" Ella looked down to see she now held a small leatherbound book, tied closed with a leather strip.
"It's a journal," Coren said, reaching into her satchel once more to produce a pen and a small inkwell, then handed them to Ella.
"I'm not really the journalling type," Ella said, giving Coren an apologetic smile.
"If you are a druid, we should see what you can do. And seeing as there's nobody here to teach you, we're going to have to stumble through this. I figured it would be helpful to log the process as we go, see what you can really do. It's what Master Kollna used to have me do when I was learning to weave threads of the Spark."
"That makes sense." Ella pulled off her glove, then opened the leather strip and thumbed through the thin pages of the journal, feeling the coarse touch of the paper beneath her fingertips. "Where do we even start?"
"With him." Coren nodded at Faenir. The wolfpine let out a rumble and lifted his head, tilting it to the side, his ears pricking.
"What about him?"
"Galveer was able to push his mind into the minds of animals, see through their eyes, move their limbs. He called it 'Shifting'. I don't know how he did it or if it's a common thing druids can do, but I figure if you have a special bond with Faenir, it must be easier to do it with him than any other animal."
"Shifting?" Ella looked at Faenir, who stared back, his golden eyes gleaming. As she held the wolfpine's gaze, she became vaguely aware of the beating of his heart, thumping just slightly off rhythm with hers, slower. Sounds around her grew sharper, more distinct; the wind was like waves slamming against the cliff, but amidst it Ella could pick out the clattering of bare branches, the chirping of birds, the slow, slightly weary drag of Coren's breaths.
Ella slowed her breathing, keeping her eyes focused on Faenir. The fresh scent of cool air suffused her, followed by salt and sweat, a tinge of loam, fresh cracked bark. In the peace of it, her mind drifted to Rhett. The smell of his clothes, the earthy scent of leather and metallic tinge of polished steel that always clung to him after his patrol duties, and the sharp smell of peppermint from the soap he bought from Verna Gritten that only ever seemed to linger for an hour after he bathed before being overcome by the leather and steel. The thought twisted Ella's heart, images of Rhett's smiling face lingering in her memory. He always smiled with his eyes. A wave of anger flooded through Ella, her teeth grinding, her fingers curling inwards, a primal fury rippling in her veins. More images of Rhett, the spear bursting through his gut. The blood. So much blood. Ella's own voice echoed. 'Don't you dare leave me!'The memory was so vivid she swore she could feel his hand resting on her cheek. She looked down to see Faenir still staring back at her, but now his lips were pulled back in a snarl, his nose crinkled, his teeth bared, the hackles on his back raised. A deep guttural growl rumbled in his throat. It was his anger she was feeling. His and hers together, feeding each other. But more than anger radiated from Faenir's mind. Regret. Loss. Guilt. Why guilt? Hundreds of images flashed across Ella's eyes like strikes of lightning. Images of Ella and Rhett, of them leaving The Glade, sleeping beneath the stars, outside Pirn, Camylin, in the wagon, on the merchants road. You were with us the whole time? Watching over us…Another pang of guilt, and Faenir whimpered. Images of him looking down from somewhere, a ridge maybe? Lorian soldiers, the wagon. Dust swirling as Faenir's paws ate the ground. Blood.
Tears welled at the corners of Ella's eyes, and she reached out, resting her hand against the coarse grey fur at the side of Faenir's face, shaking her head. "It's not your fault… It's not."
Another whimper left Faenir's throat. Guilt. Loss.
Ella leaned forwards, wrapping her arms around Faenir's massive neck, his fur prickling her skin. She squeezed, feeling him push into her. Faenir's emotions tangled with her own, pushing and pulling. Sadness, anger, grief. Ella pulled away, placing her hands on either side of his face, her fingers scratching into his fur, tears burning her eyes. "You saved me. You saved me. It isn't your fault. It's theirs. And we will rip them apart."
"Ella?" A hand rested on Ella's shoulder, and she turned to see Coren staring at her, eyes wide.
Ella only then realised her chest was rising and falling in heavy sweeps, her hands shaking at the sides of Faenir's head. Her lips twisted in a wolf-like snarl. "I'm all right," Ella said between trembling breaths, her blood still hot, her jaw clenching.
"Did it work?"
Ella shook her head. "I don't think that was Shifting. That felt like something else entirely." Ella settled herself, slowing her breathing. She looked back at Faenir, his anger still simmering within her. "I've made my decision."
Coren raised an eyebrow.
"I want to fight."