The date of departure was set, and he passed his final days in meetings with the king and his dignitaries. Sennar filled them in on the details of the war and the state of the Army of the Free Lands, and then they set about drafting a hypothetical alliance between Zalenia and the Overworld.
He also had the chance to meet Pelamas, the ambassador who’d be accompanying him. He was middle-aged, phlegmatic—a hard-to-read man who saved his words only for diplomatic concerns. He clearly regarded Sennar with a certain admiration, and treated him with respect, but nonetheless seemed to be constantly suppressing his disgust for the young councilor’s tan skin and red hair.
Sennar spent every free moment with Ondine. He’d have liked to let her down gradually, to back off one step at a time, but he couldn’t manage it. He tried acting cold toward her, even when it took effort, but Ondine accepted his need for distance without question.
When his last evening at the palace arrived, Sennar wanted to spend it in one of the surrounding gardens—the one just beneath the central column, where the wind whistled by on its way up. The muted dripping of a small fountain blended with that solemn, almost mournful sound. Melancholy pervaded the air, and Sennar thought it an appropriate place for bidding adieu to the Underworld. Sitting across from the fountain, he stared into the easy, constant flow of the water jet. He thought of everything he’d gone through, of the fear he suffered throughout the entire journey, of the mind-numbing terror as he descended the whirlpool, of the pirates, of Aires, of Ondine’s tenderness—tonight, he’d see her for the last time.
Soon after, Ondine arrived, and Sennar was happy she’d come, happy to break off his steady stream of memories. Just before she reached him she paused, and in that moment, framed by the moonlight, Sennar saw her just as she had been the first time he met her, when she’d approached the bars of his cell with a tray in her hands. Only now she wasn’t smiling.
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes, I think I’m finally fit to travel again,” Sennar muttered.
For a while, Ondine was silent. Then she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot these days, Sennar.” She lifted her head, her expression earnest. “I want to come with you to the Overworld.”
Sennar looked her in the eyes. “Ondine, I …” She met his gaze. “My country is at war. You know that. I’m in charge of the army of the Land of the Wind. That is where my duty lies. I don’t want you to have to see what it’s like up there, I don’t want you to—”
Ondine spoke up suddenly. “Stop with this nonsense. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Sennar!”
She’s right. She saved my life, she stood by me. She deserves the truth, not these pathetic lies. But Sennar couldn’t do it. He was paralyzed. He met Ondine’s tender gaze and his voice died in his throat.
She took his hands. “What do you want, Sennar? I have to know. Do you want me to come with you?”
Water flowed slowly from the fountain and the wind went on with its lament.
Sennar closed his eyes. “No, Ondine,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, I’m leaving alone.”
Ondine’s grip began to slacken. Her hands fell to her sides. She stood there, not saying a word.
“Ondine, listen to me, please. I care about you so much. You’re an amazing girl. You supported me. You’ve been with me through all of this. So many times I’ve thought of staying here with you, of how wonderful it would be. Because I know when I’m with you I’m happy. … I really am. But deep inside, I know I can’t.”
“Do you remember that night in the cell?” she asked faintly. “When a man kisses a woman, that means he loves her. Why did you kiss me, Sennar?”
Sennar felt a lump in his throat. “Because you’re beautiful, Ondine, as beautiful as anyone I’ve ever seen. And you’re special, truly. After so many deaths, so much suffering, I needed—” He cut himself off. “There’s someone in the Overworld, someone I want to see when I return, Ondine.”
She didn’t move, her eyes glued to his.
“I don’t know how to explain it to you; I don’t even know if I’m really in love with her. When I was with you, I even thought I’d forgotten her. Then one day, all of a sudden, the thought of it began to pain me. I knew I was lying to myself. That I was lying to you.”
Ondine tightened her fists. Tears streamed slowly, silently over her cheeks.
Sennar reached out to caress her face, but she took a step beck. The garden’s exit was just behind her.
“Farewell, Sennar,” she said softly, and walked off without looking back.
The light shone clearly again the next day. When Sennar arrived at the caravan, his head was still buzzing with the thoughts that had kept him awake all night—the image of Ondine, crying silently, fixed in his mind.
Count Varen came to see him off, and Sennar started in before he could even say a word. “I want you to look after Ondine on the journey home, Count.”
Varen nodded and Sennar knew he’d understood.
“Thank you for believing in me, Varen,” he said, extending a hand.
The count returned the gesture, forcing himself to smile. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. You reminded me of so many things I’d lost. And, after all,” he said, trying to act cheerful, “this may not be our final good-bye. We’re allies now, remember. Who knows, we may meet again, sooner or later.”
“That’s true. Who knows?” replied Sennar. Then he walked over to join the caravan that would carry him away from Zalenia forever.
The journey began. Sennar’s heart was heavy. After so many unforgettable moments, he was departing the depths of the sea. But what was he really leaving behind? Ondine’s sorrowful face. A scrape with death.
When he saw her waiting by the curb, his heart leaped.
“Hold on for a moment, please,” he said to Ambassador Pelamas, who rode at his side. The entire caravan halted behind them.
The sorcerer stepped down from his horse. For a while, they stared at one another.
She was the first to speak. “What’s her name, this woman of yours?”
“She’s not my woman. …”
“I want to know her name.”
“Nihal.”
“You have to promise me something,” she said, her tone sincere.
“What?”
“If it means so much to you, so much that you’d let go of me for her … you have to promise me that you’ll do everything you can to find happiness with her. And if I find out you don’t, I’ll never forgive you. You owe me, Sennar. Remember? I saved your life. Now promise me.”
Sennar smiled. “I promise.”
Ondine nodded. Then she turned and left, cutting across the field back to the road.
Sennar watched as she shrunk, smaller and smaller, until she was a dot on the horizon.
He climbed back on his horse. “Ok, we can go now,” he said to the ambassador.
The caravan was on its way again. Sennar closed his eyes—he couldn’t bear to look at that land any longer.
18
The Enemy
Following Sennar’s departure, Councilor Dagon stepped in to fill his shoes. Dagon, however, tied up with his duties as an elder, had been absent during much of the developments on the battlefields of the Land of the Wind.
The situation was dire. The front had been pushed back almost to the border of the Land of Water. It seemed the Tyrant must be concentrating the entirety of his forces on the Land of the Wind, sending not only hordes of Fammin, but dwarves and men as well. Their presence unsettled the warriors of the Free Lands. A sense of betrayal joined their fear of death, along with their despair at being grievously outnumbered. In a matter of only a few months, the Tyrant’s armies had taken control of most of the region.
“What do you mean, why?” Nelgar asked, his nerves clearly frayed. “Because they need reinforcements, that’s why!” He hadn’t expected the dwarf to put up such a fuss.
Ido was striding back and forth acro
ss the base commander’s lodgings. He seemed nervous. “I’d prefer to stay right here where I am.”
“That’s out of the question. You’re an excellent warrior, Ido, exactly the kind of help they need out there. In any case, there’s nothing to discuss. You’re going.”
Nihal kept silent. The idea of going to fight on the front in the Land of the Wind didn’t sound all that bad to her. It was the land she’d lived in as a child. To fight on behalf of the people there was just one more good reason to fight. Ido, evidently, was not of the same opinion.
The dwarf lit his pipe and looked Nelgar in the eye. “There are reasons, circumstantial reasons, that would support my not being deployed in that territory.”
Nelgar held his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said coldly.
“Who gave the order?”
“Who do you think gave the order? Raven,” Nelgar answered.
Ido pounded his fist down on the table, startling Nihal.
Nelgar wiped his face with his hands and sighed. “There’s nothing I can do, Ido. You know that.”
“Oh, in the name of the gods, I know it’s not your fault!” the dwarf concluded and walked out, slamming the door.
Nihal followed after him, trying to understand what her teacher was so worked up about, but Ido gave no clear response and spoke to her churlishly.
“I don’t like the place. Okay? Stop torturing me with your questions! You’re not the only one around here with bad memories.”
Nihal forced herself to let it rest. She too, in the past, had held tightly to her secrets. And she knew well how unbearable questions could sometimes seem. But her curiosity remained.
And that was how, after more than a year’s absence, Nihal once again set foot on the steppes of the Land of the Wind. She was afraid to return to the place where she’d lost everything, but at the same time she felt it to be an important step. She knew it was time to conquer her fears, despite her dread that the past would come back to haunt her, or else she’d never be able to close that chapter of her life.
They were stationed in a camp just beyond the border of the Land of Water, near the remains of a destroyed tower. There was an air of resignation about the place. Ganna, the sorcerer serving as stand-in councilor for the camp, was only a teenager. Which wasn’t necessarily a problem, in theory—Sennar was also very young—but Ganna knew little of strategy or war tactics, and was paralyzed by his own insecurity. During meetings he kept his mouth closed, speaking only when spoken to, and he couldn’t come up with a bright idea to save his life. A disaster.
Ido and Nihal were hardly welcomed with open arms—a woman and a dwarf weren’t exactly the sort of reinforcements the knights were expecting. Even the general in charge of the camp regarded them initially with suspicion before simply pretending they weren’t there, not even bothering to consult them before decisions were made.
Nihal didn’t trouble herself over it. She was used to such treatment and had learned that, when it came time to prove herself in battle, her sword would do all the talking.
Ido seemed ill at ease, but Nihal was certain it had nothing to do with the behavior of the other knights. He came out of his tent only rarely, always brooding and reluctant to talk.
The only one of them to gain the knights’ immediate sympathy was Laio. Right away he became the camp mascot. The knights joked with him and took advantage of his services, until essentially he was everyone’s squire. Besides, how was it possible not to like Laio? He was an indispensable helping hand around the camp, always eager and in perpetual good spirits: a ray of sunlight in those dark days of war.
For the first time since she’d begun fighting, Nihal had her own personal tent.
She adjusted quickly to the rhythms of daily life at the encampment—how could she not, with combat now as the central focus of her existence? Back at the base, several weeks might pass without her having to pick up a sword. Here, on the other hand, they hardly had time to breathe between one battle and the next.
The territory was rife with spies, and enemy attacks were frequent. When they weren’t on the offensive, they were sent to bolster defenses at a neighboring base.
Nihal proved her valor immediately in the first battle. They were to attack and seize a tower, one of many. She disregarded the orders of the general, who had commanded her to fight on the second line, and stepped up with the other Dragon Knights, battling alongside Ido. The two of them were used to fighting as a team. They were efficient, operating together like a well-oiled machine, and proved to be a great help to the other warriors. The tower was seized rapidly and with few casualties.
Nihal, however, did not get away without a slap on the wrist. There was a time she’d have fought tooth and nail to defend her actions, but now she suffered the rebuke with patience and indifference.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. But the tower is ours now, if I’m not mistaken,” she said, looking the general straight in the eye.
Their bravery at the tower earned her and Ido the respect of the other knights at the camp, who little by little began to consider them an essential component to the success of their missions.
Within a month, the rhythm of life at the new camp had become familiar and tiring. Nihal was fighting often and resting little. She felt right at home.
It was a muggy night, lit only by the full moon.
A sweltering heat besieged the encampment. Nihal had forgotten how suffocating the nights could feel in her Land. She was tired, too tired to think. Sleep would have been the perfect antidote to her disquietude. But sleep wouldn’t come. She lay there, practically drinking the humid air as she listened to the crickets chirping incessantly only a short distance from the tent. Nihal despised those nerve-racking insects. In the end, she went out to look at the moon and enjoy the soft breeze as it blew weakly over the steppe. She sat with her sword planted in the dirt between her legs and closed her eyes. Soon enough, she dozed off.
Perhaps it was thanks to her ever-alert senses, or perhaps it was a mere coincidence, but suddenly she awoke and looked up toward the sky. A black shadow swept across the silver disc of the moon. It had happened in an instant, and it took her a moment or two to understand what she’d seen. Her realization came at the precise moment of the guard’s loud cry: “We’re under attack!” His shout distorted into a death rattle.
Nihal plucked her sword from the ground and made for the stables. What she’d seen, in fact, was a dragon—it was an air strike! She raced past the startled faces of warriors as they exited their tents, past squires already busy harnessing the dragons, past infantrymen whizzing about in all directions. And then she reached the Fammin. They seemed to have sprouted up out of nowhere. They were demolishing the tents of those who hadn’t roused in time. Suddenly, a bright light flared up in the darkness, followed by a gust of unbearable heat. Part of the camp was on fire. Fire-breathing birds circled high above. There was no time to get Oarf, no time to don her armor.
With only her sword, Nihal readied herself for attack, entrusting the dark to cloak her movements. Her heartbeat slowed. Her eyes narrowed. She was prepared to battle. Clear-headed and confident, she advanced on the Fammin.
The camp was completely unprepared. The flames, the smoke, the heat took most of them by surprise. Once again, the Tyrant had proven himself shrewd and efficient in the art of war.
Nihal caught sight of Ido as he approached. Sword in hand, he was completely focused. With his usual calm, he cleared himself a path, hacking down anyone who stepped in his way, until he was at Nihal’s side.
“One of them is on a dragon. He’s the one burning the tents. Go and get Oarf!” Ido shouted.
“There’s no time, Ido!”
“I’ll cover you! You just worry about running,” said the dwarf, and leaped forward to intercept the Fammin surrounding her.
Nihal took off for the stables. Once again, she noticed a shadow pass over the moon, casting a dreadful darkness over the encampment. I
t was then that she experienced a strange sensation. At first she thought it was a dizzy spell, but then she could tell it was something different. She picked up her pace, demolishing two enemies as they jumped in front of her. When she reached Oarf, he was already clawing at the ground, raring for action. She stuffed her head into a helmet she found lying on the ground, leaped on the dragon’s back, and took to the air just as the stables went up in flames.
From above, she could see the full extent of the damage. One half of the camp was engulfed in flames, and numerous corpses dotted the ground. On the other half, the battle raged on, though the Fammin overwhelmingly had the upper hand. The swords they clutched in their hideous claws were unusual, their blades giving off a strange, reddish glare. Nihal dipped toward the ground and Oarf snatched up a few of the beasts, killing them on the fly. Then they dove again and picked up Laio as he ran for cover.
“Hold on tight and don’t let go, no matter what,” Nihal commanded.
With Oarf’s help, she went on mowing down victims among the enemy ranks, forcing herself to remain calm, to keep her focus. But it wasn’t easy. The scene below was horrendous and disheartening. She could feel Laio tighten his grip. It was high time she dropped him off somewhere safe. Scanning the territory below, she noticed a clearing and sped toward it.
“I’m bringing you back down,” she shouted. “You hold on tight to your sword and if anyone comes, you kill them, got it?” She felt Laio press his head into her back and nod.