Allie

Allie slept heavily, slumped against the wall of the training cavern for the last four hours. Three fae stood outside the space, quietly whispering among themselves, unwilling to wake her. Danica shooed them away as she entered the cavern.

“Go away. There’s another training room right next door,” she scolded.

As they dispersed, Dani looked to the dozing commander and shook her head with a small smile. Allie had fallen asleep with her sword on the stone floor next to her, her empty hand curled as though she still held it.

“She’s improving,” said Gaillard, stepping up beside her and nudging his head toward the practice dummies. They would need to be repaired again — as they had been already many times — but the dark patches of seared canvas could not be sewn up the same as the slices made by blades.

“Did you teach her that?” Dani asked, running a hand down the blackened edge of a dummy, her palm coming away covered in dark ash.

“No, she started doing that on her own. She has an affinity for light magic, but she uses it like an eldar,” replied the mage.

“She told me she suspected she might never be able to truly use magic again.” Dani shook her head, turning her gaze back to the sleeping fay, who looked so small huddled against the wall.

“She has a tendency toward the negative,” replied the other, then, “It’s going to take a lot more work, but she'll get there.”

Danica gazed at Allie, a glimmer of hope in her eyes that was echoed in Gaillard’s, a hope that had been sheltered in their hearts like a seed under a winter patch of snow.

Danica sighed and crossed to Allie’s side to pick up the smaller fay in her arms. Allie stirred, half-opened her eyes, and quickly.

“I’m going to take her to her cot," she said, crossing to Allie’s side to pick up the smaller fay in her arms. Allie stirred, half-opened her eyes, and quickly was asleep again.

Gaillard nodded absentmindedly, studying the disfigured dummies and making plans.

Allie woke in her cot later, no longer sleepy, but tired — always so tired. Every moment she wasn’t actively moving or working toward an objective, she felt a powerful urge to lay her head back, let her eyes close, and drift off. The more often she let it happen, the harder it was to get back in motion. She reasoned, therefore, that in order to avoid it, she had to keep moving, and not stop.

She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it back into a thick ponytail.

She decided the first order of business was to check on Firenze and get his verdict on the mysterious black weapons from the city below.

The armory was one of the few things to have survived the passage of an era, and somehow the curved edges on the strange weapons were still keen.

“Aeliana,” came a voice from the entrance of the cavern. She looked up.

The voice belonged to Claudien, who seemed hesitant to enter her space, so he lingered awkwardly near the archway.

“Yes?”

“I’ve salted and totaled up the remaining rations, including the gaurtaur and other foodstuffs from the infrer party. It isn’t enough, unless you managed to salvage a lot of food from below.”

“Isn’t enough for what? A week? A month?” she asked, trying to prompt specificity, but she grimaced as she heard the harshness in her own tone. “Sorry, Claude.”

He shook his head and smiled, the expression filling his wide face with cheeriness.

“I thought nothing of it, Your Grace.”

Another grimace.

“I'm not here claiming royalty, so please just use my name or something.”

She got up and crossed to him.

“I’m sure your people appreciate that very much,” he said, to which she shook her head.

“Less than you’d think. Many of them would appreciate a real leader,” she said.

You haven’t had a chance to do much yet, or prove yourself to them,” he replied, his voice full of sympathy.

He laid a large hand on her back. “I’ve seen you working hard. I know they do, too. All you need is a way to show all of them that you are competent.”

“How do you propose I do that?” she asked, her face wary.

“You need a good plan, and you need it to succeed to inspire faith. I heard from Geir that you plan to infiltrate the palace on the night of the Hunt.”

She nodded.

“While you’re inside, you can filch the key to the palace pantry," he said, winking. “The palace’s food supply would solve our own shortage quite quickly.”

Comprehension dawned on her face, followed by a smile.

“Claudien, you’re wonderful. Thank you.”

She lifted up on tiptoe and placed a light kiss on a round cheek, then grinned at him before jogging out of the cavern.

Have to find Geir, she thought. Geir, as master of operations, overseer of Vanguard business, and general caller-outer of piss-poor ideas, would tell her if the plan was plausible or not. The Wild Hunt was only a week away as it was, giving them a tight timeline in which to plan.

She entered the war room, which was small but contained the maps and information concerning the city and its surroundings, all the trappings necessary to use it as their intelligence center.

As expected, Geir was there, talking softly with a tall, austere fay whose dark eyes turned upon Allie like a contemptuous storm cloud.

“Geir,” she said breathlessly.

“Good timing. Allie, this is Indra. He’s our fay in Drexel’s court, and right now our best way into the palace.”

Indra had a hawkish, narrow face and deepset eyes the color of charcoal. He kept his jet black hair slicked back and worn long in the style fashionable in the Inner Ring, which only accentuated his prominent features.

He wore clothes that made Allie a little sick with their extravagance: a slim black doublet, matching dark trousers, satiny nobleman’s gloves — everything from the tastefully muted brocade to the silver accents spoke of money. The look on his face made her uncomfortable.

“That’s funny; I don’t recall looking for a decorated pouf,” she replied. She couldn’t tell if it was his clothing, his attitude, or simply the chill in his eyes, but she immediately felt defensive in front of him.

“A what?” Indra asked, one eyebrow arching impossibly high. His lips twisted sardonically.

“Stop,” said Geir, shaking his head. “Allie, he's part of the Drexel's counsel, and has volunteered to get us into the palace under a plausible ruse.”

Indra’s expression didn’t change as he looked Allie up and down, once, slowly — taking in her worn leather boots, plain tunic, dark trousers, unkempt hair. Then he sneered at her, returning her disdain for his extravagance with disdain for her practicality.

“I actually came to see you about that, the palace,” she replied, and looked pointedly at Indra, hoping he would take the cue to leave.

He did not.

“You may not approve of each other, but you’re here for a mutual cause,” remarked Geir, sensing the hostility between them.

“My cause is to get rid of the patricians in the palace,” Indra corrected, “not replace them with the family that has already fallen from grace.”

Allie’s posture stiffened with indignation, not resisting the bait. Geir rolled his eyes, unseen by both.

“I’m not here to claim a title or throne,” Allie responded, eyes narrowing. “I’m here to help the people of Atlantis, even peacocks like you.”

The well-dressed fay smirked, but before he could return a scathing reply, Geir said firmly, “Enough. I expected better, from both of you.”

Indra bowed his head curtly and exited the situation room.

Allie let out a frustrated breath, then had the decency to look ashamed of herself.

“I’m sorry, Geir. It’s just—”

“Before you say anything, I already know. We know he’s a political extremist, an upstart. And a bit of an ass. I’m sure you’d love to hear otherwise, but unfortunately he is the only one that can get us into the palace during the Hunt. He holds a respectable position in the court, and has the authority to have us attend as guests.”

“Because he’s good at schmoozing.”

He shook his head.

“I’m not going to pretend to know what that means. But he’s very effective in his work, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I’d rather infiltrate the palace with a leprous gnome.”

“I almost believe that.”

“I’m almost serious.”

“Aeli,” he said, and the variation of her name, mostly only used by Esmere, caught her attention where little else would have, “you can’t let him or any others like him bait you. If you let yourself be caught up in trivialities, then you lose sight of the truly important goals here.”

“I understand,” she replied, looking away. She felt like a scolded child, and promptly a blush rose to her cheeks. “I came to talk you about something else, regardless. Claudien had an idea -- he mentioned that while we’re in the palace, we can filch the key to the royal pantry. Their supply would go a long way toward alleviating our food problems, even if we have to plan another trip to get it.”

Geir gave it some thought, and then said, “It’s resourceful and a good source of unlaced food, although the more tasks we tack onto the mission, the harder it becomes to accomplish all of them. We’ve heard back on the shipment from Sitis, and Gaillard has mentioned going back to his farm in the Noons to harvest what’s there. Should those both prove to be inadequate, we’ll consider the key.”

“Geir, I… I also had something else,” she said. “I have been giving a lot of my time to training with blade and magic.”

Geir continued listening, his face betraying nothing of how he felt.

“I can’t let myself lead in name only,” she continued, faltering, “I need to be stronger, to be better, for--” She paused. “Why is this so hard to get out?”

The bald fay smiled gently. “Gaillard said you’ve been training with dedication.”

“It’s not enough," she replied.

“You have only a week until the Wild Hunt. You before said you wish to be a part of that mission.”

She nodded, ignoring the niggle of insecurity. “Yes.”

“A week, Allie. That’s an impossible amount of time in which to train yourself to a point of noticeable difference.”

She couldn’t keep her face from falling a little in disappointment.

Geir looked at her for a second, and then he sighed, relenting.

“I think I know one thing you may be able to benefit from, but it’s a long shot.”

She allowed the faintest of hopes in, earnestness obvious on her features.

“I’ll do what I need to do.”

Geir slid into one of the chairs around the long table, and leaned his head back to look at the cavern ceiling far overhead. “There’s a powerful fay who lives a little further north, in the forest Broceliande.”

“You mean the Lady?” Allie asked. She had never heard Broceliande spoken of without the Lady in the same sentence.

“The same. You know the tale — it's all true. She still resides in the blighted forest, undying, a bitter testament to the pursuit of power.”

“Why do you think she could help me, or even want to?”

“She bought her power to save her people when Corben upon Bedegraine declared war. She might sympathize with your situation,” Geir replied, turning his head to look at her. “I have a couple horses that can take you the distance in a shortish time. Broceliande is just six and twenty leagues from here, so if you switch the two out, you should be able to get there by tomorrow, but believe me, you’ll be sore.”

“I want to give it a try.”

He nodded and rose from his chair, striding out of the war room.

He led her aboveground by way of a tunnel she had not used before, coming up from under a trapdoor and into a dark, cramped room. Geir held up a hand to her and left briefly by way of a low door, leaving it partially open.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she was able to observe her surroundings.

In one corner there was a set of five amulets arranged in a pentagon, and on two small tables there were various viatica scattered: a couple dolls, some locks of hair, odd trinkets with no immediate apparent significance.

“Oh geez,” Allie murmured, realizing that they had come up in the underground room of a temple, where bodies and offerings were ceremoniously cast into the Grey and a prayer offered to their respective god on their behalf.

Looking at the number of viatica in the small room, she felt her stomach churn a little for the deaths they represented.

How many more were missing viatica, not afforded acceptance to the journey to Tartarus?

Geir ducked back into the dim room and beckoned to her. She followed him up into the light of a plain temple dedicated to Rodull, the patron god and power beneficiary of the lyosalfar. The temple's dour priest eyed her with suspicion as she followed the bald fay into the street on the outskirts of the Lows.

They were almost immediately out of sight again as Geir went directly next door into a shabby stable, which exited into the blackened pasture outside the wall. Inside the inconspicuous stable were four beautiful steeds, two of which Geir began saddling: a black mare with a blaze of white over her forehead and two white socks, and a palomino with gentle brown eyes.

As he slipped a hackamore over the palomino’s face, she climbed into the mare’s saddle and gave her a trot around a small area, inhaling the cherry-like fragrance of the saddle and feeling the horse’s thick cords of muscle between her legs. It had been a long time since she’d ridden, but she’d spent a lot of time in the saddle as a child and hadn’t forgotten the feel of it.

“They’re especially forgiving with riders,” Geir said with approval. “You should be fine so long as you keep them from getting too tired.”

Geir gathered feed- and water-bags for the animals, a map, and a couple rations of food into rucksacks for Allie while she got used to the feel of the horses.

“Be careful,” he said, his face concerned. Allie mounted the mare and turned her in a half-circle to look back at the other fay. “The Hunt is in a week; please be back in time. I sincerely hope you find what you need.”

Allie thanked him and dug her heels into the mare’s sides, leaving the stable out the back with the palomino following. She took off at a steady pace into the north, toward the blighted forest of Broceliande.

She took the flattest route possible so as not to tire her horses, but still on the inside of an hour, her mare was lathered and tiring. She switched to the palomino and had the mare follow.

Attentive to her horses’ stamina, she hoped to make an audience with the Lady by the next day. She hoped.