Fritha sat alone in a chamber, staring into the dying embers of a fire. She was in a room above Drassil’s Great Hall. Some said it had belonged to Corban, the one they called the Bright Star. Now it was a cold and empty room. The unshuttered window was open, darkness leaking in, just the scrape of wind in branches. Torches flickered on walls, pools of orange light, shadows pressing upon them.
I like this time. The darkness before dawn. It is like the world is taking a breath, still and silent for a moment, before the chaos of day.
She rubbed her eyes, looked at her hands. They were black with the work of the forge, coal and oil and sweat. But Fritha’s chest was filled with a sense of joy. She looked at a linen-wrapped bundle at her feet, lifted a wine skin and took a long, sweet draught.
A knock at the door.
She wiped wine from her lips.
“Enter.”
The door scraped open, a sudden through-draught causing the torches on the wall to crackle and hiss, sending shadows leaping. Elise slithered in. Behind her came Elise’s father, Arn, and behind him, the broad bulk of Morn, her leathery wings folded across her back like a cloak.
Elise and Arn both looked better than when Fritha had seen them last, a ten-night ago, fresh from their journey to Drassil from the Desolation. This was the first time Fritha had seen them alone. Asroth had worked her hard, elated with the success of his new hand, and in truth she had become lost in that work. Now, though, looking at Elise and Arn, she was sorry that she had not seen them sooner.
Elise came to a halt before her. The scales of her lower torso were a pale, milky-white, her tail wrapping into a circle beneath her. Her upper torso was clothed in linen and wool, a belt at her waist with sword and knife. Her fair hair and freckles blended with her skin, almost glowing in the half-dark of flame and shadow. Fangs protruded from her lips, a gleam of saliva. She looked at Fritha with pain in her eyes.
“You left usssss,” Elise said, echoing the words she had said to Fritha in the Great Hall.
Fritha stood, the effort making her realize how exhausted she was.
“I am sorry,” Fritha said. “I love you, Elise, and I am sorry.”
And that was all it took; Fritha saw the pain lift from Elise’s face. A hesitant smile twitched her lips.
She is like a puppy, forgiving her master for a beating.
Fritha stepped forwards and stroked Elise’s cheek. The smile grew broader.
“I will never leave you again, you are too precious to me,” Fritha assured her.
Elise’s tail shuddered, a rattle.
Arn came to a halt beside them, his face stern. He was altogether a different case from Elise.
We have spent years together in the wild, protected each other, saved each other’s life in battle. But we do not have the bond I have with Elise. Of creator and created, like mother and child.
“You abandoned us. Left us for dead,” Arn said.
“I am sorry, Arn.” She took a deep breath. “I had to be here, to set Asroth free, or all would have been for nothing. If I had not come, then Gulla alone would have set Asroth free. A representative of humankind had to do it, to be involved, for our future.” She blew out a long breath. “I sent Morn to find you.”
“You did not send me,” Morn growled. She was standing a few paces behind Arn, beneath a wall torch. Her arms were folded, her features in shadow. “I am not your slave, to do your bidding.”
“No, that is not what I meant,” Fritha said hurriedly. “I asked you to search for Elise and Arn. I pleaded with you.”
“Yes, that is more like the truth of it, and now my father is angry with me,” Morn said.
Fritha stroked the white scar on her arm, testament of her blood-oath with Morn. Remembered their words together, two outcasts seeking vengeance, and finding strength in each other.
You are a good ally to have. If you will be true to me, your loyalty not divided.
“It is a sadness that Gulla does not see your qualities,” she said. “You are strong, courageous. A skilled and fierce warrior.” Though Morn remained silent, Fritha noted the ripple that went through the half-breed’s wings, the shift in the set of her shoulders.
You are not used to compliments.
And you like them.
“And to prove my gratitude, and my friendship, I have something for you.” She looked to Elise and Arn. “Something for all of you.”
Fritha leaned forwards in her chair and pulled loose a cord that bound the linen bundle at her feet, opened it up. She raised a hand-axe, the shaft veined wood, the blade bearded iron. The metal was dark. It did not gleam in the torchlight.
“For you, Arn,” she said, offering it to the old warrior.
He stepped forwards hesitantly.
“Is that…?” he trailed off.
“The blade is starstone metal, forged from the same metal that once made the Seven Treasures. It is priceless beyond measure. And deadly.” She held it out to Arn. “Take it,” she said.
Arn reached out tentatively, his fingers wrapping around the wooden haft.
“The wood is cut from Drassil’s great tree.”
“I, I do not know what to say,” Arn said.
“Say thank you, and that you forgive me,” Fritha said.
Arn cut the air with the axe, a soft hiss.
“Thank you. I forgive you. A thousand times, I forgive you.” He smiled.
Fritha dipped her head to him, then reached into the bundle again. She lifted up a scabbarded knife, the hilt bound with leather, silver wire threading around it.
“For you,” she said to Morn.
The half-breed strode to her, no hesitancy in her step, and took the knife. The blade was long and narrow, black as night. A small cross-guard. Morn held it up, ran her thumb along its edge, watched as a pearl of blood appeared. She looked at Fritha, their eyes locking for long moments.
“Better vengeance than grief,” Fritha whispered, repeating the words Morn had said to her. It seemed like a long time ago, back in the starstone mine.
“Better vengeance than grief,” Morn echoed, then sheathed the knife. She gave a curt nod of her head, her teeth showing in a smile, and Fritha knew then that Morn’s loyalty was hers.
She reached down one last time and lifted a spear. The shaft was long, dark wood, the spear blade crow-black, shaped like a leaf, the belly of it curved, so that it would not snag in meat and bone. A weapon made for killing.
“For you, my Elise,” Fritha said, holding the spear out in the palms of both her hands.
Elise looked at it, a gentle hiss escaping her lips, and then she slithered forwards, scales rasping on stone. Elise took the spear, hefted it, testing its weight and balance. Then she was slicing it through the air, reversing her grip from overhand to underhand, switching to double-handed, the air rushing with each stroke.
“It issss beautiful,” Elise said.
“Not as beautiful as you, my perfect creation,” Fritha said quietly.
Elise smiled at her, fangs bared. Fritha felt a warm glow in her belly.
I have her back. Her and Arn, and now Morn. And Wrath, of course. Her draig was in Drassil’s great chamber, curled before the stairwell that led to this room. He had grumbled that he could not fit up the stairs when Fritha had climbed them, but Fritha knew this needed to be a private conversation, and that Wrath’s presence at the foot of the stairs would ensure that no one came within earshot.
And my Ferals, though few of them are left. They will breed.
But it is something. A place to start.
“How have you done this?” Arn asked her, still staring at the axe blade, turning it in his hand.
“I am Asroth’s queen,” she said, then smiled, knowing how fragile that position was. “I have made myself useful to him. Forged his hand and gauntlet, and made him weapons from the starstone. He is well pleased and wished to reward me. He gave me a portion of starstone.”
“And you made these for ussss, when you could have made anything for yourself?” Elise said.
“In truth, I am not that selfless. I did make myself a little something.” Fritha patted a short-sword hanging in a scabbard at her hip, like the swords she was trained with in the White-Wings. “But there was metal to spare.” She shrugged. “I could have made myself more, but… you are important to me. I wanted to show you that, with more than words.”
She stopped, drew in a deep breath.
“There is something that I would tell you. And something that I would ask.”
Fritha looked at them all in turn.
“You must swear to secrecy. If you breathe of this to another soul, it would… endanger me.”
Another silence, only the crackle of torches on the wall.
“Tell ussss,” Elise said. Arn and Morn nodded.
“Asroth’s seed is in my belly. His child grows within me.”
Their eyes grew wide, a sharp intake of breath from Morn. Elise’s tail rattled.
“I would have you swear to protect my baby. She will be the future of the Banished Lands. But there are factions within Asroth’s court that would not be best pleased with this news. Factions that would see my child as a threat. And soon we will march to war; dangerous times lie ahead for us.”
“She?” Arn said.
Fritha stroked her belly.
“Yes. She.” Even now Fritha could feel the warmth of her child, a presence deep within.
“Will you do it?” Fritha asked, a tremor in her voice.
“Yessss,” Elise said.
“Aye.” No hesitation from Arn.
Morn looked at Fritha. “I thought there was something different about you,” Morn said. “Now I see it. You have hope, again, where you had none. It has made you scared.”
“Yes,” Fritha admitted. “Will you swear to me?”
“I will,” Morn grunted.
Fritha drew her new short-sword, the blade black as night. “Then let us make a new scar, and bind ourselves, one to the other.” She drew the blade across her palm, blood welling, and looked at them, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.
Elise, Arn and Morn each put their starstone blades to their hands and drew blood.