At River's End Read online

  Days came and went, and finally, River sensed the ocean was only a few more days away. Hundreds of voices called out to him, singing the song of the sea. “It won’t be much longer now,” he said.

  “I wish we could see how the king is faring,” Lenora said as she dismounted her horse. “Has there been any indication they’re still trying to contact you?”

  Though she had asked the same question numerous times over the past two weeks of travel, River was not irritated by it. “None at all,” he replied, taking her hand and squeezing it. He could sense her frustration over her inability to help. Until they arrived at the king’s bedside, there was nothing she could do. River knew well that his life mate had barely slept during the trip. Her mind was unsettled, and she was impatient to arrive in Na’zora to provide her medical skills to the king.

  Isandra busied herself preparing camp for the night. Gathering a small pile of stones, she placed her hand upon them and reached deep into her natural magic. The stones took on a faint blue glow, providing heat without flame. Though Isandra had never been a student of the arcane, she did possess some in-born magic, as did all Westerling Elves. Mainly, she used these skills for wilderness survival when she was patrolling the borders of the Vale. There was little need for her to perform great feats of magic. Such things were better left to creatures of magic like her father.

  All three travelers seemed restless this night. They felt so close to their destination, but still not close enough. Luck had provided them with complete safety through the Wildlands. They did not encounter any enemies or wild beasts, nor did they have any problems with the horses or supplies they had brought. For Isandra, it almost seemed that the journey had been too easy. Such things made her anxious.

  Rising before sunrise, the group set out early, hoping to reach the Na’zoran border by midday. The trio spoke little, each of them anxiously anticipating their arrival in Aelryk’s kingdom.

  In her mind, Lenora reviewed all the possible causes of the king’s condition. Though she had been doing the same each day since her departure, she reviewed her mental list of herbs that might help her ailing friend to recover. Forcing away any thoughts that her help would come too late, she was determined to find a way to make Aelryk whole again. He was a good man and deserved as much dignity at the end of his life that he had during his life.

  Finally, the city of Duana came into view on the horizon. Wooden structures stood tall in the distance, and smoke rose high from the numerous chimneys on the citizens’ houses. Winter was in full swing here, and the city’s inhabitants were bundled tightly in woolen coats and blankets as they traversed the market district.

  Though Woodland Elves were somewhat common in the larger Na’zoran cities, Westerling Elves had almost never been glimpsed. In fact, it was these same elves who had visited thirty years ago, and no others had passed this way since. Many of the humans paused in their comings and goings to observe the strange travelers, who appeared as if from a fairytale. Their faces were ageless, their mannerisms refined, and an aura of peace surrounded them. There was no trace of the rough, untamable nature of the Woodland Elves among these visitors.

  Much had changed since their last visit, and many new roads had been constructed. Isandra dismounted her horse and approached a heavy-set man who was loading wood onto a cart. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “We are on our way to the palace district, but I’m afraid I don’t know which road to take.”

  The man stared up at the elf woman, his eyes wide. Believing her to be the most civilized Woodland Elf he had ever laid eyes upon, he stuttered a moment, but managed to say, “This road here, miss.” With his thumb, he indicated the second road to the right.

  Glancing back at her mother, Isandra asked, “How fares King Aelryk?”

  The man bowed his head and clasped his hands together in front of his chest. “He is not well. His attendants fear the worst.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, remounting her horse.

  “My pleasure,” the man said in a whisper as he watched the travelers ride away.

  The roads were kept in fantastic condition. Smooth surfaces and a width suitable for three wagons across allowed Na’zora’s citizens to travel with ease throughout the kingdom. Between Duana and the palace district were many new towns and settlements. It seemed that Aelryk had indeed kept his promise to improve the lives of those living under his care.

  “We won’t make it to the palace district tonight,” Isandra said, moving her horse next to her father’s. “Shall we find an inn?”

  Lenora bowed her head and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. So many miles were behind them, but there were still more to go before she could tend the king.

  “We should ride through the night,” River replied, noticing his life mate’s defeated posture.

  Isandra nodded. “Let’s at least stop an hour to feed and water the horses.”

  “Of course,” Lenora said, patting her silver horse on the side of its neck. Her own troubles should not affect the noble beast that had so willingly brought her to this place.

  Arriving at a small town, the trio dismounted and walked the horses to a nearby trough. Stables stood only paces away, and Isandra set off without a word to collect oats and any other treats she might find.

  River wrapped an arm around Lenora’s waist. “I know we cannot arrive soon enough,” he said. Kissing her forehead, he added, “These days of travel have not been wasted, I assure you.”

  Wrinkling her brow, she asked, “How do you know? We have no idea what is causing his sickness. Delaying treatment could prove fatal.” The final word was barely audible, as she could hardly bring herself to admit it out loud.

  “In most cases, yes,” River replied, drawing her in closer. “Aelryk is elderly by human standards, but his life force is strong. He knows we are coming.” He spoke as much to convince himself as his life mate.

  Isandra returned with two stable hands carrying food for the horses. In her arms, she carried a small bundle of sweets to share with her parents. “These will lighten our spirits,” she said. Though she was relieved to hear the king still lived, she could sense her mother’s anxiety and desired to get her to the palace as quickly as possible.

  Once the horses had eaten their fill, the trio was once again ready to ride. River laid a hand on each horse, spreading blue magic over them for a brief moment. Drawing power from the water of the earth, he renewed the horses’ vigor, and they pawed at the ground, anxious to finish the final leg of the journey.

  With the travelers mounted, they nudged the horses forward. The beasts broke into a run, not slowing for a second until the white stones of Na’zora’s palace gleamed in the light of the rising sun.

  Chapter 5

  Continuing along the path, the road changed from packed dirt to cobblestone. Na’zora’s palace district was exquisitely kept, and hundreds of evergreen trees lined the way to the palace. Her heart pounding in her ears, Lenora found little relief in her arrival. What condition would the king be in when she finally stood at his side? The answer was only moments away.

  Na’zora’s white-stone palace stood tall and proud ahead of the anxious travelers. Catching the scent of the ocean on the breeze, River could not help but smile. Though darkness was looming in the kingdom, the voice of the sea still brought joy to those who took the time to appreciate it.

  Nudging her horse, Lenora quickened her pace. Her companions did likewise, hoping to keep up with the elf woman. Riding straight to the palace steps, Lenora hopped from her horse in a single motion, landing softly upon the ground. Three servants hurried down the stairs to meet them.

  “Prince Rykon told us to expect you,” the bald man called as he rushed toward the elves. The prince had not lost faith that the message had indeed been conveyed, and River would come to his friend’s aid. “He’s instructed us to bring you straight to the king.”

  “Go ahead,” Isandra said to her parents. “I’ll see to the horses.”

  One of the servants grabbed t
he reins of Isandra’s silver mare. “I’ll handle that, my lady,” he said. “Please go along with the others.”

  With a nod, she stepped away from her horse, leaving it in the man’s care. The trio followed the bald servant inside the palace, their feet moving at a tireless pace.

  Inside the palace was every manner of luxury. Plush red carpeting ran along the hallways and up the central staircase, quieting the steps of those who walked within. Candles burned brightly in gold-colored sconces that lined each wall. Several ornately carved wooden chairs with velvet cushions were situated around the room, encouraging guests to sit in comfort and converse.

  Marching up the stairs, the group made their way to the second level, where the royal family’s rooms were situated. A wide corridor of white marble stretched out before them. The left wall consisted of a long row of windows, allowing a clear view of the entire palace district. Life-size paintings of Na’zora’s past monarchs lined the opposite wall.

  Isandra found herself studying the faces of these great men as she walked, and she could not help but wonder why there had never been a queen to rule this kingdom. She shook her head, remembering what she had learned on her last visit to this place: only men were allowed to hold true power in Na’zora. Aelryk had struck her as a just man though. Perhaps he would have changed such a law had he failed to produce a male heir. Perhaps he had changed it regardless. Pushing the question aside, she decided it was best to remain silent for the time being. This was not her homeland, and it was not her place to demand change among these people.

  As if he could read her thoughts, River gave his daughter a quizzical look. Raising his eyebrows, his gaze seemed to agree that it was best to keep her thoughts to herself for now. This was no time to make a fuss.

  Arriving at the king’s chamber, the servant slowly opened the door and bid the guests to enter. With a bow, he said, “If you require anything at all, you need only ask.”

  Stepping inside, the elves looked upon Queen Lisalla seated at the edge of a large bed with four massive wooden posts. In the years since they last met, the queen’s hair had turned to silver, her face adorned with the fine lines of a woman who had lived a happy life, full of smiles and laughter. Time, however, had not affected her kind heart. As regal as ever, the queen’s beauty had not diminished.

  King Aelryk lay motionless, surrounded by burgundy cushions, his hands folded neatly across his chest. His gray hair had grown thin, and the bony features of his face had become more prominent since the onset of his illness. His breath came in slow, shallow gulps, his expression one of long-term suffering. Clearly, the king was in pain.

  Seeing the elves had come, Lisalla rose to greet them. “I hoped you would come,” she said, her tears spilling over.

  Lenora rushed to her, squeezing her tightly. Pulling a small handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed the wetness from the queen’s face. “I will do what I can,” she promised. In a swift motion, she moved to the king’s side, setting her satchel of herbs next to the bed. She intended to examine him thoroughly and, with luck, discover the cause of his affliction.

  Unable to speak, Lisalla only nodded as she watched Lenora go about her work. Prince Rykon, who had been standing silently in the corner, stepped forward to greet his visitors.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” he stated. “I wasn’t sure our message got through.”

  “Once we became aware of trouble, there was no other choice,” River said. “Your father is dear to us, and we would see him restored to health.”

  Glancing at his father, Rykon forced a smile. Since falling ill, Aelryk had neither spoken nor regained consciousness. His caretakers feared he might never recover, as did his son.

  “You’ve grown quite a bit since our last meeting,” River said, attempting to fill the silent moment.

  Nodding, Rykon replied, “I should say so.” Laying a hand on the elf’s shoulder, he added, “It’s been far too long. My father holds you and your family in the highest regards. We should have been more inviting over the years.”

  “Time passes differently in the Vale,” River responded. “It’s easy to lose one’s self and forget about the outside world.” His tone was one of regret, his eyes lowered. Seeing how Aelryk and Lisalla had aged, while the elves remained the same, reminded him that humans were mortal. Allowing so many years to pass without visiting one another had been a mistake—one that was too late to correct.

  The door flew open, and a tall, elderly man in a black robe stepped inside. Pausing a moment, he stroked his long white beard and observed the elves.

  “My father’s physicker,” Rykon stated. “These are friends of ours from the Vale. Lenora is a skilled healer.” He indicated the elf woman who was currently examining the king.

  The man nodded, and narrowed his eyes at Lenora. He said nothing but continued to stare as Lenora completed her examination. Finally, she stood and marched straight to the physicker, looking him in the eye.

  “There are bite marks all over this man,” she stated, pointing toward the king. “What possible reason could there be for this?”

  “Leeches, madam,” the physicker replied, holding his head high.

  “Leeches? Why would you apply leeches to a man in his condition?” Her tone was demanding, a stark contrast from her normal delicate voice.

  “They remove the infected blood from a sick patient,” the man replied. “I’m surprised a healer would not know of it.”

  Obviously annoyed, she responded, “Leeches are used to treat swelling in healthier patients. Applying them to a person who is already weak only makes them weaker!”

  “This is a standard practice, madam,” the physicker replied, waving his hand at her. Her argument had no effect on the man, who was set in his ways and never altered his course of treatment, regardless of diagnosis.

  With a sigh of exasperation, Lenora turned away and returned to Aelryk’s side. “I don’t have time to explain everything that’s wrong with your line of thinking,” she said.

  Stepping forward, the physicker said, “Madam, I—”

  “That will do, Physicker,” Rykon interrupted. “The Lady Lenora will tend my father awhile. I will send for you when you are needed.”

  The physicker started to argue but thought better of it. With a bow, he backed away a few steps before exiting.

  River moved to his life mate’s side, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. The gesture went unacknowledged as she reached inside her bag and pulled out a handful of herbs.

  Motioning to the servant near the door, she said, “Take these to the kitchens and ask the cook to boil them for exactly three minutes. Bring the tea back here for the king.”

  With a bow, the servant hurried away to obey her command.

  Lisalla shook her head. “He isn’t able to drink,” she said. “He hasn’t sat up since he fell ill. We’ve only been able to sprinkle small amounts in his mouth.” She nearly choked on the last words. “He’s had barely enough to keep him alive.” Unable to suppress her emotions, she buried her face in her hands. Rykon hurried to her side, squeezing his mother tightly.

  River and Lenora looked at each other, words passing unspoken between them. Laying their hands upon the king’s chest, they focused their magic to revive him. A soft blue glow spread across his form, encompassing him for a moment. When the elves removed their hands, the light dissipated, and Aelryk opened his eyes.

  Lisalla, who had been holding her breath while the elves performed their magic, rushed to her husband. River squeezed Lenora’s hand, leading her a few steps away to give the royal couple some measure of privacy.

  Leaning in, Lisalla kissed her husband’s lips as her tears splashed upon his face. Reaching up a hand to caress her cheek, Aelryk softly wiped her tears away.

  “No need for that, dearest,” he said in a whisper. “My time has come.”

  “No, no,” Lisalla repeated, shaking her head.

  Aelryk gave a weak nod. “I’ve been blessed with long life,” he said quiet
ly. “It is time, and I am ready.”

  Lisalla pressed her face against her husband’s chest and wept. Gently, he stroked her hair and whispered, “Shhh.”

  Isandra stood silently near the door, turning her face away from the scene. She could feel a lump rising in her throat but had no intention of reacting further. Death was a part of life, and she was a warrior. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for her to break down upon witnessing two lovers say goodbye. This was exactly why she had chosen to live without a mate. Her people did not succumb to illness or age, but they could be killed in battle. No doubt, any mate she chose would be a warrior as she was, and it was a risk she wasn’t willing to take.

  Aelryk glanced over at River and Lenora. “My old friends,” he said. “I owe this moment to you.”

  The pair approached, their faces shining. “It has been too long,” River said. “Forgive our late arrival.”

  Aelryk managed a weak smile. “Think nothing of it,” he replied. “It’s good to see you both.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “You haven’t aged a day. What it must be like to live so long.”

  Rykon approached, looking down upon his father, his face stern as if chiseled in stone. “Father,” he said, his breath escaping.

  Lisalla and the elves backed away, allowing the king to speak with his son and heir. “My son, you will have to lead our people now,” he said.

  “Father, you mustn’t…”

  “Listen to me,” the king continued. “You must never forget to love your people. Do this, and they will always love you in return.”

  “I will endeavor always to make you proud,” the prince replied.

  “I have ever been proud of you, my son,” he said, reaching his arms to embrace him.

  His eyes wet, Rykon pulled away from him and turned to face the elves. “You brought him back this far, is there nothing else you can do?” Dragging his arm across his eyes, he added, “There must be something you can do.”