Exiles of the Silver City

by Luke Thomas

Dear Diary,

The camp was quiet, most of the refugees lost in an exhausted sleep, when Amarra found me. She didn't come to offer condolences. She came for an accounting. She wanted to know about the elemental hearts.

When I told her we had secured all four, or at least had access to the final one, her stern expression softened. She was proud. For a fleeting moment, she looked at me as more than just a fumbling apprentice. She has been busy, she said. Researching. She then handed me a scroll, heavy with latent power.

It contains a ritual. One she designed herself. Not just to *use* the hearts, but to *merge* them. To forge them into a single, supreme artifact. An artifact, she claims, powerful enough to sever the connection between our land and the Feywild, *permanently*. All fey would be cast back. All portals sealed. Keralon would be free.

She just... gave it to me. The power to end the war, to save the Silver City from the fey menace that has plagued it since its founding. And she told me the choice of *if*, *when*, and *where* to perform it is mine. The fate of two realms, and she left it in my hands as if it were a simple homework assignment. It was the answer we needed, but it would mean huge sacrifices. The cloud giants would refuse the loss of their home. The magic would remove all, including Lumiria and maybe others that had been touched by the fey.

It was a choice I could not take lightly. I wonder what my friends would think of it. They seem to have no appetite for bloodshed, even against those who brutally murdered our own. Who have enslaved and tormented us, harassed us at every step and even turned someone as kind as Elsa against us. This would give a solution that would avoid fighting, but it might be the greater of the evils. Such power is never free, and the results might be devastating. But I am willing to pay the price if I must go it alone.

Morning brought no relief, only new burdens. Hayley shared what she’d learned from Lady Rootskewer. The hag coven is broken. Aileen Inkheart has been corrupted by some ancient power, and she's now hunting Hayley, who is apparently first in line to "recomplete" the coven. My sister, attracting the most dangerous entities in the world like a moth to a flame. She said she understands the hags' true "function" now, but would say no more. Just, "Trust me."

Before we turned our backs on Wolf’s Rest for good, Alistan, Liliana, and Ileas made one last trip to their brother's tomb. They were seen, of course. Keralon's familiar-owls are everywhere. Guards even tried to arrest them on their return, but they were convinced otherwise. The authority in Alistan’s voice is hard to deny, even for the King's new lapdogs.

They returned with Rachnar, who, true to his word, had acquired supplies. It wasn't much—some grain, dried meat, and blankets—but it was enough to keep our people alive. His news from Keralon was grim. The city is under full martial law. The Long Table resisted the King's decree, and there was fighting *inside* the Silver City. Many knights were killed, the rest arrested, the order disbanded and charged with treason.

So, we began our exodus. A long, sad caravan of the dispossessed, heading south. Keralon patrols on horseback watched us from the hills, their banners snapping in the wind. They counted us, they made notes, but they did not stop us. We are exiles.

That first day on the road, the dread was eating me alive. I asked Ileas to send a message to Lumiria. I had to know if she was safe after Amarra’s callous banishment. The reply was a spike of ice. She’s been recaptured. High King Ulther has her again. She begged me to free her. How, Lumiria? How? I am a knight with no keep, a wizard with no books, and a leader of a few hundred starving refugees.

For five days, we just walked. To save time, we cut through the edges of the Lorewood, the air thick and humming with fey glamour. We were being watched. During one of the night watches, Gael slipped into the trees and returned with a grim face. The Red Knight.

He was waiting for us, a figure of contained fiendish power. He said he sensed the presence of one of his kind. He meant the Black Knight—the curse clinging to Galiene. We know that if we don't act within the year, she will be consumed by it and *become* the new Black Knight. We explained this to the Red Knight, that the curse has been delayed because she's a dragon, that it's complicated. He simply called it "unfortunate" and asked to see her. Alistan and Liliana were ready for a fight, but Hayley, practical as ever, suggested he might be our only way to save her.

He offered a trade. He could remove the curse, but it would return to its previous holder—Alistan and Liliana's brother. Alistan agreed without a second's hesitation. "Do it." Hayley, as payment, offered him a rare golden flower. The Knight accepted, with one more condition: that if we ever have the chance to start the "bouts" of their great tournament, a thing only the King of Keralon can initiate, we must do so.

He placed his hand on Galiene. Flames, deep and red, enveloped her. She *screamed*. It was the first sound she's made in months, a raw, agonizing cry. She tried to sit up, her eyes wide with pain, before she collapsed again. Hayley was at her side in an instant, pouring a healing potion down her throat. The burn marks faded. And she was still. Not the unnatural stillness of her coma, but... sleep. She was just asleep.

We pressed on. The next night, a "traveling bard" found our camp. He offered to conjure food for the refugees. He lit a few small fires, drew some glowing runes, and began to sing in a strange, wild tongue. The flames turned a sickly blue-green. A howl echoed from the woods, and suddenly, massive, steaming hunks of meat appeared on the fires. The bard vanished with a "Enjoy!"
The screaming that followed was human. Six of the refugees' hunting hounds were gone. All that was left were their neatly-piled skins. Their meat was on the fire. Liliana and Gael, pragmatic to a fault, ate. The rest of us... we went hungry.

We finally reached Logvale, an old logging camp, abandoned for the season. It has walls. Defenses. For the first time in days, I saw people unclench their fists. I saw children smile. Then, the snow began to fall. Thick, unseasonable snow. Alistan just grunted, "Vivienne."

He was right. As night fell, Liliana slipped away, with only Ileas for company. She went to the old tunnel where we first found Vivienne, all those years ago. She was gone for hours. When she returned, she... she was changed. She looked paler, and the delicate points of her elven ears seemed... softer. More human. She wouldn't speak of what happened.

I couldn’t stop thinking of Lumiria. I begged Hayley to help me, to help plan a rescue, but she rounded on me, her eyes flashing. "Why on Irminsul would I want to bring her back? You can do so much better, my darling brother." I expected her response, but it didn't ease the ache.
I asked Ileas to send another message. I told Lumiria I was working on it, that I would come for her, but we were currently homeless, escorting refugees.
Her reply... I had to repeat it several times before I could believe it.
"Homeless? Eww! Please rescue me as soon as you have another castle."
*Eww.*
As if our lives burning to the ground was a social inconvenience. As if the people I'm trying to keep alive are… distasteful. I... I don't know what to think. Is this the princess I fell in love with? Or was I just in love with the story?

The rejections kept coming. Alistan sent a magical message to his mother in Hillfield, begging for sanctuary for the refugees. Her reply was swift and brutal. "You are criminals, exiles from Keralon. I have no children!" The gates of Hillfield were closed. We passed its high walls soon after, waving to the guards who stared down at us.

Ileas then approached us. His "uncle"—the bard—had made an offer: his old clan's ancestral home, magically protected, to house all our people. We remembered the hounds. We refused.

We tried for Rosebloom, Anna's home. The path was blocked by a massive, impenetrable wall of thorns. A message to Sir Flinn, the noble in charge, brought back a terrified reply: "Leave me be! None are welcome in this doomed valley." The whole town is trapped. We couldn't help them, not with our caravan.

There was only one place left. Tarn.
We arrived as the sun was setting. It was just as we remembered it. Bonfires, the smell of roasting meat (actual meat, this time), and children, who were babies when we left, playing in the street. Edward Collin, Elsa's brother, welcomed us.

It seems we've done exactly what the King and his masked advisers wanted. We've "retired" to the village where we began. They think they've beaten us. They think we're out of the game.
They're wrong. I'm not retiring. I'm regrouping. The war for Keralon is far from over.

Continue reading...

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Exiles of the Silver City

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