The Heartwood

The words thrummed through Shadowhelm's bones. He cocked his head as he felt more than listened to the chant as it rang through the temple. Not religious by nature, he could still feel the magic that emanated from the words and the power the chant wielded was beyond many forms of magic he had seen. The red-robed monks stood hand in hand before the great statue, chanting in words that Shadowhelm didn't recognize, even though his body knew by instinct that it was very powerful.

"Wha' ye think it be?" Mic murmured, making a sign to ward off evil.

Shadowhelm grinned at his friend's superstitious nature. The two mercenaries had come to the temple of Caer Caradon after entering the city to leave a token to the deity here. Normally, Shadowhelm wouldn't bother with such trifles, but Mic was adamant and they usually had a good run of luck whenever they left a small offering to the local god or goddess. This city's goddess was Bryanna, a goddess of fire reminiscent to an ancient Eleion goddess of a similar name. The Ansgar had probably chosen her because she was a war queen as well. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we're not staying around long enough to find out. Hurry up and leave the coins - I don't like the feel of the magic here."

Mic nodded and was about to turn towards the altar when the chant began to change. The air filled with a heady incense of sandalwood and cedar that burned Shadowhelm's nostrils. A young woman in a red hooded robe stepped forward and began chanting with them, her voice melodious compared to the old priests. Shadowhelm paused and felt the magic again, but this time, he turned and caught her gaze. Her pale green eyes met his silver eyes and he felt his chest tighten as their gazes locked. Help me, please, her mental voice echoed in his mind.

"Come on, let's go," Mic said, bringing Shadowhelm out of his reverie. Shadowhelm felt nonplussed. For a moment within the chant, there was nothing else but the green-eyed woman. The temple, the incense, and the chanting returned and Shadowhelm staggered forward, dizzy. Mic caught him by the arm and steadied him. "Wha' wrong wi' you?"

"Don't know." Shadowhelm shook his head as if trying to clear it. He looked up at the robed priests, but there was no sign of the woman nor did he hear the sound of her voice.

"Come on, ye need some air." Mic led him forward. Shadowhelm let the bigger man pull him out of the temple and into the bright sunshine.

Shadowhelm blinked in the bright sun as if seeing it for the first time. He let Mic lead him back to the boarding house.

The rest of the day and deep into the night, Shadowhelm thought about the woman in the temple. It was obvious that Mic hadn't seen her, but Shadowhelm knew he wasn't imagining things. Nor did he believe in ghosts - he had fought enough of the so-called wraiths to know that in most cases they were the work of magic or of living creatures. The dead didn't dwell in this world since the warrior god had defeated the death god more than fifteen hundred years before. Not that Shadowhelm held much faith in the gods, either.

The woman needed his help, but why? He had felt the power of the magic behind the priests' chants, but what had they summoned? Shadowhelm tried to recall everything about the woman, even though he had only had a glimpse of her. Angular face, pale skin, green eyes and fire-red hair - she might be Ansgar or Shara'kai, but something within told him she wasn't mortal. If she wasn't mortal, then why would she need his help?

He hauled himself from bed, unable to sleep and donned his mail and weapons. The woman's mental voice held urgency and despite the danger of magic, Shadowhelm knew the mystery would gnaw at him if he didn't go back to the temple now. He left the room and headed out of the inn, only pausing to step over the drunks who crowded the tavern downstairs.

Stepping out into the cool air, Shadowhelm paused. He could barely make out the spires of the temple in the waning moonlight. Still, he made his way through the city without worry. Few thieves would dare waylay such a well-armed warrior.

When he reached the temple, he saw that the doors were shut. For a moment, he hesitated. The temple was most likely locked, Shadowhelm told himself, so he was surprised when the door yielded to his hands. He stepped inside.

The temple wasn't quite dark. A few beeswax candles sputtered in sconces along the walls and a small candle bathed the altar in candlelight. Even as he stepped forward, he saw the shape of the robed woman coalesce next to the altar. Her head was bowed as though in prayer.

Shadowhelm looked up at the statue and then at the woman who knelt beside it. "Bryanna."

The woman turned to him, her green eyes sad. "That is who I was," she whispered. "But no more."

Shadowhelm shook his head. "You said you needed my help. What help could a mortal possibly give?"

She smiled wistfully. "A mortal took my powers long ago. He proclaimed to have loved me, but in truth he only wanted to lock me away and keep the magic for himself."

"You fell in love with a mortal?"

"It's not uncommon." Bryanna bristled and her eyes flashed menacingly. "Your own kindred had Lachlan Ah'rhyn who was the son of the warrior god and the Lochvaur queen, Lachlei."

Shadowhelm waited for her to continue. Angering a goddess - even an impotent one - was probably not a good idea. When she didn't speak for some time, he spoke. "So, this mortal isn't alive, is he?"

"Actually, he is," she said. "His name is Caradon."

A feeling like lead settled in Shadowhelm's chest. "King Caradon?"

"Yes, that's what he calls himself now. He was not always king, you know. This fair city was known as Caer Elsanor and its queen was the beautiful Queen Elsanor. When he took my powers, he overthrew the queen and locked me helpless in my temple..."

Shadowhelm shook his head. "Lady, you want me to go and kill Caradon? Are you mad? As soon as I get close to him, they'd clap me in irons and haul me to the dungeon. If I'm lucky. If I'm not, they'd flay me and stick my skin on the city walls for all to see..."

"I'm not asking for you to kill him. I'm asking you to give him something. Something of mine." With that, Bryanna produced a small piece of wood in the shape of a heart. She handed it to Shadowhelm, who looked at it.

"What is it?" Shadowhelm looked it over suspiciously. It was a palm-sized piece of wood that appeared to have been carved and sanded in the form of a heart. It held a reddish-purple cast to it and its grain ran straight from top to bottom, created a striped effect across the wood. It was lovely in its own right, but Shadowhelm sensed nothing magical about it.

"It's heartwood. He has taken everything of mine save this," she said. "I feel he should have it too."

Shadowhelm shook his head. "Lady, to gain an audience with the king is out of the question. I am but a simple mercenary with no right and title to anything. Even if I wanted to do this folly deed, I'd have no way to gain access..." He hesitated as she slid next to him and gazed into his eyes. Her scent filled his nostrils as she drew close to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Pleasant shockwaves ran through him and despite his best efforts, he felt himself respond to her. Her lips, soft and moist, felt hot beneath his own and he pressed her lithe body against him, nearly crushing her in the embrace.

He took a moment to breathe and stared at the woman. Then, despite all that he was feeling, he began to laugh. Bryanna stared back at him. "What?"

He pushed her away. "Nice trick," he said, pushing the heartwood back in her hands. "Is this how you got to Caradon?"

"I could give you a night of pleasure."

"No doubt you could. So could any of the whores at the boarding house. I'm sure they could teach you some things."

Bryanna glared at him. "How dare you!"

Shadowhelm grinned wryly. "If you're going to whore yourself, at least pick a stupid mercenary or one who doesn't know the old stories on how love relations between gods and mortal often end badly." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but Caradon wouldn't admit me for twice the Emperor's gold. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a Lochvaur Shara'kai. He's not particularly fond of my bloodline since Romarin Nevfaras stomped his intrusion into Caer Sithar's lands."

"I could pay you for your troubles."

Shadowhelm shook his head. "No." He turned to leave.

Bryanna pressed the heartwood in his hand. "Take this anyway, in case you change your mind."

Before he could hand it back, Bryanna vanished.

"Ye did wha?" Mic stared at Shadowhelm as he relayed the story of Bryanna and the heartwood over a pint of ale. "Ye turned 'er down?"

Shadowhelm shrugged. "Mic, she's a goddess and one of the untrustworthy Laeca at that..."

"There he is!" A loud voice boomed across the room.

Shadowhelm looked over, mildly curious, to see soldiers entering the tavern. He felt Mic grip his shoulder. "Ye better git outta here..." he hissed.

The soldiers strode forward. "You-you Lochvaur..."

Shadowhelm sighed and took a long drink of his ale. "Now, what?"

"King Caradon has a law against your kind," the soldier said.

When he had come to Caer Caradon, an extraordinary number of people had stared at him, but he hadn't thought anything of it because people normally stared at him. His silver eyes and red-gold hair marked him as Lochvaur, just like Caradon's rival king. Few Shara'kai-those with mixed blood-and fewer Eleion made it this far south. Shadowhelm almost laughed at the irony. He had given Bryanna the handy excuse of his Lochvaur blood as reason to not seek an audience with Caradon, but now, it seemed perhaps he was right. Still, he had never thought his looks would get him thrown in a dungeon. He eyed the men. There were just three of them.

"I'll take th' one on th' right..." Mic said in a low tone.

"Don't bother," Shadowhelm said, his voice betraying his annoyance. He turned to the men and with his right hand still holding the flagon, smashed it into the first soldier's face. The man fell backwards and as the other two rushed in, Shadowhelm drew his dagger with his left hand and hurled it into the second soldier's head.

The man screamed as the blade sliced into his cheek. The soldier fell back pressing his hand against the bloody cut. The third soldier was quick to draw his blade, but Shadowhelm already had his broadsword out. The patrons backed away as the two men eyed each other with swords drawn. Mic had wisely fallen back with the other patrons to avoid the live blades.

"I think you have the wrong man," Shadowhelm said, his voice as cold as his silver eyes. "I'm a mercenary and a Shara'kai, not an Eleion. I didn't come here for trouble and I'm not planning on staying. If I were you, I think it'd be wise just to let me saddle my horse and move out."

The soldier looked at his two comrades and nodded, lowering his blade. "Come on, Mic," Shadowhelm snarled. "I don't like the company here." With that, he stepped past the soldiers and headed towards the door.

He never saw the pommel come crashing down on the back of his head.

Shadowhelm awoke to darkness and a splitting headache. It wasn't the first time he'd awaken in this fashion, although the headache usually had more to do with drink than with getting knocked out. It wasn't the first time he had woken up in a jail cell either - which is where he presumed he was. In retrospect, he had been a little too cocky, letting the man go without some incapacitation, but he had thought that the sound thrashing he had given the other two men was cause enough to let him go. But then, there was the possibility that there were other soldiers he hadn't accounted for. And then, there was the case of the ale.

He sighed. Drink had always made short work of him and he knew he shouldn't imbibe anything with alcohol in it. But he hadn't expected trouble - he and Mic had just been looking for work. He sighed again and rubbed his head. His hair was sticky where he had taken the knock. He was a fast healer - faster than any man he knew - and already the bleeding had stopped and the wound had scabbed over. He'd live, even with the headache.

Shadowhelm forced himself to his feet and felt like throwing up. Instead, he let his eyes adjust to the scant light in the cell and looked through the cell's bars. He could just make out a man's large form in the cell across the hallway. "Mic?" He heard a groan and shook his head. "Mic! It's me, Shadowhelm..." he whispered.

"Lad, tha's no reason t' whisper," Mic grumbled. "Tha' guard's gone an' dinna thin' we ken escape." Mic's voice had drifted into the heavy burr that Shadowhelm knew his friend fell back into when groggy or wounded.

"How bad did they rough you up?"

"Bad nuff."

Shadowhelm stared at the bars. They had taken his weapons but had left his cuir boille leather armor on; no doubt because it was nearly worthless to men wearing mail and it would've been more effort than it was worth to remove. Shadowhelm slid his fingers under the vambrace armor that protected his forearm and pulled a small thin dagger from its hidden sheath. He then set to work on picking the lock.

It took him little time to unlatch the cell door and he slid over to Mic's cell and picked the lock as well. As he opened the door, Mic had pulled himself to his feet, but his face was badly bruised and his left eye was swollen shut. A trickle of blood still dripped from a split lip. Shadowhelm shook his head. "You run into a door?"

"Aye, if ye count the lummox tha' punched me." Mic wiped this face with a swipe of his hand. "Tha's the last time I be watchin' yer backside."

Shadowhelm chuckled. "Where the hell are we?"

"Caradon's dungeon."

Shadowhelm shook his head. "I was willing to leave well enough alone."

"Yer not thinkin'?" Mic stared at Shadowhelm.

"Go get our horses and go back to that pub on the west side - what's it called again?"

"Silver Moon."

"Aye, that's it. Meet me there at midnight. If you don't see me, ride out and don't look back."

Mic considered Shadowhelm thoughtfully. "Ye think ye got a chance?"

Shadowhelm shrugged. He pulled out the piece of heartwood in his pocket and examined it. "I'm guessing that the lady has something in mind for the king."

Mic and Shadowhelm found their weapons hanging on one of the pegs in what Shadowhelm guessed was a torture room. He was tempted to destroy what he could, but that would take time and risk a possible capture. Instead, they made their way up the dungeon stairs that led into the halls. There, Mic and Shadowhelm parted; Mic slid out one of the servants' doors and Shadowhelm found a ratty servant's cloak on a peg and donned it. He pulled the hood up to conceal his hair and features. Then, he shuffled into the main hallway of the castle.

He saw a few other servants sweeping the floor. Walking over to one, he took the broom and sent the boy to the kitchen to help with food preparation. As he swept, he looked around the great hall. The hall opened up to a large staircase which climbed to a second floor, where Shadowhelm suspected the king and his special guests resided. He slowly made his way to the stairs, sweeping as he did, when the doors on the other side of the hall opened and three men dressed magnificently in fine silks and furs strode in.

Shadowhelm turned his back on them as they approached in order to conceal his features. They were talking excitedly about a hunt.

"I tell you, the king will be pleased with the birds I shot," the younger man spoke, holding up his bloody prize of three grouse. He was a blond-haired youth with blue eyes and fuzz instead of a beard.

One of the older men laughed. "Caradon doesn't care for bird, Salley, he's more into substantial game."

"Well, what am I supposed to do with this?" Lord Salley said.

"You! Boy!" The older one snapped.

Shadowhelm hesitated and stopped sweeping. He glanced at the nobles. The older man had a thick beard that had once been brown but was now thick with gray hair. At one time, the man might have been a warrior, but age and too much food had eliminated that, witnessed by his expansive waistline. Shadowhelm wondered how many horses he had broken under him. "Me, m'lord?" Shadowhelm said in a harsh whisper.

"Yes, you! Take these to the kitchens immediately for preparation for tonight's feast."

Shadowhelm shuffled over to the men and gingerly raised his hands to take the birds. If he moved too quickly, they would see his vambraces and figure out he wasn't supposed to be there. But the men had returned to arguing and the youth hardly gave him a glance as he thrust the bloody birds into Shadowhelm's hands. Shadowhelm bowed and scraped appropriately and headed in a direction he assumed the kitchens were in while the men continued to bicker about the hunt.

This is not going well, Shadowhelm thought as he followed the aroma of cooked food towards the kitchens. He looked down at the grouse in disgust. The men hadn't bothered on gutting the creatures and he doubted that they'd be edible at this point. But, he was hungry and he might be able to bluster his way through the kitchens without drawing alarm. He slipped the cloak from his shoulders and tucked it under his arms as he descended the stairs.

The cooks looked up as he strode in. Shadowhelm assumed a haughty air that he had seen with the nobles. "Lord Salley wants these prepared for tonight's feast," he announced.

"Does he now?" the head cook stepped forward, wiping the soot from her face. An older woman of indeterminate years, Shadowhelm guessed that the hard work in the kitchens, not age, had roughened her features and grayed her hair. Still, she had a look about her that seemed out of place in such a dismal location. She was remarkably fit and wore a tunic and trews instead of a dress. Her eyes caught his attention most of all - they were hazel and held a fire unlike any scullery maid. He handed her the mess of grouse and she shook her head. "What am I supposed to do with this? The damn things are half rotted." She brandished them at Shadowhelm. "You tell 'Lord Salley' that he'd better take care of his game or I just won't accept them, lord or no." She sighed in exasperation. "I'm going to have to wring the necks of three good chickens..."

Shadowhelm started chuckling, despite himself, and she rounded on him.

"You think that's funny? Feeding a bunch of ungrateful, popinjay pretenders?"

Shadowhelm held up his hands in supplication. "No, m'lady, I was just thinking how funny it was that they wouldn't know the difference between a chicken and a grouse." He paused. "Or between a lady and a scullery maid."

She considered him thoughtfully. "Odd, I don't recall Caradon's law being lifted on Lochvaur - or Eleion, for that matter."

"It hasn't," Shadowhelm said, pulling her aside. "Caradon's soldiers were kind enough to throw me in the dungeon for spending some coin at a local tavern. "Now, you can raise an alarm and in which case, I'd have to fight my way out, or you can help me."

She smiled broadly, her teeth crooked and a bit yellowed. "Is that so? You need to get out?"

"Not exactly. What's your name?"

"Elise. And yours?"

"Shadowhelm," he said, holding out his hand.

Elise tossed the birds on the table and wiped her hand before shaking his. "Good to meet you, Shadowhelm."

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Shadowhelm looked down at the heaping tray of steaming chicken. Elise had fed him first so his hunger was abated, but he wasn't particularly inclined to touch the food anyway. Caradon had tasters, so there was no way anyone could poison the fare, but Shadowhelm had watched the preparation with some dismay and reminded himself to never anger the cooks or servants. There were plenty of nonlethal things they could do-and did-to the platters. He wondered how long they had been tainting Caradon's food.

He had slipped on a servant's robe and wore the hooded cloak over his head to disguise his features. Elise offered to have another servant hand Caradon the heartwood, but Shadowhelm felt it too important to deliver the piece of wood, himself. He had a fair idea what Bryanna was planning for Caradon, and after having tasted Caradon's hospitality to both himself and Mic, he felt no pity on the man.

He followed behind two other servers and three others followed him. Walking with the laden trays up the staircase to the banquet room proved a bit tricky, but he watched the other servants and followed their lead. The guards opened the doors and he followed the others into the hall.

The banquet hall was raucous, filled with drunken nobles and ladies. Most were grabbing whatever food they could with their bare hands and stuffing it in their mouths. A few young nobles were having a loud argument at one end of the hall which looked like it would come to drawn swords at any moment. One of the fops was Lord Salley.

As Shadowhelm carried the tray towards the middle of room where the king sat, his gaze didn't bother to linger on the more lecherous nobles and their all too willing 'ladies.' They behaved worse than the whores he had bedded at boarding houses. At least the wenches had sense to take their clothes off in private.

He grinned as he set the heaping piles of meat before the king's tasters and turned to look at Caradon. The king sat before the fireplace, wearing all the regal trappings and looking anything but regal. A graying man with a pot-belly and a hawk-shaped face, Shadowhelm couldn't imagine a goddess falling for such a pitiful creature. He hardly looked like he wielded the power of the Laeca.

He bowed and stepped back to study the king. Shadowhelm had a good instinct about magic, and this man had none. Whoever, this man was, he wasn't Caradon. Shadowhelm straightened up and backed away, scanning the crowd as he did. He felt the tweak of his sleeve and saw the other servant nod for him to move. He did with a slow, shuffling walk until he felt something push against his mind.

Instinctively, he pushed back and realized his mistake as soon as he did it. A handsome blond warrior strode forward and motioned two guards towards Shadowhelm. The man reeked of magic-how could Shadowhelm have missed it? Shadowhelm pulled off the cloak and robe, drawing his sword. "Caradon!" he snarled.

"I heard that a Lochvaur had escaped my prison," Caradon said. The nobles had fallen silent. "I see you took refuge with Elsie. Pity, for her. I'll have to beat her and show her who is king again."

Shadowhelm took a deep breath and glanced around. He was outnumbered and the guards were now blocking his only exit. "Caradon, the Lady Bryanna has a message for you."

Caradon stiffened. "I would have nothing more to do with that wench."

"She gave me something to give to you," Shadowhelm said, fishing the heartwood from his sleeve. "She said that you have taken everything of hers save this. She wanted you to have it too." He tossed the heartwood at Caradon.

Caradon caught it in his hand. Shadowhelm held his breath for a moment and waited.

Nothing happened.

Caradon laughed. "It's a worthless bit of wood, naught else." He held it up for all to see. "Rosewood, I'd wager, or some such piece." He turned to his men. "Kill him."

The soldiers started forward. Shadowhelm raised his sword in a guard and waited. One soldier charged and Shadowhelm struck, his sword slipping past the man's guard and sliced into his arm. Two more leapt at him, wielding their blades. Shadowhelm retreated, blocking their blows. Caradon laughed again and tossed the wood into the fire.

Suddenly, the fire flashed, knocking all to the ground save Shadowhelm and Caradon. The fire spun up in a maelstrom of light and Bryanna appeared, glowing white hot within the flames.

"Caradon!" she snarled. "You foolish mortal!"

Caradon dropped to his knees. "Bryanna, love..."

The goddess leapt at him. Caradon screamed as she pulled him into her fiery embrace. Caradon lit up in a column of fire, unable to move in Bryanna's embrace. The heat was intense and Shadowhelm backed up, desperately trying to avoid being cooked in the maelstrom. And yet, as quickly as the fire leapt forward, it became subdued and Bryanna stood there alone, fiery and hot, and gazed on Shadowhelm.

"Thank you, mortal," she said to him. "I will not forget your favor even though you showed great insolence earlier."

"That is most gracious of you," Shadowhelm said, still keeping his sword drawn. Although he doubted the blade could do anything to the goddess, he felt safer confronting the Laeca armed.

"I think so, though I fear I may be in your debt. So, ask me for anything and I will grant it if it is in my powers."

Shadowhelm frowned. "Lady, I am pleased I could help you - there's nothing more that I could want."

"No?" Bryanna walked towards him and slowly cooled to the point where she was only mildly hot. He noticed that the shift she wore was very revealing. "The offer I made to you earlier still stands."

He raised his blade. "I am flattered, but I must respectfully decline." He paused as an idea came to him. "But I do have a favor that you could grant."

Bryanna cocked her head. "And that would be?"

"Return Elsanor to the throne."

A small smile played on her lips. She nodded. "It is done." With that, the goddess disappeared in a blinding light.

Elsie gazed at Shadowhelm from the throne, her lips turned down in a frown. "You're not leaving, now?" Gone was the scullery garb, replaced with the finest turquoise silk gown Shadowhelm had ever seen. Despite the rough treatment she had received over the years, she looked radiant now that she sat once more on the throne.

Shadowhelm shrugged and glanced at Mic. Both mercenaries had been outfitted in the finest mail armor and weapons that that Caer Elsanor had to offer. Mic's face still held traces of the bruises, but overall was healed. "My lady, your hospitality has been beyond reproach, but I fear we must be going. Allarun is once more moving against the lands in the north and our talents could be put to good use against him."

A few hours later, Mic and Shadowhelm rode forth from Caer Elsanor. Both were outfitted with the very best horses and weapons, and their purses were heavy with gold.

"She'd take ye for her consort, ye know," Mic said casually. "Why'd ye put 'er on th' throne?"

Shadowhelm shrugged. "I felt she'd be better than Caradon had been, by a long shot. After all, she was the queen."

"How is it tha' she became a scullery maid?"

"When Caradon took Bryanna's powers, he took the throne. He could've killed Elise, but thought it was amusing to make her his servant. He ensorcelled the nobles and put his own sycophants in power, making it impossible for her to reclaim anything. With Bryanna's power at his fingertips, Caradon made certain to make Elsanor's life miserable."

Mic shook his head. "It would've made sense t' kill her."

"He didn't expect Bryanna to return."

"How'dya know she would?"

"I didn't," Shadowhelm confessed. "I thought she'd appear when Caradon touched the heartwood. But she needed for him to return her to her element - fire. She knew he'd toss the wood into the fire as a defiant gesture, but it instead gave her back her power."

"Ye know, ye could've had any wish granted by a goddess." Mic looked sideways at him.

Shadowhelm shook his head. "I don't think I'd want her gifts. She's a fire goddess. They have a habit of burning their lovers."

Mic nodded. "That they do. That they do."

The End