When she was just a young girl, Ella had seen an enchanter rescue her brother from certain death when Miro fell through a platform of thin ice. This enchanter, as some did, carried a staff, and he could lengthen and shorten it using a series of activation runes. The enchanter used his staff to rescue Miro, and from that day Ella had wanted to become an enchantress.
Ella had applied a similar concept to the legs of the reflector’s tower. She’d chosen a good place; she was high, with a view of both Altura’s south and Petrya’s northwest, and there were no trees or other obstacles in the way. Even so, the tower should be tall, and she began to chant softly to the legs, speaking to each in turn, lengthening them evenly, watching the rune-covered metal grow longer.
When the legs were as long as three men were tall, Jehral and his men helped Ella mount the tower at the center of the pass. They stuck each foot of the three legs firmly against the walls so that anyone passing this way would have to pass under the prism. Ella used her wand to fuse each foot to the surrounding rock. It took some time before she was satisfied: This tower wouldn’t go anywhere, not even in the strongest storm.
“There,” Ella said, looking at Jehral. “The tower is complete.” Sadness hit her with sudden force. “I suppose this is where we part ways.”
Jehral opened his arms and they embraced.
“I don’t know why,” Ella said into his chest, “but I don’t think we can win.”
Jehral pushed her away and looked into her eyes. “Have hope.”
“If we call, will you answer? Please, Jehral, you’re closest to him. Make sure he comes.”
“We will come.”
Jehral glanced away and then turned back, his expression anxious. “Ella, I know about the kalif’s desire. I wish to say: do what your heart demands. I will always be your friend regardless, and the kalif will help your people if you call.”
Ella knew that to Jehral these weren’t just words. The Hazaran’s strong sense of honor gave weight to the statement. She stammered a reply.
“My orders are to turn back now, but I don’t like leaving you like this,” Jehral said.
“I’ll be fine,” Ella said. One of Jehral’s men held Ella’s horse. “Thank you for the horse. It’s hard being out of touch.”
“Fare you well, and salut, Ella,” Jehral said. He called to his men. “Draw up! We’ll lead our horses back down the mountain until we’re past the rocks.”
“Wait, Jehral,” Ella said. “I almost forgot.”
She once more reached into her workbag and took out the scabbard lying beside the rods. Walking over, she handed it to a surprised Jehral.
“This is for you.”
A sword rested snugly in the long scabbard like a hand in a glove. Jehral held the hilt of the curved scimitar in one hand and the scabbard in the other as he drew the blade six inches, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw the symbols on the shining steel.
“I had Ilathor find the blade for me. He said it’s as fine as his own. Do you know the Larbi word for the desert rose?”
Jehral opened his mouth.
“No, don’t say it now,” Ella said.
“Al-maia,” she knew he’d been about to say.
“Say this word to activate the sword. To deactivate it, say the Larbi name for the dust storm.” Ella grinned. “Some Larbi words are derived from the runic language. I hope that it keeps you safe. I don’t know when we will next meet, but I hope it will be under favorable circumstances. Farewell!”
Ella inserted a foot into her stirrup and grabbed hold of the pommel to pull herself up onto her horse’s back. She looked out over her forested home and past; the distant ocean filled her with dread.
Ella kicked her horse forward and waved.
As she rode, Ella pictured the devastation of Shar and recalled Miro’s vivid descriptions of the fates of Veldria and Gokan. The enemy would come with an armada of ships. They would have black powder, and they would have revenants.
It had been too long since Ella had been to the Academy of Enchanters. She’d been busy building the new machines at Mornhaven and then in Seranthia for Killian’s coronation and the Chorum. Though she wasn’t on the best terms with High Enchanter Merlon, she looked forward to once more seeing the Green Tower and the Great Court.
It was time for Ella to do her part and to create some weapons of her own.
7
Tapel ducked a blow from the son of a prosperous merchant and then countered with a clumsy thrust. He tried to shut out the calls of encouragement and derision from the boys circled around him but was conscious of their watching eyes. Tapel was desperate to make a good impression.
All the boys training at the Pens in Sarostar knew Rogan Jarvish was married to Tapel’s mother. He couldn’t think of anything worse than embarrassing himself, but these boys had all been training ever since they could hold a sword. If it weren’t for Bladesinger Bartolo’s private instruction, he wouldn’t have lasted as long as the four blows struck so far in this spar.