Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

Unless I alert the council and rush back to the portal before Vindrake’s men arrive. Surely Morvaen won’t forbid me from defending my own home?

Suddenly eager, she ran—feet pounding, blond plait bouncing, and lungs burning—as fast as her legs would carry her.

**************

By the time Arista arrived on the front porch of the town hall, she had the wording all worked out in her mind. The council meeting must’ve gone long, for the guard had fallen asleep, slumped against the door, drool dripping from his slack mouth.

I’ll wager he imbibed too much last night. No warrior in his right mind would risk Morvaen’s ire by falling asleep on post. She imagined the rage on the face of Stone Clan’s hulking weapons master had he spotted the slumbering guard.

She recognized the guard’s face. Jireo had introduced her to this boy, once. What was his name? I remember—Harfayer. He was young, having only a few more years than her brother of eighteen. His youth and inexperience were the reason he’d drawn guard duty at midday, when an attack was least likely to occur. Lack of years, however, was no excuse for dereliction of duty, and she knew how to take advantage of his blunder.

Tiptoeing up the wooden steps, she withdrew a razor-sharp blade from the sheath on her belt, slicing off a chunk of his straight black hair. Still he slept, a soft snore emerging from his parted lips. She landed a swift kick to the young man’s thigh.

He awoke with a start, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword in a fluid stroke, then pointed the blade at her heart.

“Stay back!”

Though Harfayer had two hands of height advantage, Arista lifted her chin in disdain. “I don’t believe Morvaen would be pleased to discover you were napping so soundly that an enemy could have slit your throat.”

She waved the lock of black hair before his eyes, pleased to see the color drain from his face.

“Are...” He gulped. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I haven’t decided.” She let her lips curl into a soft smile. “But I’d be inclined to keep our little secret if you let me in to see the council.”

“I can’t.” Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but his sword hand never faltered. “I was told to allow no one but Alleraen through this door.”

“Alleraen isn’t coming. I bear a message from him for the council.”

His chest expanded with a huge breath. As he expelled the air, he dropped the sword to his side. “Very well. You may enter.”

Grinning, Arista reached for the handle, but Harfayer wedged his boot against the door, presenting his empty palm. “First... I’ll take that hair.”

She looked up, noting he was rather attractive when he smiled... even with a chunk of hair missing on his forehead. With a wink, she passed the lock to his waiting hand and yanked the door open, wincing as the hinges screeched their protest.

Despite her noisy entrance, not a single eye turned her direction. All were intent on the angry speaker who held the floor—Laethan, Stone Clan’s healer. It was no wonder the council listened in shock, for though he was known for being perpetually grumpy, he seldom lost his temper. But now he spoke in animated fury, his hands flailing as he spat out his words. Frozen in place, Arista felt an overwhelming sense of despair. Something terrible has happened.

“And did I not say Alora needed to be here, under my care, after enduring torture by her father’s hand? Did I not tell you some injuries cannot be detected by the eye? And yet you insisted, against my advice, she would receive better care in the hands of the healer in the other realm?”

Laethan fell silent, as did everyone else in the room. No one seemed to breathe. Arista could hear the thump of her heart.

“You were right,” said Graely, the Stone Clan leader, in a voice as small as a child’s.

Arista couldn’t help herself. “Is she dead? Are Kaevin and Alora dead?”

Seven pairs of eyes turned her direction.

“No child, Alora and Kaevin are not dead.” Laethan gave a sideways glance to Graely and added, “Not yet.”

“But what happened?” she asked.

Graely stood, addressing her with his customary air of command. “Why have you come, Arista?”

“And how did you get past my guard?” Morvaen took up his usual pacing, clomping across the room on massive legs whose muscles struggled to burst through his leather pants.

Laethan dropped bonelessly into a chair.

Remembering her agenda, Arista delivered her rehearsed speech with exuberance. “I’m here to inform you that Alleraen cannot come and speak with the council. For he alone is guarding the portal, which appeared in my sleeping room this morning.” She paused for dramatic effect. The incredulous gasps were music to he