The novel Eolyn focuses on this struggle, and while a full resolution of the conflict is not achieved by the end of the first book, a sort of uneasy truce is established between Eolyn and the Mage King.
In this scene, taken from Chapter 1 of High Maga, Akmael and Eolyn meet after some three years of having gone their separate ways. Akmael has now consolidated his power as king, and Eolyn has established her own Aekelahr, with students and followers of the tradition of Aithne, in the highlands of Moehn.
There is, needless to say, a lot of water under the bridge here. Old passions, desires, and resentments are bound to flare. But beneath it all, the thread of mutual respect runs strong, and the pain of disappointed love lingers. Without further ado, here is everyone's favorite maga, and the Mage King whose heart she might still command:
~*~
High Maga, excerpt from Chapter 1
There was a knock at the door, followed
by Sir Drostan’s muffled baritone. Akmael bade the knight to enter, and kept
his gaze steady upon Eolyn as Drostan crossed the room and laid a long package
wrapped in well-oiled leather on the table. The knight paused and cleared his
throat, looking from High Maga to Mage King as if to say something, but then he
merely bowed and took his leave.
Akmael removed the leather wrapping,
unsheathed the sword therein and set it before Eolyn. The hilt was inlaid with
ivory, the blade shone silver-white. Her throat went dry when she recognized
it.
“This? Where did you get this?” she
asked.
“I have had it since the Battle of
Aerunden.”
Eolyn sat down, so great was her shock.
“Kel’Barú. My brother’s sword. All this time you have had it?”
“I wanted to keep it,” he confessed. “It
is a fine weapon, and you seemed to have little use for tools of war. But the
Galian wizards gave this sword a will of its own, and it has done nothing these
past years but weep for you.”
She stood and lifted the sword, one hand
sustaining the ivory hilt, the flat of the blade resting on her long fingers.
Eolyn,
it sang in the quiet
hum of metals. Eolyn, Eolyn, Eolyn.
“I want you to learn how to use it,”
Akmael said.
At once she set it down. “No.”
“I will not argue this with you.”
“Stop it!” Every fiber of her body
ignited with anger. “Stop it, Akmael. Why are you doing this?”
A moment passed before she realized her
transgression. She lowered her eyes. “Forgive me, my Lord King. I didn’t intend—”
“Do not apologize. It pleases me, to
hear you say my name. I would have you say it more often.”
There was such unexpected kindness to
his tone that the rage slipped through her fingers. She managed a hesitant
smile. “Thank you. I mean no insult by questioning your gift, but you know my
feelings on this matter. We have no use for knights and walls and swords. This
is an Aekelahr, not a military
outpost.”
“This is a fragile community of magas
cultivating seeds of great power. You are not to go unprotected.”
“Moehn is a peaceful province. That is
why I chose it. We are well received here. No one wishes us harm.”
“It is not Moehn I worry about.”
“Who, then? There won’t be any armies
emerging from the South Woods, and no one can get through the Pass of Aerunden
without crossing the kingdom and defeating you first.”
Akmael let go a slow breath. The turmoil
that stirred behind his dark eyes disturbed her; as if there were something of
importance he could not bring himself to reveal. He picked up Kel’Baru and proffered
it to her.
Eolyn shook her head, hands clenched
stubbornly at her sides. “We tried this, a long time ago. You know I have no
gift for weaponry.”
“You are not the frightened girl you were
then. You have strength, balance and speed. And you have a sword that loves
you. Borten can teach you how to use it.”
“I’ve seen how your men fight. I could
never hope to—”
“No, you could not!” He struck his fist
against the table and gestured angrily toward the courtyard where his guards
waited. “One of those men—trained from the time they were children—one of them
could kill you in a heartbeat. But with this blade in your hand, it might take
them two heartbeats. Or three. Or fifteen. And that might be enough for someone
to come to your aid before it is too late.”
“I am not without defenses. I have my
magic and my staff. I can invoke almost every manner of flame known to our
people. I have even cast the curse of Ahmad-kupt, though I hope never to use it
again.”
“Your magic will not be enough.”
“For what?”
He glanced away, set his jaw. “I want
you to have every tool at your disposal, for whatever may come.”
~*~
Come back next week to meet the antagonists of HIGH MAGA:
Rishona, Mechnes, and the Naether Demons
