Aelindra Silverleaf's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Aelindra Silverleaf buried her parents at dawn and took the throne by noon. The crown sat too heavy on her head. Ash from the funeral pyres still smudged her cuffs when the war council brought the map. A scout pointed to a black smear crawling south from the mountains. Six border villages gone in a week. No banners. No demands. No name for the thing killing her people. "Whoever leads them wants something more than land," the scout said. "The raids follow a pattern. They're looking for something buried." Aelindra thought of the vaults under the neighboring kingdoms. Old relics. Old weapons. Her parents had died refusing to name what the elves kept hidden. She stood up from the council table. "I need to know who he is before he reaches the next border," she said. "I'm riding to the seer." The hut sat deep in the forest, its roof grown thick with moss, antlers nailed above the door. The druid inside did not look up when Aelindra ducked through. She only pushed a staff of dark yew across the floor toward her boots. "Take it," the druid said. "You'll need a hand free for the truth." Aelindra gripped the staff. The wood was warm. "Tell me his name." The druid dropped bones on the floorboards and stared a long time. Then she went pale. "He wears your father's face." Aelindra's throat closed. "My father is dead." "His brother is not." The druid gathered the bones back into her palm. "Your uncle rides at the head of that army. He was exiled before you were born. Your parents never spoke his name because they hoped he had died in the north. He didn't. He knows every door in this castle. He knows where the vaults are. He knows the words to open them." Aelindra rode back through the night. She did not stop until the white towers of the elven castle rose above the trees. Ser Elena Valorheart met her at the gate, sword already drawn from habit, silver braid dusted with frost from the watch. The captain had trained Aelindra since she was six. She read Aelindra's face in one look. "Who?" Elena said. "Family." Elena did not flinch. "Then we send word to every kingdom tonight. Before he does." A rider had already come. Andor Silvermoon waited in the hall, road-stained, his white cloak still clasped at the throat. He crossed to Aelindra before she could speak. "He's at my father's gates," Andor said. "He's asking for parley. He's using your family name." Aelindra set the yew staff against the throne. A great gray wolf padded in behind Andor and lay at her feet, silver markings bright along its flank. Her mother's guardian. Hers now. "Ride back," she told Andor. "Tell your father to bar the gates. Tell him the man at the wall is my uncle, and he wants what's under the floor." The wolf lifted its head. Aelindra picked up the staff.