Sometimes, the best way to help is to stay out of the way.
There wasn’t much Wendell could do, other than survive a beating. But retreating into the Great Hall felt like…hiding. Running away from his responsibilities.
Stop it, he told himself. If you stay outside, Dax and Alhannah have to worry about you. This is the wise move. It’s the right thing to do. But it didn’t feel that way.
The room was in near chaos. Soldiers directed the women, who bustled about, corralling children through the doorway. Servants rearranged tables in isles and pushed benches together to create smaller makeshift beds. Cloth was being torn into strips for bandages, metal tools for the surgeon organized.
In a corner, Altorin hovered over Chuck, holding up two fingers.
“Don’t mess with me,” the wizard scolded.
Gaidred was pouring over a diagrahm at the main table.
“Problem?” Wendell asked quietly.
The Elder shook his head, tracing what looked to be a long tunnel stretching out from the Keep. “When you and the freemen showed up, I was hopeful there was more than one tunnel…to smuggle the children out.”
Wendell stared at the map, “And?”
“And nothing. If there is a tunnel, it’s hidden, or on a map that hasn’t been stored here.”
Help me.
The voice was so clear, it sounded like a whisper in Wendell’s ear. It made him jump back from the table, it started him so badly.
“Are you alright?” asked Gaidred.
“F-fine,” replied Wendell, but his gaze went to the wizard—still arguing with Altorin.
“I’ll give you the finger if you don’t stop teasing me. I said THREE!”
The last of the children were crying and clinging to any adult paying attention to them. Wendell wondered how many of them were alone. How many of these little, innocent children were now orphans? In the doorway, a woman knelt and consoled a little boy, wrapping her arms around the weeping child, holding him close.
It was Miriam.
Wendell stepped away from the table and was about to call out, when a small hand slipped between his fingers.
Livi looked up at him and smiled. She had on a clean, brown dress and a scarf wrapped around her head. She slipped past his hand and threw her arms around his waist.
Gaidred grinned and joined a frustrated Altorin.
Wendell knelt down in front of the little girl. There was so much he wanted to express, to share with her, apologize for. But it didn’t make complete sense in his own mind. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tight.
“I wanted to,” was all he could get out. “…I didn’t know how.”
“I know,” she whispered in his ear.
Wendell closed his eyes and hugged her back.
When he stood upright, Miriam was staring at them both. There wasn’t a sign of anger, but the light was missing from the woman’s eyes. She said nothing. Finally, she took the hand of the little boy and led him away.
“She’s never going to forgive me,” he whispered.
“Yes she will,” Livi whispered back. Then a little louder, “Evan will punch you, though. He’s asking for you.”
The three mägo seemed completely engaged in the argument of Altorin’s finger illusion, so Wendell nudged the girl in the shoulder. “Take me to him.”
Fingers gripped tightly in her small hand, Wendell was guided through a small maze of hallways. Servants bustled about, gathering cloth, candles and strips of wood for splints. Til-Thorin’s physician stumbled past them, arms filled with vials and jars covered in cloth.
The chapel was located near the heart of the Keep. Two ornate doors, attached by black iron we propped open. It looked as if the long, narrow chamber was once a bright and beautiful place to visit, even worship in. The archways where glass once beckoned the daylight, however, were now covered by stone—the result of additions being built. Only a single stained glass window remained as a centerpiece to the renovated chamber. Hundreds of candles glowed, affixed in the colored residue of wax, which had built up over time. Cushioned benches were used as beds. The sound of crying children and sobbing women echoed in the domed chapel and down the corridors.
Evan was propped up against one of the walls at the front of the chapel. A life-like statue of a man in armor, holding a spear, hovering over him. The blacksmith’s war hammer was propped up and leaning against his wounded leg. Livi pulled Wendell across the floor and through the maze of children until they stood over the stretcher.
“I brought him,” she said to her brother.
Evan was still pale. His hair was matted against his forehead and he looked utterly worn from exertion. His face was beaded with sweat, and he huddled under a dingy-looking wool blanket, shaking. Evan blinked several times before he spoke, as if trying to stay awake.
“Thank you, Livi,” he said softly. “Can I talk to Wendell alone?”
She nodded and let go of Wendell’s fingers. Miriam was in the far corner, kneeling and telling a group of children a story. Livi wandered over and sat down next to her mother. She glanced back at Wendell and gave him an encouraging smile.
“I was wrong about you,” Evan coughed. He gripped the blanket tightly against his chest until the fit stopped. Wendell noticed the blacksmith’s shoulders were bare. “You could have left at any time,” he continued with a slight gasp, “but you didn’t.” He searched Wendell’s face, but the young hero wouldn’t make eye contact. It made Evan smile. “You could have let me…and all of us die in that storm.”
Lifting the black T-shirt from the other side of his stretcher, Evan handed it back to Wendell. “But you saved us.”
Wendell unfolded the T-shirt. His fingers rubbed the soft fabric until he found the beginning of the yellow smiley face. “But I didn’t save Hiram,” he cringed. It was painful to say. Even more so to hear out loud.
“Didn’t,…or couldn’t?”
Wendell finally looked at Evan.
Tears welled up in the blacksmith’s eyes, but his face was peaceful. Resolved. “I love my little brother.” The hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, then vanished, “But I know why he died.” A trembling hand reached out and gripped Wendell’s forearm. Strong fingers pulled him closer. Evan’s jaw was clenched tight, his face fighting to control his emotions.
“He died trying to save our sisters life,” he said through clenched teeth. “He gave his life, in exchange for hers!”
Wendell couldn’t help but look away, but he regretted it. Miriam stared at him coldly from across the chamber—children tugging at her apron, asking her questions. She ignored them, sitting there, like a statue, just…staring.
“My mother has certain beliefs that I don’t share, Wendell. I never wanted to admit that, but I do. She knew you possessed magic and expected it to save Hiram.” He paused and followed Wendell’s gaze to his mother. “But where I was wrong to shun and rebuke you for what abilities you may have, I never expected you to be anything more than a man.”
He gripped Wendell’s forearm hard enough to grab his attention. “I believe in people working together, in community…” he looked up at the stained glass window in the center of the wall above them, “like Lord Thorin of old.”
Wendell followed Evan’s gaze…and gasped.
The sounds in the chapel dulled. A little boy skipped past him, unnoticed. Evan kept talking, but all Wendell could see were the colors and shapes in the glass.
The stained glass window from his dreams.
What’s a window doing in a cellar? It wasn’t in the cellar. Images flashed through his mind: the halls, just like the corridors leading to this room. They were much lighter, but they could match. The grain, a pile of someone’s forgotten laundry…all of which could be used by these children. Then it hit him.
Until such time, protect the seals and seek Ithari’s children. Keep them safe or they will be used against you.
Children. All these children, he thought, have to be protected, or the Vallen will use them against us! It wasn’t the shards at all!! It all made sense. He knew where the seal was and he had to get it before the enemy did. Every hint, every act had lead to this very moment…this very place.
P.S. …had any dreams lately?
Snatching the war hammer next to him, Wendell threw it…into the stained glass window.
The sound was deafening. Not from the glass shattering and spraying shards across the chapel floor, but from the screams of the children.
Tiny arms covered their heads as they scattered. Mothers and servants tried desperately to control the explosive fear.
Lili, assigned to bring the children food from the kitchen, walked into the chapel just in time to see Wendell tackled to the ground.
