Childe Rowland to the Dark Tower Came

This is all a send up to the Childe Rowland fairy tale as opposed to the Browning poem. Maybe read the fairy tale first for context.

* * * * *

When Rowland was twelve, a year older than his sister, but two and three years younger than his brothers, his sister Ellen ran around the church widdershins and vanished into Faerie.

The boys didn't know that, at first. All they knew was that they'd been playing a game of kick-the-ball, and they'd kicked it too far, beyond the back of the abandoned old church just outside the village, and that Ellen had said she'd retrieve it. They waited for her to return-- they hadn't kicked the ball that far, had they? Just around the corner, surely.

But Ellen never came back.

After what felt like ages, but was likely only a dozen long minutes, the boys went around the back as a group. They went widdershins as Ellen had, though they didn't notice at the time, and they found no sign of Ellen or their ball. Then they fanned out, calling for her. Maybe she'd wandered past the copse of trees into the creek nearby. Maybe she'd gone farther on into the woods. Maybe she was inside the church, even though it was boarded up and probably full of spiders, and even though their parents had forbidden them from going in.

"Rowland," said his brothers. "You go into the church. You're the only one small enough to sneak in through the broken board there."

And so while the other two went searching the creek, Rowland did as he was told and broke into the abandoned church.

The board over the window came off easily; it was nearly rotten through, and the nails had rusted to almost nothing. Inside, the church was dark. Far darker, Rowland thought, than it had any right to be. He could see the sunlight through the gaps between the boards, but though it ought to have made the room lighter, the darkness remained heavy and still. He crept around carefully; there were broken pews, tables toppled over, rotting wood and shattered glass, and places that felt as though they'd been burned by a fire. Seeing them, Rowland felt a chill along his back.

But there was no sign of Ellen.

He left, coming out the same way he'd come in. He tumbled from the window onto the grass and had the sudden, piercing sensation that someone was watching him. When he got up, though, there was no one nearby. Rowland brushed the feeling off and caught up to his brothers.

The three continued their search, but as the sun sank lower and lower, Ellen wasn't to be found.

"We need to tell Father," said Agnar, the eldest of the three. He was taller than the other two, still young enough to be built more like a boy than a man, but starting to go broad around the shoulders, hinting to the kind of man he would become. His hair, which was as yellow as Ellen's and would have been just as pretty if he ever let it grow out, was cropped short. Of the three, he was the only one who carried a real sword.

"Are you sure?" said Lothar, the second eldest. He was built along the same lines as his older brother and would also grow into a proper warrior one day. Since he wasn't permitted to carry a real sword around outside of the training grounds, he opted instead to keep a knife at his belt. "She might still be out here, we don't know."

"Maybe she's already at home," said Rowland. Unlike his brothers, he was small and slim, with dark hair and eyes. Unlike the others, he had no weapon. "Maybe she did get lost, but found her way back already."

Agnar thought for a moment, then started for the path back to the village, decision made. Rowland and Lothar followed after.

* * * * *

The village was small, small enough to only be called Hamlet on any map that bothered to show it, and it was built right up against the woods, which was useful for getting timber and herbs and less useful for raising livestock. It was on the deeper side of afternoon when the boys arrived back, and with each neighbor they saw, they asked have you seen our sister come by? but the answer was always no, and the boys moved on, growing more worried with every step.

Their house was in the center of town, opening out onto the square. Theirs was the largest house-- though that wasn't saying much in a village so modest-- and out front was an area with tables and chairs set up for the upcoming holiday. The boys could see the hulking figure of their father out there now, helping the boys' uncles and some of the neighbors set up more seating.

When he saw them, their father set down the bench he'd been carrying and waved them over.

Their father was the headman, and looking at him it was clear where Agnar and Lothar got their looks. Both boys looked like younger copies of their father, with hardly anything of their mother at all in them save for the lightness of her eyes. His expression went from cheerful to confused as they approached, and he looked beyond them for a moment.

"Where's your sister?" Father said.

Rowland and Lothar stopped walking, letting Agnar step forward and do the talking. Haltingly, he told the story: they'd been playing by the church, and Ellen vanished looking for their ball.

The neighbors who had been helping set up stopped to listen, and by the end the word had spread, until it seemed as though almost everyone they knew was in the square, spreading the news that the headman's daughter had gone missing. Their father asked them questions-- did they check inside the church? Did any of the neighbors see Ellen sneak home? Had anyone--

Then the front door to the house opened, and their mother stepped into the frame.

Rowland's mother was a small woman, frailer now than she'd been in her youth. Her yellow hair was limp and tired, much as the rest of her was. She was wrapped in a heavy blanket despite the warm weather, and when she tried to speak, she was at first interrupted by a coughing fit. The boys' father went to her, but she waved him aside and said, "She's been taken, and you need to talk to Wizard."

A murmur passed through the crowd at this. Taken? Taken by who?

"Wizard's already on his way," said Uncle Aelrich. "I sent a runner for him."

And while everyone else was still talking anxiously about organizing search parties and getting the hounds, Rowland find himself relaxing a tick.

Wizard was, as the name suggested, the resident magus. He was supposed to be wise, though Rowland usually only saw him drunk, but what made him special and made his father proud to have him was that Wizard could see the future.

Sometimes.

If the weather was right, and if he was just the right amount of drunk, and if he'd been paid enough that month. But if the conditions were met, Rowland had no doubt that Wizard would be able to tell them where Ellen had gone. He might even be able to conjure her home, if he was feeling magical enough.

Rowland left his brothers and father and went to stand beside his mother, who had not left the safety of the door frame.

"It's okay, Mama," he said, sliding under her arm. "They'll find Ellen."

"I know, sweetheart," she said, holding him. "You boys didn't go into the church, did you?"

"We called for her outside of the church," said Rowland, knowing full well his mother would have a fit if they had gone inside. It technically wasn't a lie; they had called for her outside of the church, too.

"Good, good. Bring me a chair, will you dear?" Her voice was growing faint. "I'm feeling poorly just now."

Rowland ran into the house to fetch a chair, and by the time he had helped his mother settle down, then get her another blanket, Wizard had arrived.

Wizard wasn't old, which Rowland was always a little disappointed by; it seemed to him that wizards should have long white beards and arcane looking robes. Their Wizard was satisfactory in the robes department, but was younger than Rowland's parents, and his beard was short and scruffy like the rest of him. He carried a knapsack slung across his back, no doubt full of wizardly things.

"Wizard," said Father.

"Odalric," said Wizard. "What's this about your daughter?"

Rowland stood aside as Father led Wizard, his brothers, and a few trusted neighbors into the house, explaining what the boys had told him. Agnar and Lothar filled in the gaps. While they spoke, Wizard unpacked his bag at the table, producing an array of aromatic herbs and colored candles and, finally, a large crystal ball.

"Mama says she was taken," Rowland chirped up at one point.

His father gave him an annoyed look, but Wizard nodded and said, "You're sure about that, Dagmar?"

Mama nodded, looking as pale and sick as Rowland had ever seen her.

"Alright, I need everyone out of the room. I have to concentrate."

Odalric nodded and led everyone into the main hall. There they waited for several long minutes until Wizard poked his head out.

"Odalric, I need you, Dagmar, and your eldest."

They went in, leaving everyone to gossip in the hall of what possibly could be going on. Rowland tried to listen at the door, but his uncles Aelric and Farvald barred the way, preventing anyone from eavesdropping. Glowering, Rowland sidled up to Lothar, and the two of them waited anxiously as close to the door as their uncles would permit. At one point, there were raised voices beyond the door, and Rowland didn't need to eavesdrop to know that Mama and Father were arguing, but then the voices quieted down again.

It wasn't for some time that the doors opened up, and his father stepped out. All the noise in the hall quieted as his father returned.

Odalric took in a deep breath and said, "It is as my wife said. My daughter has been stolen."

There were gasps around the room, and a low rumble of conversation, but Rowland's father raised a hand, and silence fell once more.

"She has been stolen away to the dark tower owned by a king of Faerie."

More murmurs greeted this statement. A faerie? Here? Everyone in the valley seemed to have some cousin's friend's sister's nephew who swore up and down they met a faerie on the road, or were chased by a spectral hound, but nobody had really dealt with them here.

"My eldest son, Agnar, well search for her. He has received a prophecy from our magus, and he will be traveling to Faerie in the morning."

There was a great burst of conversation after that, with everyone in the hall having questions for Odalric and Wizard. Agnar managed to worm his way from the brunt of it and came to where Lothar and Rowland were standing.

"Faerie? Really?" said Lothar.

"Really, really," Agnar said.

"What did Wizard say to you?" Rowland said.

Agnar smiled at him weakly. "If I'm not back in three days, one of you two will need to go in and rescue me and Ellen both."

"You're coming back," Lothar said firmly. "And you're bringing Ellen with you."

"You don't get any help at all?" Rowland said, worry gnawing at his belly. "That's not fair. Why not send everyone with you?"

"Because Faerie won't let him," Wizard said, suddenly behind them. "If he tries with a whole army at his back, the land will simply not open for him. They'd all be wandering around in our woods, and none of you would ever see your sister again. Come on, Agnar. Your father wants a word."

Agnar gave one last reassuring look at his brothers, then followed Wizard back into the crowd, leaving Rowland and Lothar behind.

* * * * *

That night, Agnar stayed up late with Odalric, the uncles, and Wizard, all planning the specifics of his journey into Faerie. He couldn't bring armor, because the iron in it would cause the land to reject him. He couldn't bring help for the same reason.

The best he could do was bring his sword-- for some reason, Faerie didn't mind swords as much as armor, even if the sword in question was steel or iron. Rowland wondered bitterly if this was Faerie's way of giving people a fighting chance.

The next morning, everyone in the village gathered to see Agnar off. He left on foot-- another rule Wizard insisted upon-- and went down the path from the village, and traveled on and on until he was out of sight.

* * * * *

For the next three days, Rowland and Lothar would go back to the church and wait. Sometimes they thought Agnar and Ellen would come walking through the woods, and they waited in that direction. Sometimes they thought they might come down the road, and waited there. And sometimes they thought the pair might appear out of nothing, in which case they meandered around the area, throwing rocks at the church, or into the creek.

But three days and three nights passed, and Agnar did not return.

On the fourth morning, Wizard returned to speak with Rowland's father. The two met in Odalric's office, and after an hour, Lothar was called in to join them.

Outside the door, seated on a low couch and bundled in blankets, Rowland and his mother waited for news.

"I can help too," Rowland said. "I can go with him."

"No!" she said, with more energy than she had shown for the last several days. She clutched him tighter. "You will not go to Faerie."

Rowland wanted to argue, but the door opened, and his father, Wizard, and Lothar filed out.

"Well?" his mother said. She released Rowland and sat up straighter.

"Lothar is to go tomorrow at dawn," Odalric said.

Rowland's mother sobbed and held her arms out to Lothar, who bent forward and returned the embrace.

"It's okay, Ma," he said. "I'll bring them home."

When their mother could finally bear to let Lothar go, Odalric ushered the boys out of the room so the adults could speak. Once they were alone, Rowland latched onto his brother, hugging him hard enough to make the older boy gasp.

"Take me with you," Rowland said, his voice cracking.

Lothar laughed, but it sounded hollow to Rowland's ears, and he hugged his brother back. "I can't take you," Lothar said. "Mama would kill me. Besides, you need to stay here. Mama needs you. And Wizard said that if I'm not back in three days, you're going to have to go in and rescue me."

"It's like he's running down the list!" Rowland snapped, anger flaring in his chest. He squeezed his bother harder, refusing to let go. "If I go and fail, he'll be out of brothers and will start sending cousins."

"It won't come to that," Lothar said. "I'll bring them home. You'll see."

Rowland nodded, but said nothing.

* * * * *

The next day the village saw Lothar off, just as they had done for Agnar before. Odalric gave Lothar his second best sword-- the first-best had gone with Agnar-- and wished him luck, and Dagmar wept and gave him tearful kisses.

As before, Rowland watched his brother go off, refusing to leave until he was a distant speck on the road, then gone entirely.

For the next three days, though he wanted to go wait for his siblings by the church, his parents refused to let him leave the house. There was no use trying to convince Dagmar to let him go; she was adamant that he not leave her sight, and Rowland suspected that if she had her way, he wouldn't be permitted to go out of arm's reach. Rowland thought Odalric might be more reasonable, but when Rowland asked his permission, he too forbade him from going down to the church.

"Losing you would kill your mother," his father said. "And she'd kill me first for letting you go. Stay here, and you'll see Lothar and the others when they come home."

But the third day came and went, and there was no sign of the siblings.

On the fourth day after Lothar had gone, Wizard was called back to the house, and this time both Rowland's father and mother met with him. Rowland stood at the door and tried to eavesdrop, but though he could hear voices and the occasional shouting, he could not make out what they were saying. When the door finally opened, Wizard rushed out, red-faced and flustered. He gave Rowland a quick, inscrutable look, then left the house without a word.

"What happened?" Rowland asked his father. "Am I going to Faerie?"

"No," Odalric said. His voice was clipped, holding back some emotion, but Rowland wasn't sure of what.

"But--"

"But nothing," Odalric snapped, anger coloring his voice. "I will lose no more of my children to Faerie."

Rowland's mother came through the doorway and embraced his father from behind, and it was as though all the fight fled from him at once. He sagged and closed his eyes, and when he spoke next, his voice was that of a dead man; old, tired, hollow. "Rowland, go to your room."

And though he wanted to argue, his mother began to weep, and his father turned to console her, and he knew that it was not the time. Rowland retreated to his room.

* * * * *

The village was in mourning. Word had spread: Faerie had stolen three of their headman's children and won. No fourth would be sent, regardless of what their wizard said.

Sadness rested heavily on the house, pressing like a weight. Bouquets of white flowers were brought to Rowland's house by weepy-eyed neighbors. Rowland's mother was surrounded at all times by a cluster of women offering her aid and comfort. Odalric retreated into himself, stony faced and quiet, and accepted condolences with few words. Whenever Rowland looked at him, it seemed as though his thoughts were far away, and when he caught his father's eye, Odalric seemed to look beyond him. Rowland couldn't help but feel his father must have been disappointed to have only him left when Agnar and Lothar had been his his boys as much as Rowland's was his mother's.

Whenever Rowland tried to bring up the idea of him leaving, the adults around him would immediately shut him down. His uncles told him not to upset his mother. His mother would weep, and the ladies around her would shush him and usher him from the room. Odalric would only sigh and look through him, not seeing him at all.

* * * * *

On the third day after his parents had accepted that Lothar was not coming home, when the house was quiet with grief and his parents were distracted by company, Rowland snuck out of the house and headed for Wizard's place.

Wizard's house was the last one on the road, closer to the woods than to the square. The house wasn't much to speak of-- more like a small cottage than anything, but the garden was enormous, surrounding the entire hill around it. Parts of it were in near rows and garden boxes, other parts seemed wild and overgrown, and all parts had a myriad of strange plants and flowers that Rowland had never seen anywhere else.

He made his way up the winding path to the porch, and before he had the chance to knock, the door opened.

"You're late," Wizard said. There was, Rowland noticed, a bottle in his hands. "I figured you'd be here yesterday. Means I had to wait an extra long time to tell you 'no.'"

Then he closed the door in Rowland's face.

Rowland tried to push the door open and found it locked. He started banging on it. "You don't even know what I'm going to ask!" he said.

The door opened again to Wizard's glowering face. Wizard pointed at his own head and said, "Wizz. Zard. I know what you're going to ask. You're going to ask if you can go after your brothers. And I have been informed, in no uncertain terms, that the answer is no. Your parents will throw a fit if they find out I've helped you."

He shut the door again.

"I'm going to go," Rowland said. "Whether you help me or not."

Wizard didn't respond, but the door creaked open. Taking that as invitation enough, Rowland went inside.

Despite the humble outside, the inside of Wizard's cottage was spacious. Rowland found himself inside an airy kitchen with surprisingly large windows-- windows that were not visible on the outside of the house, and that did not look out into Wizard's garden, but out to a field of wildflowers. In the center of the room was a round table with a familiar crystal ball cushioned in the center. Wizard sat at the table, looking miserable.

"What did you tell my brothers?"

"Bad advice, probably," said Wizard. "They didn't come back, did they?"

"I need to know if I'm going to save them."

Wizard took a swig from his bottle. "Great," he said when at last he needed to draw breath. "Another dead kid on my conscience. Just what I need."

"Tell me!"

Wizard glanced at him mournfully. "I told them the basics of Faerie, plus a bit of prophecy for each of them. Fat lotta good it did them."

"What do I need to know?"

"You need to know that it's a bad idea," Wizard snapped. "I should send you back to your parents. I should tell Odalric you're here."

Rowland rounded the table and slapped both hands down on its surface. "I told you. Check your orb. I'm going after them, whether you help me or not. Go ahead, scan the future and see if I don't."

Wizard glared at him, but something in his face told Rowland he was breaking. "That's not how it works."

"I'm going," Rowland said again. "Tell me what I need to know and give me the best chance of coming back."

Rowland could almost see the battle waging behind Wizard's eyes, but at last the man sighed. "Fine, fine. I'll give you what I gave them and hope it works better this time. Sit down." He gestured to the seat at the table, and Rowland did.

"Now, you're a local of the vale, so I'm sure you already know the basics, but let's go over it again to be sure. Fairies, Folk, Fair Folk, Fey-- all names for the creatures that live there, all of them terrible trouble. Even the nice ones are like as not to accidentally curse you into a squirrel or something and think they're doing you a favor. Some of them look like people, which means it's easy to forget they aren't. Don't thank them; they take it as an invitation and will think you owe them-- which they take very seriously. Iron's the best thing for killing them, though silver will work in a pinch. And they can't lie, but that doesn't mean you should believe anything the say, because they can twist words into knots and make 'em sit up and beg like dogs. Got it?"

Rowland nodded. He knew this already.

"Right. Now one thing to remember is that you cannot eat anything in Faerie. Eating anything there will cause a whole mess of problems. Half of it is liable to enchant you, and the other half will wind up locking you into debt somehow, and either way, you won't be able to return. You got that? No eating or drinking."

Rowland nodded, and Wizard thwacked the table with his fist. "I mean it, no eating!"

"No eating, alright, I heard!" said Rowland. "I won't eat anything while I'm in Faerie, whether it's free or not."

"Good," Wizard said. Then he sighed and placed a hand on the crystal ball. "Guess all that's left of it is a prophecy."

Rowland sat up a little straighter. He'd only ever seen the public prophecies Wizard gave on holidays. He'd never had a personal prophecy before.

Wizard's eyes burned gold, and the orb lit up with them, casting first a faint yellow light, then a brilliant clear light. Rowland squinted in the glare, finding himself unable to look at the crystal ball directly. He caught some movement; Wizard making gestures with his hands, and he heard whispering that he was certain did not come from Wizard.

Then the light dimmed. Wizard's eyes cleared, and when they were back to their usual brown, he stared first at Rowland, then at the orb.

"Are you kidding?" he said. He picked up the orb and thunked it lightly on the table. "This thing must be on the fritz."

"What? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is everything. All of it. All of the wrong." Wizard picked the orb back up and peered deeply into it.

"I don't understand," Rowland said. "Did it not give me a prophecy? I saw your eyes--"

"No, the problem is the prophecy it gave you. You have to--" he stopped and looked at the orb again, as though trying to get confirmation. Then, he made a frustrated noise and set it back down on the cushion. "You have to kill every person who speaks to you in Faerie, right up until you find Ellen."

It took Rowland a moment to process this information.

"What?" he said.

"You heard me. Every person who talks to you in Faerie until you find Ellen, you have to kill them. After you find her, presumably you can stop."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Rowland said.

"You got me, kid. Seems like a heavy load to put on a twelve year old--"

"No, I mean, I don't even have a sword!"

Wizard blinked. "Oh. Well. Good on you for getting over tricky moral quandaries. Your dad's got a sword. Your dad has many swords. Ask for one before you head out. Or steal it, if you're planning on sneaking."

"How do I get to Faerie?" Rowland said.

"The same as your brothers; go by the abandoned church, walk around it widdershins three times, and then follow the path away from the village. When you want to come home, follow the path back, go around the church clockwise, and return to town. And be careful," Wizard said.

Privately, Rowland wondered how careful he could be if he was supposed to kill everything he saw in Faerie, but he nodded all the same and said, "I will."

* * * * *

The next morning Rowland snuck out of the house with his father's third best sword. He made his way down to the church, fearing all the while that some well-meaning neighbor might see and stop him. The entire time, he felt the strange sensation that someone was watching him, but each time he turned to look, he saw no one.

Despite his fears, the walk was uneventful, and the sun was in the middle of rising when he made it to the church.

As per Wizard's instructions, he went around the church widdershins three times, his thoughts turning to Ellen as he did. It had been over a week and a half since she'd been taken. He hoped she wouldn't be upset that it took so long when he finally rescued her. Then he made his way down the road.

He had only gone a few paces when he stopped. He blinked. He would swear that he hadn't gone far at all, but the air felt different. It smelled fresher, tasted sweeter. The morning sunlight seemed brighter, the trees seemed more tree. Everything was more, and yet he couldn't for the life of him figure out how. He looked behind him and saw that the church was gone, though the off-shoot road leading to it was still there.

Oh, he thought. That was fast.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward into Faerie.

* * * * *

Rowland walked.

And walked.

And walked.

After some time, the trees on one side of the road thinned and broke away to a fenced pasture. In the pasture were large horses, some of the finest Rowland had seen, and when he went to the fence to get a closer look, a group of them trotted his way. Rowland jumped back from the fence, and just in time; the nearest horse lunged for him, and its teeth snapped the open air where Rowland had been a moment before. The other horses laughed with human-like-- but distinctly inhuman-- voices, and they watched him with orange-red eyes that glowed like burning coals.

When they saw his expression, the horses grinned. Their teeth, Rowland saw, were like fat daggers.

From then on, he gave wide berth to the fence and pasture.

After some time, he came across a horse herder. The elfman was on the other side of the fence and flanked by a few of his charges. Rowland's first impulse was to warn the man get back! They bite! but he stopped himself. Of course a fairy man wouldn't need to worry about fairy horses.

From a distance, the elfman didn't seem particularly monstrous; he just looked like a dark haired man taking care of his horses. Rowland watched as they nosed the man's pockets until he, laughing, revealed the carrots he'd hidden in them. Rowland hesitated before calling out. If he spoke to the man and intended to follow Wizard's order's, then it was tantamount to condemning the man to death.

But then, as if hearing the thought and making up his mind for him, the elfman turned his way, smiled, and called out, "Good morning! You going to keep staring, or are you going to say hello?"

Rowland came forward, heart sinking. Up close, the man seemed even less monstrous. True, his ears were pointed, and his eyes seemed pitch black, but that was where the differences ended. When Wizard had said to cut down anyone he spoke to in Faerie, Rowland had been imagining monsters and villains, not friendly peasants. At his approach, the fiery-eyed horses wuffed and backed away, trotting back down the pasture.

"Well," said the horseherd. His dark eyes flashed gold as they flicked over Rowland and rested on the iron sword. "You're a little young to be a knight."

"I'm looking for the king's tower," Rowland said.

The horse herd laughed. "King? There's no king around here. The king of Elfhame lives in the enormous hollowed hills and underground castles to the north. What you're looking for is the local lord's tower. King," he snickered. "Oh, he'd love to hear that. He's a sucker for flattery."

Rowland's heart sank further. Either the Wizard was wrong about Ellen being stolen by a king, or he was wrong about her being in a tower. "Can you tell me where the tower is?" he said.

The horseherd shook his head. "I won't tell you, but if you follow the road a ways, you'll come across someone who knows the way."

Rowland was about to thank the man, but remembered Wizard's words cautioning against that, and nodded instead. "Right. I'll do that."

At his side, the sword seemed to grow heavier. He rested his hand on the hilt.

The horse-herd saw, and his smile only deepened. "I bet he told you to kill anyone you spoke to, didn't he? That's what your prophecy said."

His heart fluttered, but Rowland managed to keep composure and said, "Who?"

"You know who," he said, eyes flashing yellow again. "Tell me, why do you want to save them so badly? They'll be bones in a hundred years, dust in two hundred. Two stupid human boys who can't follow instructions and aren't good for anything now except maybe fertilizer, and an annoying brat who'll like as not grow into a trollop like her mother--"

The sword was out before Rowland knew what he was doing, and by the time he realized it, he was already mid-swing. Rowland had heard that it was actually difficult to remove someone's head with a sword. It was supposed to take more than one whack, for certain, even if the sword was especially sharp, and there was supposed to be blood-- an astounding amount, if Agnar was to be believed. But perhaps that was just with humans, because the elfman's head parted from his shoulders with startlingly little difficulty. There was no spurt of blood; instead, when Rowland caught sight of the neck-stump, he saw only darkness inside, as though the man had been hollow.

The elfman's body stood for several seconds before toppling onto the road. The head went rolling into the tall grass, out of sight.

Heart racing and hands shaking, Rowland waited for something to happen. For a sheriff to come out of the shrubs and charge him with murder, or for a mob of faerie folk to appear and seek their revenge. But the road was silent; even the horses didn't look perturbed.

Rowland wiped the blade off on his shirt; there was no blood, but it seemed the thing to do, and then put it back in its sheath. He moved on down the road.

* * * * *

Some time later, the nature of the pasture beside him changed. The grass became shorter, and the fence turned to a different style, with long horizontal beams connected to thick log-like poles. Beyond the fence, red cows grazed in the field.

He saw an elfman up ahead, leaning on the fence and watching the cows.

Rowland stared. The cowherd looked exactly like the horseherd from earlier, only in different attire and his head re-attached.

"What's the matter?" the cowherd said. He smiled when he spoke, the same slightly-smug smile as the horseherd had near the end.

"You look very much like someone I met on the road today," Rowland stammered.

The smile deepened, but the cowherd said only, "Did you need assistance? You look a little lost."

"I-- yes. I need to find the lord's tower. Do you know where it's at?"

"I won't tell you," said the cow herd. "But if you go down the road, you'll run into someone who knows the way."

"A-alright," Rowland said.

For a moment, they both stood there, Rowland feeling awkward and the cowherd looking interested.

"Well?" said the cowherd.

"Well what?"

"That sword there isn't just for decoration, is it?"

Rowland's grip tightened. "You want me to kill you?" he said.

The cowherd laughed. "I try not to die unless there's a good reason for it," he said. "But I want to see what kind of person you are. Are you the sort of person who follows instructions, no matter what, just because some old man in a starry robe tells you to? Or maybe it's not that you're blindly obedient, but you genuinely think murdering your way through Elfhame is the only way to save your siblings." He tilted his head, examining Rowland thoughtfully. "If you leave me behind, is it because you're wresting off your chains, or you've decided it's the morally correct thing to do, or is it because you don't care about your siblings after all? Or maybe you just like cowherds more than horseherds."

Rowland closed his eyes and swung the sword. He didn't feel it connect with the cowherd, but he heard the thump of the man's body falling to the road. When he opened his eyes, just as with the horseherd before, he found that he'd separated the man's head from his shoulders.

"So maybe you like killing people who ask tricky questions," said the head.

Rowland yelped and kicked it over the pasture fence. The cows were on it immediately, flocking to the head as though they intended to eat it. Rowland turned way in disgust and hurried down the road.

* * * * *

The next person he met was a woman. This was a relief; he was starting to fear that everyone in Faerie was the horseherd in some form. She was frail and old and wore a gray cloak, and at her feet were several normal-looking chickens that scratched at the dirt. Behind her, down a short path only a little ways away from the road, was small cottage.

Rowland regretted looking at her almost immediately. He tried to turn his focus back to the road, but it was too late; the old woman met his eyes and flashed him a smile.

"Hello, traveler," she said in a voice as creaky as the cottage behind her looked. "The day is hot and you look tired. Would you like some water?"

Rowland's heart sank.

"No tha-- uh. No, ma'am," he said, wondering if Wizard's prophecy had really meant everyone who spoke to him in Faerie. Maybe it knew the Horseherd would keep popping up and just meant him--

"You look like you're looking for something," said the henwife.

"I am," said Rowland. "The lord's dark tower. Do you know where it is?"

"Come inside," she said. "I have a map that may be of help." And before Rowland could respond, she turned around and went into the cottage.

Rowland stood there for a second, trying to decide what to do. If he listened to Wizard, then he had to follow her in order to kill her. If he left, he'd spare her life, but then he didn't know where the tower was. At his feet, a few of the hens had decided that the dirt beneath his shadow was more satisfying than the dirt elsewhere an started to peck around him.

Alright, he thought, following the henwife. I'll go see her map, find the tower, and then I'll leave. Surely the prophecy had just meant to keep killing the horseherd. He couldn't imagine how killing a kind old woman would help Ellen and his brothers.

The inside of the cottage was dark and cool, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust.

"Hello, dear," the henwife said. She was bustling around the small kitchen alcove to the right, checking cupboards and pulling out cooking supplies. "There's a pitcher on the table by you. Go ahead and pour yourself a drink."

Rowland didn't move, remembering Wizard's emphatic warning about accepting food or drink. "I thought you said you had a map?"

"I do," she said. She stops bustling for a moment and smiled at him. "Oh, it won't be any use to you, it's a map of a city far from here. You don't even need a map; the tower is just down the road."

"But why--?"

She grinned. "Well it helped me get you inside, didn't it?"

Then, she lurched, as though the bones inside her had suddenly made an effort to get out. Rowland watched in horror as the henwife grew, her skin stretching and straining and finally ripping apart, exposing the gory tissues and sinews beneath. From these torn areas, black, blood-soaked feathers began to sprout. She cackled madly, her voice becoming harsher and deeper as her throat changed with the rest of her.

He had seen images of harpies in a book stolen off Wizard once; they were bizarre mixtures of woman and eagle, with human head and torso and bird everything else. But the pictures he had seen had been beautiful-- monstrous, yes, but beautiful, the kind of creatures that would lure men to terrible fates. The henwife was hideous. The human part barely looked human at all, with mottled gray skin that was like overlapping slats of stone in some places, and tree bark in others, and a face too skeletal to be alive, with skin tightened drum-like over bone. Around her, the skin of the woman she had been hung in tatters, putting Rowland in the mind of a snake stuck mid-shed. The stink of the puss and rot filled his nostrils, and he saw that many of her wounds were weeping yellow.

While he stared, she lunged for him in a flurry of flapping wings and talons.

Rowland was knocked back. Talons raked across his shoulder and chest, and blindly he flailed. He kicked at the harpy, he tried to push her off, he tried to crawl out from under her. He kicked out hard, and the harpy screamed; something had snapped, though he didn't know what. She pulled away from him, still pinning him down, but no longer pressing down all over and freeing his arms. Rowland took the opportunity to draw his sword, and before the harpy could stop him, he stabbed her through the chest.

The stench was immediate and unbearable, as though he'd cut open a waterskin full of rot. The harpy collapsed in on herself, black gunk and yellow puss pouring out. Rowland resisted the urge to cry out-- he was deathly afraid of getting any of it in his mouth or eyes, and instead he whimpered and crawled out from beneath her, sword clutched in his hands.

Squinting, he made his way to the door.

Rowland staggered through the threshold and had enough time to stab the sword into the ground before collapsing to his knees, sobbing. He tried to wipe his face with any clean part of his shirt he could, still terrified of getting any of the harpy in his mouth. He gulped in the fresh air, desperate to breathe something that didn't taste like rot, and held onto the sword, partly leaning on it as though it were a walking stick.

"Glad to see you made it," said a familiar voice nearby.

Rowland forced himself to look up and he saw the elfman watching him. His clothes had changed again, and beside him were two goats.

"You're a goatherd now?" Rowland said, voice cracking a little.

"I am a man of many talents," said the elfman. Then, something in his demeanor changed, and his voice lost the humor in it. "I didn't expect you to meet the henwife," he said. "She wasn't supposed to be out today."

"She's dead now," Rowland said. He sniffed and wiped his eyes and began struggling to his feet, leaning on the sword for support. "I killed her."

"You did," said the elfman.

Rowland sniffed. "Will she stay dead? Or will she come back like you?"

"Going by how much of her blood you're wearing, I'm guessing she's actually dead." The smile returned, but now there was something of ice in it. "One way or another, she will not bother you again."

Rowland took a half-step back and readied his sword in case the man lunged for him.

"Oh relax," said the elfman. "Did she tell you the way to the tower?"

"Yes," said Rowland. "She said it's down the road."

"Good, good. Then I told you the truth after all. Everything works out nice, doesn't it?"

Rowland, still holding the sword ready, hesitated. There was no way he could close the distance between them unless the elfman let him, and after the very real danger of the henwife, it occurred to Rowland that the elfman was also likely more dangerous than he appeared to be. He no longer felt any guilt about killing the elfman-- clearly the man didn't mind either-- but he was unsure for how long the elfman would continue letting himself be decapitated before suddenly striking while Rowland was feeling cocky.

The elfman's eyes shone, changing from black to gleaming yellow. "Whatcha thinking about?" he called.

Rowland's face burned, but he didn't answer.

The elfman laughed. "Tell you what, meet me down the road and you can try killing me again there. Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky and it'll stick next time. Though I suggest you wash your face off in a pond or something first."

And with a small wave and an even smaller step backwards, he was gone, as though he had stepped into the empty air and vanished with the breeze. The two goats remained, mingling with the chickens and snuffling around the scraggly grass of the henwife's cottage.

Rowland slowly lowered the sword.

"What is he doing?” he said to a goat.

The goat stopped grazing and gave him a look. "Playing with you," said the goat, like he was surprised Rowland hadn't figured it out. "He's been near mad with boredom for the past -- what's it been?" he called to the other goat. "Ten years? Fifteen?"

"Something like that," said the other goat. He trotted up to his companion.

Rowland stared at them and slowly raised his sword again.

"Don't bother," said the first goat. "Your wizard told you to kill every person who spoke to you. We're just goats."

Rowland lowered the sword, relieved.

"Is the tower really just down the road?" he said.

"Yep," said the second goat. "Keep going on and eventually it'll duck into a valley. Tower's in the valley--"

"Which is a stupid place for it, I always thought," said the first goat. "You build a tower to be high up, right? So why not put it on the top of the hill?"

"I'm sure there's a reason," said the second dutifully.

"I-- alright," said Rowland. He almost thanked them for the information, but managed to stop himself in time.

The goats didn't appear to have heard him. "What possible reason could there be?" said the first goat. "Waste of materials! Now you gotta build the tower even higher up!"

"Some elves like underground," said the second. "Maybe he's got a big basement."

"If he wants an underground castle, then why bother with the tower at all? Or– hear me out, build it on the hill, and then you get the whole hill to be your basement. Extra basement!"

“I don’t know why you’re yelling at me like I built the stupid thing–”

Quietly, Rowland sheathed the sword and headed back for the road, leaving the goats to their arguing.

* * * * *

There was a pond just around the bend. Rowland stared at it a good long while, running his mind over every story he’d ever heard where magic waters were involved. He poked the surface with a stick, and the stick didn’t turn to stone. The pond was small, clear, and shallow enough to see the bottom, so there were no hidden creatures waiting to drown him. The plants around the pond looked lively enough, with butterflies and dragonflies flitting about, so it wasn’t poison.

In the end, he decided that washing his clothes, at least, would be alright, provided he didn’t drink any of the water.

He put the sword down and crept closer to the pond, intending to touch the water with his hand first, in case it had some nasty trick after all.

The second he got close, the water itself rose from the pool in a pillar, bent forward, and sucked him in. Rowland nearly screamed, then forced himself to keep his mouth closed. Water completely enveloped him, draining away from the shores of the pond and lifting him up in the air, helpless. He felt it try to press into his mouth like wet fingers, and he shook his head wildly and clawed the water around him.

The pressure against his face stopped immediately. He was spun around once, twice, and then spat back onto shore with little fuss. He landed in the grass, gasping for breath and scrambling to get away from the pond. When he was at a safe distance away, he looked back and saw the water completely still and picturesque, as it had been when he’d arrived.

His clothes, he realized, were entirely clean.

“This wasn’t a favor,” he said, just in case the pond needed to hear it. “I didn’t need you to do that, I didn’t ask, and I could have managed on my own. I don’t owe you anything.”

The pond didn’t react.

With a frustrated sigh, Rowland returned to the road.

* * * * *

Later that day-- a day that felt as though it would never end-- Rowland saw the tower peeking over the crest of the hill.

He wasn't impressed.

Nor was he impressed when he reached the top of the hill and the rest of the tower came into view. It was shorter than expected, and crooked in the middle and hunched like an old man with a bad back. The tower roof was shabby in places with cracks and spots where shingles had fallen off. Briefly, he wondered if this was the right tower after all; it didn't look like something an elven king or lord or whatever would live in.

But as he approached, parts of the tower flickered in and out of being. One step forward and the roof wasn't falling apart. Another step, and the dingy gray stone was polished black. Another, and suddenly the tower was twice the size it had been, with wide windows of patterned glass.

By the time he reached the base of the tower, there was no trace of the illusion left. Now the tower stood strong and proud, a dark blade piercing the sky. The stones it was comprised of varied in size, some as small as his wrist was wide, some as large as his entire torso. They were shiny-smooth, and when he touched them, he felt a strange humming inside his head and a strange warmth beneath his palm.

However, a quick trot around the place gave him the next difficulty: there was no door to get into the tower. Rowland circled around the tower twice to be sure, then again in the opposite direction in case it was another widdershins issue like the church. Still no door appeared.

“You made it!”

Rowland looked up and saw the elfman leaning against a tree nearby. The elfman gave a little wave.

"Took you long enough,” said the elfman.

“A pond tried to drown me,” Rowland said.

“If water wanted to drown you, you’d be drowned right now,” the elfman said. “Water’s good at that. Aren't you going to go inside?” He gestured to the tower.

"I can't. There's no door."

Rowland blinked, and the elfman was suddenly nearer. He was still out of range for a sword swing, but just barely. His eyes gleamed yellow, and when he spoke, there was an unmistakable eagerness in his voice. "Try anyways," he said. "I think you might be able to do it. Go on, try."

“Try how?” Rowland said.

“Put your hand on any stone big enough to fit it. Then push.”

Rowland scowled, not wanting to take advice from the elfman, but also not having much else to go on. Slowly, he placed his hand on one of the stones. Again, the humming filled his head and the warmth spread beneath his fingers.

“You feel it?” said the elfman.

“I feel something,” Rowland said.

“Good, that’s good. Now push it open. You want it to open, right? So push and want at the same time.”

Rowland did, thinking about how much he wanted the stupid tower to open so he could save his siblings and go home. He threw himself at the stone, half-expecting to meet nothing but solid resistance and for the elfman to laugh at him. Instead, the stone moved beneath his hand, sinking back into the tower. The stones around it followed suit, slowly at first, then all at once rushing away and vanishing into nothing. Rowland was left standing in a doorway-sized hole in the tower.

He turned back to the elfman in amazement.

"I did it!" he said. “Was that magic? Did I do magic?”

"You did!" said the elfman. And then, before Rowland could say anything or even think to draw his sword, he was gone. Blinked out of thin air.

Rowland cast one last uncertain look around, then entered the tower.

* * * * *

Sunlight filtered in through the open hole in the wall, lighting the dust in the air and giving the room a cloudy, dream-like feeling. The room he was in seemed more like a study than an entry hall, with bookshelves and wood paneling and floors with wooden patterns, and there were several hallways going off in all directions. There were even two halls on either side of the hole Rowland had made, which he knew must have been impossible, since outside was just the flat wall of a lone tower.

There was also a staircase going down. It was the spiraling kind, and he’d almost missed its entrance in the shadows. Rowland frowned and tried to think. If he were an elf lord hiding some humans away, where would he put them? His immediate instinct was down. A moment later, he remembered the words of the goat, some elves like underground and the choice was made. He ignored the halls and went downstairs.

The stairs went on.

And on.

The stairwell began small, close enough that Rowland could brush his hand against the wall as he walked, but that was a bottleneck. Soon, the walls spread out and away, until they were so far in the darkness, it was difficult to make them out at all.

The air on the lower level was different. The light from the hole in the wall didn’t reach here, and it was dark, though not as much as he had expected. There were no windows or lights, and so he didn’t know exactly how he could see, but nevertheless he could. He squinted through the gloom and saw the ceiling arched with stone and large clusters of crystals sprouting through the rock.

The new room he found himself in was cavernously large, with the stairs spitting him out right in the middle. Unlike the one above, which had some semblance of normalcy, this one was more clearly than ever, a room that belonged to an elf. The ground was rough rock, the walls only barely smoother, with carvings of flowers, trees, and wild beasts coming out of the walls, looking like they had been grown there. There were real flowers growing around the edges of the room, strange ones in blues and purples that seemed to turn their faces when Rowland walked by. More flowers crept up the walls and clung to the stone ceiling, dangling like streamers.

Somewhere, a stream of water was babbling through stone, and the noise of it echoed through the cavern.

As with room one above, there were hallways going off in all directions, but only one had a faint, yellow light in the distance. Rowland double-checked his sword, then headed cautiously for the light.

The source of the light was two wide doors, taller than the largest house back at the village and nearly as wide. One of them had been left ajar, letting the yellow light leak out. Rowland pushed the doors open, surprised by the ease with which they glided away from his touch.

Rowland gasped. He stood in the doorway, stunned, mouth agape.

The room was full of gold.

As enormous as the cavern had been, but with walls and floors that gleamed like sunlight. Gold strands like vines webbed the red walls, tangling around the room and up on the high, arched ceiling and climbing into the support pillars. Thick wreaths of flowers were all over the room, as though springing from the golden vines. These flowers were not living as the ones outside, but made from gemstones. Sapphires and rubies and diamonds, emerald for their leaves, all meticulously placed so that they wrapped around the pillars and along the walls in an imitation of the creeping flowers out in the hall. The pillars around the room stretched up and up and up to the high ceiling, and they were smooth and white and looked like they’d been grown rather than built. Above, an enormous glowing orb, burning like the sun and hanging from a golden chain, filled the hall with light.

Rowland was torn between the pain in his eyes, and his desire to see it all, and had to squint until his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

He walked through the room, trying to absorb as much as he could and resisting the urge to reach out and touch it all. How easy would it be to snap off a flower or two? What would happen if he did? Would an alarm sound, or the room turn to dust?

But all thoughts of gold and gems vanished in a second, because in the middle of the room was a feasting table laden with food, and beyond it was Ellen.

There she was, sitting on a plush couch across from the table, watching him with wide eyes. There was a split second where Rowland found himself frozen, where he couldn’t even breathe. Then the moment passed, and he ran to his sister.

Whatever spell that had kept Ellen seated broke, and she launched herself at him, too. They met halfway around the table and the two collided together, laughing and embracing and nearly falling over.

“You’re okay!” Rowland said, eyes beginning to water. “You’re okay!”

“You’re here!” Ellen said. “You came!”

Then she stiffened in his arms. She drew away from him, though he didn’t want to let go.

“You came, just like they did.”

Rowland’s heart sank. Ellen wasn’t the only person he’d come to save.

"Where are Agnar and Lothar?"

"Asleep," said Ellen. "The king cut them with his sword, but they didn't bleed or die, they fell asleep. He has them stored away somewhere, but I don't know where."

“Where’s the king?” Rowland said. Some part of him remembered the elfman's words about there being no king, but he ignored it.

“I don’t know,” Ellen said. “He brought me here and told me to wait for you. He put a spell on me so I couldn’t leave or warn you about–” She broke off her sentence and scowled.

“Spelled still?” Rowland said.

Ellen scowled and nodded.

"Alright, then we have to find them before he comes back," said Rowland. He took his sister’s hand. “Wizard can undo whatever’s been done to you and them.” And if he sounded more sure than he felt, Ellen didn’t need to know that.

But when he tried to pull Ellen alongside him, she froze.

“What is it?” he said.

Her scowl deepened. “I can’t leave the table.” She tapped her foot. “This circle, see?”

Rowland looked to where she was tapping and saw a gold pattern of leafy vines inlaid on the floor. He took a step back and noticed how this vine pattern wasn’t connecting to the rest of them, but was alone, circling the food-laden table, the sofa, and Ellen.

“You’re stuck inside?” he said.

“He said–” she grit her teeth and made a frustrated noise. When she spoke next, it was as though each word was being pried from her jaws. “He. Said that. I should. Offer you. Din-ner.”

She gestured angrily to the table.

Rowland looked at the table, this time noticing what was actually laid out. Roast boar and chicken and pies and baskets of breads and pastries and everything else good under the sun. There were hot rolls he knew were full of seasoned meats and small cakes like his grandmother used to make, and some foods he didn't even recognize, but knew with absolute certainty would taste delicious. In the center was an enormous, many-tiered cake frosted to look like it was covered in colorful flowers that matched the ones on the walls.

And for the first time since entering the hall, he actually smelled the food.

All at once, all the hunger and thirst he hadn’t felt since coming to Faerie hit him. His throat dried and his lips cracked, and he doubled over from the sharp pain in his stomach.

And the food looked so good.

Ellen watched him in silence.

"Ellen," he half-whispered. "I'm really hungry."

She said nothing, but looked at him sadly.

Slowly, he made his way to the table. His hunger increased the closer he came, like an angry dog woken up and now being teased. Pain clawed at him from the inside, and his head began to grow light and swimmy.

Once at the table, it took every ounce of control Rowland had to stop himself from falling into the feast face-first.

With a cry, Rowland grabbed the tablecloth the meal was set upon and yanked it, sending all of the dishes to the floor in a clattering mess. Glass shattered, metal dented, goblets spilled, and the beautiful cake was smashed flat.

The moment the food was disturbed, the pain and hunger vanished, replaced with giddiness. He looked at Ellen, who was nodding her head excitedly, and knew he'd done the correct thing. He tossed the tablecloth to the ground and gave a theatrical bow.

"Well done,” said a voice. The sound of clapping echoed through the hall, and the elfman from before strode into the room. Gone were the peasant outfits; now he stood in regal brocades, with black cape trimmed white with what Rowland suspected was ermine. He was clapping slowly.

"Such a valiant little knight you are to defeat the horrible dinner table. You caught on to my dastardly plan of feeding my guest and welcoming you to my home. How very clever you are," the elfman said. He was smiling, but it was sour, and his tone had the false cheer of someone trying to hide his irritation.

"You again?" said Rowland. He didn't know why he should feel as surprised as he did, seeing as how nearly every fairy he'd met that day was the elfman, and yet surprised he was. He drew his sword and stepped in front of Ellen, keeping himself between her and the elfman.

"Who else?" The elfman went to survey the ruined meal. He sighed and nudged the roast forlornly with his foot. "I had this made special for you," he said. "I didn't know what you liked, so I had the cooks make a bit of everything."

"Why?" Rowland said, suspicion in his voice.

"So you'd eat it and become ensnared, never again able to leave Elfhame without my permission," the elfman said. He picked up an apple, judged it clean enough, and bit into it.

"You're dressed like a king. I thought you said there wasn't any king here," said Rowland.

"There isn't," the elfman said through the mouthful. "I 'spect you want your brothers back."

"Yes."

The elfman finished his bite and tossed the apple on the ground. "Here's a deal for you," he said. "We'll fight. Swords. If you win, I'll wake your brothers up, undo the spells on your sister, and send you all home under my protection."

Rowland's heart beat so hard, he could feel it throbbing in his ears. "And if I lose?"

The smile returned, smug as ever. "Then you'll be trapped here forever. Or for as long as I say. Whichever comes first."

Ellen grabbed Rowland's arm. "Don't do it," she whispered. "It's a trick, I'm sure it is."

"Very likely," the elfman said. "I am a very tricksy person. What do you say, little knight?"

Rowland weighed the options and came up with nothing good. True, he'd lopped off the elf's head several times already that morning, but it was clear that was because the man had let him. Alternatively, he could deny the duel. . . and wind up having to fight his way out anyway, this time without the promise of freedom. At his side, his sister watched him with worried eyes.

"Fine," he said.

"Fine what?" said the elfman. "You need to be clear."

"Fine, I'll fight you."

The elfman shook his head, but the smile remained. "We'll have to work on your manners later. The correct phrase is 'I agree to the terms you've set.' Well, come on, go stand over there and face me."

"Why does it matter?" Rowland said, getting into position.

"Well, there are a lot of reasons why position is important in a duel. Secure footing, the right distance away from your opponent--"

"No, that's not what I-- nevermind."

The elfman smile grew even sunnier, which served only to irritate Rowland further.

"Where's your sword?" Rowland said.

The elfman held out his hand, and made a gesture as though plucking something from the air. In the blink of an eye, there was a sword in his hand; larger and more impressive than the one Rowland had gotten from his father, with a blade of the pitchest black. It gleamed in the firelight, with purples, reds, and blues shimmering over the glossy black surface.

"This," said the elfman dramatically, "is Soul Render. Can you guess what it does?"

Rowland's heart sank. "Rend souls?"

"Exactly. Human girl, do be a dear and count backwards from five. When she finishes," he told Rowland, "the duel will commence."

Ellen nodded and began counting. Rowland tried to think. Surely there was some kind of strategy he could use, some sort of dazzling moves he could do to avoid being hit. He'd seen his brothers practice often enough, surely something had stuck.

But all he could do was watch the light shimmering off of the enormous black sword.

Ellen made it to one, and the duel was over less than a second later.

One moment, Rowland was waiting for Ellen to finish, and the next the elfman was in front of him, and the black sword was buried in his chest. Rowland heard Ellen scream, but all he could do was stare at the blade sticking out of him, then up at the elfman, who was still smiling.

Rowland gasped, and the elfman drew out the blade, only to strike him again, this time slashing him through from side to side. Cold overtook him, and Rowland fell to the floor, struggling for breath. The places where the sword had struck felt like ice, his fingers and face felt numb, and he half expected his breath to come out in frosty clouds. He curled onto his side, shivering.

"Don't feel too bad," said the elfman's voice. "I've got several hundred years on you. You never had a chance. But don't worry, your half-siblings are free to go with my protection and blessing. I'll wake the boys up, and you can see them all off."

Somewhere around, Rowland heard the sound of Ellen crying.

"Rowland," said the elfman somewhere above. "Get up."

Rowland remained on the ground, choking on his own breath.

Cold so cold

There was a sudden shock of searing heat on his back. It didn't spread, just stayed in one spot, and it took Rowland a few seconds to realize that it was a large hand resting between his shoulders.

"Take it easy," said the elfman. "That's it, just keep breathing."

Rowland shuddered, and not entirely because of the wound, but followed the advice and focused on trying to breathe through the ice in his lungs.

"You killed him," he heard Ellen sob. "Get away from him!"

Rowland was vaguely aware of some movement above him. Of Ellen coming over and trying to pull the elfman away from him.

"Nonsense," said the elfman. "Look, do you see any blood? He's perfectly alive. He'll get up in a little while, and then I'll go wake up your brothers and you three can go home."

But Ellen was inconsolable, and when she couldn't push the elfman away, she sank beside Rowland and cried over him.

"Oh honestly," said the elfman. "Is this what I've been missing the whole time? Rowland, Rowland get up and tell your half-sister you're still alive."

He felt movement around him, and the hand at his back shifted to his shoulders, until he was being gently lifted into sitting upright. Whether it was the shift in position, or the warmth, Rowland found it easier to breathe. His heart stopped pounding so badly, and the numbed chill in his hands and face began to melt away. He imagined the crystals of ice in his chest breaking apart and melting. His eyes opened and he found the elfman kneeling beside him, helping him stay upright.

"That's better. Can you speak?"

"Y-Yes," Rowland stammered.

"Good, good. You had me worried there for a moment. See?" the elfman said to Ellen. "He's fine. Your brothers are upstairs in one of the guest halls. I'll go wake them up and you three can be on your way."

"Why?" Rowland croaked.

"Why am I letting them go? Well I could keep them here, if that's what you want. But I can't imagine they'd be very happy about it, and I don't want to just leave them as sleeping bodies cluttering up the place."

"No," Rowland said, struggling to his feet. "Why did you say she was my half sister?"

The elfman beamed at him from the floor.

"Take a wild guess," he said.

"I don't--"

"Oh come now, you didn't think I was picking on you for no reason, did you?" With uncanny speed, he was back on his feet and right in front of Rowland. He tousled Rowland's hair affectionately, then quickly retreated before the boy could push him away.

"You're mine," the elfman said. "That's why you're not currently a specter hovering around your body. Soul Render cuts away mortal souls, but the fact that you're still awake means you're not entirely mortal." The smile went wry. "Granted, it looks like it hit you pretty hard, so you're a little more mortal than I had hoped. But no matter, I'm glad to have you.”

Rowland stared, trying to fit the pieces in his head.

"But I'm not--"

"You are. Think about it. I've seen the man you call your father. You don't look a thing like him, do you? Or any of your siblings. That's normal. Our blood runs stronger than humans'."

"I have his eyes," Rowland said. That's what his mother said, every time one of her thoughtful moods overcame her. You have your father's eyes.

"You have mine," said the elfman.

"I can't-- I'm not-- I don't have magic," he said.

"You opened the tower. That was you. I gave you instructions, but you're the one who made it work."

Rowland looked to Ellen, as though she could help, but she only looked to him with equal bewilderment.

"My mother--"

"Your mother," the elfman said. His tone changed, with his voice brittle with obvious false cheer. "What about her?"

"She loves my father," he said. "She wouldn't--"

"You don't know anything about it," the elfman snapped. "Not her, or me, or him, or whatever we had."

Rowland took a step back. When he reached for his sword, he found it gone, fallen away during the duel.

"Hey now, it's alright," the elfman said, all smiles again. "I'm not angry at you." He moved towards Rowland, arm out a little like he was going to try to reach for him.

Rowland hastily backed away. Ellen came up beside him, and he half-pulled her back so that he was between her and the elfman.

The elfman watched them with an expression on his face that Rowland couldn't read. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Rowland, I'm not going to hurt you."

"You just stabbed me."

"I didn't think it would do you any harm."

"I don't want you," Rowland said. Though the elfman had stopped walking, Rowland still backed away, keeping Ellen with him. "You're not my father."

The elfman looked at him for a moment that seemed to last forever. The smile was long gone, replaced by bland nothing.

"I think. . ." he said slowly. "That we should talk alone." He didn't take his eyes off Rowland when he said, "Human girl, your brothers are upstairs. We'll be up shortly. You should check on them."

Ellen clung to Rowland's back and said, "No! I'm not going anywhere!"

The elfman snapped his fingers, and there was a sudden change in the air. The pressure at his back vanished. Ellen was gone.

"What did you do to her?" Rowland shouted.

"She's fine. She's with your brothers upstairs."

Rowland turned away without answer. He didn't quite run towards the room's entrance, but it was a near thing. But as he approached, the two enormous doors slammed shut. With a growl, he tried pulling them open again, to no avail. He yanked on the handle and put all his weight into it, and the doors still refused to budge.

Rowland knew the elfman was behind him, watching, but he ignored him and focused on trying to open the doors.

I have magic, he thought. What had the elfman said earlier? You have to push and want at the same time. So he tried that, willing whatever magic was supposedly in his blood to come to the surface and do something.

"It won't work," said the elfman.

"Shut up," said Rowland, still yanking on the door.

"I know what you're trying to do. I can feel it, and it's not going to work. My magic's a little bigger than yours."

Now Rowland turned to him. "Let me out." He spat the words like venom.

The elfman frowned and shook his head. "No. We need to talk. Come with me."

Without waiting for a response, the elfman walked away.

Rowland's frustration was throttling him, and he wanted to throttle the elfman in return. His siblings were here. They could go home! His mother would stop crying and his father would see him again, and they could go home!

But the door stayed shut. Rowland scowled and kicked it one last time for good measure. Then he followed after the elfman with an angry grunt.

The elfman strode to a space of wall that had been untouched by the flower wreathes, and where the gold vines were sparse. He placed a hand on the wall, and Rowland wasn't surprised to see the stone melt away at his touch. Darkness filled the doorway.

The elfman walked into the darkness without hesitation. And though every bone in his body screamed at him to run back to the other door, to find a way to smash it down, Rowland followed behind.

* * * * *

At first, Rowland thought the elfman had led them both outside. The air was fresh and cool and tasted of night. The moon in the sky above cast enough light that he could easily see the forest around him and the lake before him. The grass was soft under his heels, and the sounds of crickets and frogs and the occasional night-bird kept the silence at bay.

But then Rowland's eyes adjusted, and he saw that the stone walls of the tower stretched on either side, behind the trees and brush, and he saw that the moon above was kept in a similar container as the sun in the other room had been, albeit silver rather than gold.

The elfman was ahead, sitting on a log by the lake. He didn't look back to see if Rowland had followed him and said, "I think I loved your mother."

Rowland didn't answer, nor did he move closer.

"I knew her longer than your father did. She didn't know what I was, of course, but that didn't matter. Then I had to leave. Family business to attend-- not yours, but mine. And when I came back, she was married and had two sons already. I had forgotten how fast time passes for mortals when you aren't watching them." He sighed and fiddled with a long bulrush that leaned in too close.

Rowland, both not wanting to hear any more, but also intensely curious, sat down on the far side of the log.

"She tried to turn me away when I came back. Said she was a wife now and couldn't go off frolicking in the woods. When I offered to marry her, she turned me down again. But we did care about each other, I think. She gave me one last night-- a goodbye, I suppose. I hung around the village anyway. Couldn't quite bear to leave the place, though nobody else saw me. And then imagine my surprise when you came out looking like me. Oh, the look on her face when she realized. . ."

He snapped the bulrush, sending a froth of seeds into the breeze and spilling onto the ground.

"Your mother tricked me," he said. "She was fine when she thought I was a mortal man come to sweep her off her feet, but when she found out what I really was, she hid in that church. The one where I stole your sister away. I couldn’t go in after her– our people aren’t good with churches. And she refused to come out until she had my word that I wouldn't take you away to Elfhame-- Faerie, as you call it. You'd have to walk here of your own free will. And I wasn’t to speak to you or go near you until you’d left that church after your christening. Very specifically that church." He looked at Rowland for the first time and gave him a wry smile. "More fool me; she had you christened somewhere else and had her husband close the place down and bar anyone from entry. I would have stolen you away as soon as I'd seen what she'd done, but a promise is a promise.”

Questions fought for Rowland's tongue. One won out and left him first.

"Are you why she's ill all the time? Did you curse her?"

The elfman opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, frowning.

"It. . . wasn't on purpose," he said at last. "I loved her, once. She broke my heart when she cut it off and took you away from me, and now when I think of her, all the thoughts are of a . . . less-than-pleasant nature. That sort of thing can have an effect on humans if left unchecked."

"Can you fix her?" Rowland said.

The elfman nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe so. I will attempt to curtail any unsavory thoughts I might have of her." He let out a deep breath. "For all that we've been through, I must remind myself that she gave me you, and for that alone she is owed my gratitude."

Rowland chose not to acknowledge that last part. "Can I go home?"

"You are home. This is your home now."

"No."

"I know it's not what you were expecting," the elfman said. "And I know you don't like it, but I am your father. The blood of Elfhame runs through your veins as much as mine. Even if you'd been able to ignore it until now, the magic in your blood will wake up. It's already started."

There was a long minute of silence between them, broken only by the chirps of crickets and the soft sound of the water.

"How long do elves live?" Rowland said eventually.

The elfman rolled his eyes. "Look, if you're trying to threaten me--"

"No, I want to know. How long?"

"Forever, unless you're killed or choose to die."

Rowland thought this over. "Will I live as long as you?"

"If you stay here." the elfman said. "My blood runs strong enough in you to survive Soul Render, at least, and aging isn't so much a thing here after a certain point. But even if you got back to the mortal world, I'd wager on you living at least another thousand years or so-- provided you don't do something rash and get yourself killed.”

"Then why does it matter?" Rowland said. "Why does it matter so much that you get me now?"

The elfman opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He tried again, and couldn't. Then he frowned. Rowland remembered what Wizard said about how Faerie folk couldn't lie.

"Because I want you here," he said at last. "You're mine. I don't know how to put it any other way. I made you. I've never made anything before, but I helped make you. You're the first thing I've ever made, and I'm so happy it's you. I watched you grow up from as close as I could get, and it burned me that I couldn't get closer, and now you're here. My son is here, and he's small and brave and he looks like me, and I don't want him to leave."

Whatever answer Rowland had been expecting, that hadn't been it.

"Let me go," said Rowland.

"No."

"I promise I'll come back."

"Don't try to play me," his father said. "You're my son, but you have enough human in you to lie--"

"I don't lie," Rowland said. "And I mean it. Let me stay with them for as long as I can, and then I'll come back."

"No."

"They'll be bones in a hundred years," snapped Rowland, temper flaring. "Dust in two hundred. You're the one who said that. So let me go with them now while I can! If one hundred years is all I can have with them, then let me have it. I'll come back to you after."

His father watched him, a strange expression on his face as emotions battled behind his eyes.

"You'd come back?" he said.

"Yes."

Suddenly, he rose from the log and began to pace. Rowland stayed sat, though he twisted himself around to watch his father think.

"I'm not waiting a hundred years," he said, still walking. "It was hard enough waiting twelve."

"That's. . . fair." Rowland said.

"You really want to leave?"

"Yes."

"You couldn't be happy here? At all?"

There was a twinge of desperation in his voice that made Rowland consider his answer.

"Not if I was kept from my family," he said slowly. "If they were out there, and I couldn't go to them, then no, I couldn't be happy."

His father continued pacing for another long minute.

"You'll visit," his father said at last. "One weekend a month, and on nights when the moon is full."

Rowland's heart felt as though it was trying to escape his chest. "You'll let me go?"

"Yes," his father said, looking unhappy. "You'll go back to your mother and stepfather with your siblings in tow, so I swear. But you'll come back to visit, and when they're dead, you'll return to stay for good. Is it a deal?"

He stuck his hand out. Rowland got up to take it, and when their hands clasped, an electric jolt went up through his arm. Something inside told him with complete certainty that if he agreed, the deal would be binding far beyond any normal promise he might have made before.

"Deal," he said.

They shook.

His father let out a long sigh. "Fine," he mumbled, as though he were talking to himself. Tiredly, he rubbed his hand over his face. "Fine. Fine. Fine."

Then, he perked up.

"Well," he said, this time with some of his cheer from earlier. "That's that. Let's go wake up your half-brothers and see you all home."

* * * * *

There was more magic in the tower than Rowland had suspected, because his father opened a door and rather than find themselves back in the shining hall, the two were in the middle of a brightly lit, but normal-seeming hallway. When Rowland glanced back at the doorway they'd come in, he found no sign of the night room with the lake, but instead a long hallway lined with other seemingly normal doors.

His father winked when he saw him looking. "I'll teach you that trick next time you're here," he said.

They came to a plain looking door, no different than the others except for the fact that it opened itself as they approached.

The room inside was a sparse and spacious bedroom, with nothing inside but two beds. On the beds were Agnar and Lothar, each fully clothed and kitted out as they had been on the days they left. Ellen was there, pacing. She stopped when she saw the two enter, and she scowled at the elfman, balling her fists and striding forward like she wanted to fight him.

"Easy," said Rowland's father, hands up in mock surrender. "I come in peace. Rowland has convinced me to let you all go home."

"It's true," Rowland said, stepping between them. "We can all go home."

Ellen glared around Rowland at the elfman, but she stopped looking as though she was going to try to attack him, so Rowland figured it was alright. Ellen, still glaring, went to stand next to Rowland and grabbed his hand.

"Tell him to wake them up," she said loudly, ostensibly to Rowland.

"Bossy, isn't she?" said his father. But he went to stand between the two beds and made a gesture. Though it was small, barely a flick of the wrist and some twiddling of fingers, Rowland felt a strangeness flow from the gesture like waft of perfume. He couldn't see it, but he sensed it when it brushed over Agnar and Lothar, and knew the moment the spell over them had been lifted.

His father glanced at him. "You felt that, huh?"

Ellen looked at him too, curious.

Rowland didn't want to answer, suddenly uncomfortable with this connection he and the elfman shared. Luckily, Agnar and Lothar chose just then to wake up.

They woke the way they did at home, which is to say, loudly. There was groaning and grumbling and lip-smacking, and the groaning and grumbling turned into shouts and swearing when Rowland and Ellen leapt onto the beds, cheering and talking and laughing. They dragged the boys out of bed and hugged them so hard that bones creaked, and when Lothar and Agnar were awake enough to realize what was happening, they also began to laugh and shout and hug.

This went on for several minutes while Rowland tried to tell them everything that had happened, and Ellen tried to tell what had happened to her, and Lothar and Agnar tried to fill in their sides as well.

Eventually, there was a pointed cough from the doorway, quiet at first, then progressively louder as the children ignored it, until they could ignore it no longer.

"Hi," said the elfman once he had their attention. He gave a little wave.

As though suddenly remembering where they were, Agnar and Lothar both shoved Rowland and Ellen behind them. They reached for their swords, and upon finding them gone, balled their fists and braced themselves as though they intended to box the fairy lord.

"Yes, you're all related, alright," the elfman said dryly. "Rowland?"

"He's going to let us go," Rowland said.

"He is?" Agnar said suspiciously. "Just like that?"

"Your brother is very convincing," said the elfman. He clapped his hands and said, "Alrighty! Who's ready to get the hell out of my tower?"

"Please," said Ellen with feeling.

"Then right this way, children." The elfman strode past them all and went to the opposite wall of the bedroom. At his approach, the wall split into doorway, leading out to what looked like a grassy courtyard.

Agnar and Lothar hesitated, pulling Rowland and Ellen back.

"Don't worry," Rowland said, tugging them forward. "He does that a lot."

He pulled them through the doorway and out to the courtyard where his father stood with several enormous deer. They were white and shaggy and far larger than any deer Rowland had seen before, with antlers that seemed to melt together at the base. The shoulder of the largest was several hands taller than the top of the elfman's head, and the creature's bulk reminded Rowland of a draught horse more than any real deer.

"What are those?" said Agnar, awe in his voice.

"Foreign deer," said the elfman proudly. "A kind of elk. These will take you home. Go ahead, let them get your scent, or else they're likely to throw you off."

Hesitantly, Rowland's siblings went to the strange elk, allowing themselves to be sniffed and nipped at.

"How are we even supposed to get on?" Lothar said. "They're huge!"

"Don't worry about it," called the elfman. "Just make sure they know your scent."

"Don't you have horses?" said Rowland, coming up beside his father. One of the strange elk was nibbling his hair, and he was trying his best to stop it without making the creature angry.

His father sniffed. "Only peasants ride horses. We will ride the elk."

The way he spoke reminded Rowland of a question he'd had.

"What are you?" he said. "Everyone at home thinks you're a king, but you said you weren't, but you have a great big tower and you're dressed like a king, and now we're riding these-- uh-- elk." The elk sniffing his head began nipping at the collar of his shirt. "No," he said, pushing it away. "Off."

His father chuckled. "No, no, of course not. I'm no king. If I were, I might throw myself off the top of the tower. Far too much responsibility. People always talking to you and dragging you to meetings-- no, no."

"So what are you?" Rowland said.

"Just a prince," said his father. "So are you, by the way."

Rowland's jaw dropped. Hastily, he looked back to make sure none of his siblings had heard. They appeared not to have; they had gone past being afraid of the elk and were now petting and trying to climb them.

"Don't tell them!" Rowland hissed. "They can't know!"

His father arched an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"They will never let me live it down."

Already he was imagining Lothar and Agnar's teasing. How Ellen would take every opportunity to call him a fairy prince, and how his brothers would only encourage it. And what if their father overheard?

His father looked amused, but said, "I give you my word that I will not inform them of your noble birth." He sounded like he was trying hard not to laugh, but Rowland ignored it.

Once the elfman was satisfied that the elk had gotten the children's scent, they all gathered around and watched as the elk knelt, one by one, onto the grass. Even kneeling, the elk were far too large for the children to climb alone; even Agnar couldn't make it. So they began the process of giving each other boosts up. By the end, Lothar and Ellen were on one of the elk, Rowland and Agnar were on another, and the elfman was leading the way on a third.

"They should behave themselves now," he called out. "But you'll still want to hold on tight. It may be a bit brisk."

Rowland's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to ask what he meant by that, but before he could, his father had turned his elk and was trotting off.

The other two elk made a bellowing noise somewhere between the lowing of a cow, the whinny of a horse, and the roar of a bear, and they began loping after the first.

Gradually, they gained speed, from loping to cantering to galloping, tearing through the forest. Just as Rowland was thinking they could run no faster, he felt a sudden snap of magic, and the world around them blurred into streaks of color as the elk moved at unnatural speed. The only point of clarity was his father on the elk ahead, his head thrown back and laughing.

A minute passed, if even that, and the elk came to a stop so sudden that Rowland nearly tumbled off the creature's back. Agnar slammed against Rowland's back, winding the both of them, and it took ROwand a moment to recognize where thye were.

"The church?" he wheezed. Nearby, Ellen and Lothar were also struggling to compose themselves.

"Yes," said the elfman cheerfully. "Everyone alive? Have all your organs on the inside? Good, good. The elk will take you this far and no further."

As he spoke, the elk knelt down again, and the children slid off their sides. While the others landed ungracefully to the ground in a nauseous tangle of limbs, Rowland slid off with ease and a strange grace. When he looked up, he found his father watching him with a smile.

Though his father was several feet away, still on his Elk, Rowland heard his voice in his ear say, The next full moon. Meet me here, or I'll have to visit your home to collect you.

For a fleeting second, Rowland envisioned all his parents meeting in the kitchen of their house, and the sheer horror of it made his heart stutter. "No!" he blurted out loud. "No need! I'll be here!"

His father chuckled.

I thought as much, said his disembodied voice.

"Until then," he said out loud. He gave a low whistle, and the two elk the children had ridden rose up and lumbered over to him. With a last nod to Rowland, the elfman departed, he and the elk vanishing into the sudden wind.

The children stared for a time, half expecting him to reappear, or for something to come out of the church, or for something to happen.

"I'm tired," Ellen said at last. "I want to go home."

"You and me both," said Agnar.

The group turned towards home.

Agnar and Lothar, seemingly more assured now that the elf and his elk were gone, strode ahead of the younger two, clearly eager to get home. Ellen started to hurry with them, but Rowland took her hand and drew her back.

"Ellen," he said, unsure of how to broach the subject. Afraid of reminding her. "About what-- what the elf said-- About me and him. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Ellen looked at him blankly. "What's to tell?" she said. "He wanted to kidnap you, you changed his mind, and now we all can go home."

Rowland frowned. Was she was lying? Had she truly forgotten what the elfman had said about being Rowland's real father? Or was there some kind of magic clouding her mind?

Ellen bumped her shoulder against his.

"Stop thinking so much," she said. "I just want to go home."

She wriggled out of his grasp and grabbed his wrist in turn. "Come on," she said, trotting ahead and pulling him behind her. "We're almost there!"

She was right; the village was just ahead. Someone shouted, someone else shouted back, and by the time Rowland and Ellen were heading down the hill, a crowd had gathered. Rowland saw Agnar and Lothar break into a run, and Ellen let go to join them. People were coming down the road to greet them, among them Rowland could make out cousins and uncles and aunts and Wizard looking sober for once. But then there was a great jostling, and Rowland saw his mother and father break through the crowd.

His father ran, looking as large as Rowland had ever seen him, even as he bent down to scoop Ellen up in his arms. Rowland saw his mother swept up by his brothers, laughing even as she wept. She was saying something to them both, and her voice. It was louder and clearer and stronger than he'd ever heard it before. And when she looked up from his brothers and saw him, she smiled, and it was the first time he'd ever seen her smile so bright.

Something snapped in his heart and in his head, and then Rowland was tearing the rest of the way down the hill, crying out for his mother and father.

Odalric caught him first, scooping him up with the arm that wasn't holding Ellen.

My son, he said over and over, and Rowland said, Dad.

His mother came next, kissing his forehead and telling him how brave he was, and how he was to never, ever sneak off like that again. Time blurred with everyone hugging and laughing and crying-- his father letting Ellen down and crushing Lothar and Agnar in a hug in turn. People gathered around. Voices swept over him. Wizard chastising Agnar from somewhere-- "I told you not to eat anything! No, I don't care how good it looked!"-- Ellen chattering about how awful the elf king was and how he wasn't funny at all, but thought he was, which was the worst -- Lothar and Agnar tripping over themselves to explain how they'd been tricked and trapped, -- and out of the corner of his eye, Rowland thought he saw a familiar man dressed like a horseherd in the back of the crowd, but when he looked, there was nobody.

Someone squeezed his shoulder. He looked up and saw his mother watching him.

"You're home," she said.

And though he wanted to ask her about the elfman, wanted to tell her about his magic, wanted to tell her that no matter what Odalric would always be his real father, always, instead all he did was nod and lean against her and say, "I'm tired."

"I'm hungry," said Agnar.

"Then I say this calls for a celebration," said their father. He called out to the uncles to break out the kegs and to the neighbors to break out the tables, and for others to start breaking out the damn food, couldn't they see his children were home?

Things deteriorated into a familiar bustle, and Rowland found himself sitting with Ellen and his brothers while everyone around then set up for the impromptu party. They lazed around a table, slouched over and resting their heads on their arms, or leaning against one another.

Suddenly, Lothar shot up.

"Oh my God," he said.

"What?" the other three said at once.

He stared at them, horrified.

"Did we ever get our ball back?"

They gaped at him, then each other.

Ellen smashed her fists against the table and screeched, "The king of Faerie stole our ball!"

"I'm not going back for it," Agnar said, slouching again.

"Me neither," said Lothar.

Rowland almost said he'd try to get it back at the next full moon, but remembered in time to keep his mouth shut.

"Someday," Ellen muttered darkly. "I am going to break into his tower and steal something from him. See how he likes it."

She sounded so serious, Rowland couldn't help but laugh, even as he was certain that she would probably do it, some day.

"I'm going to take a nap," he said, resting on the table and tucking his face into his crossed arms. "Wake me when the food's ready."

"Me too," said Lothar. He scooted closer to Rowland and mirrored him, face in his arms.

"Will do," said Agnar.

And surrounded by his siblings, home and safe again, Rowland fell asleep for what felt like the first time in ages.