Chapter XXI - An Alliance
The Legend of Leanna Page: Vol. I
You’re reading The Legend of Leanna Page, the page-turning mythopoetic queer literary fantasy. *Click here for the Table of Contents and start of Volume I*
Previously: Leanna informed Madrick that Guiomar is the one who took his parents’ life all those years ago, and Madrick responded by calling for war. Isolda took advantage of the occasion to make Madrick appear mad and unsuitable to govern, leading to her overtaking the throne by a vote of the gentry. Madrick is under house arrest, Guiomar is still using the Jewel of Nebulous to keep Masor in a drought, and Isolda has control of the kingdom. What will she do with it? Is Leanna safe in Alquoria? Is Guiomar going to have to face his crimes? Read on!
Satisfied, the gentry filtered from the throne room and Queen Isolda returned to her own apartment, continuing to wear her crown despite her solitude. Instantly upon entrance, she sat before her writing desk and began to pen a letter to King Guiomar of Pavoline. The foolish man had played with Masor’s half of their Skies long enough, and now there were more important matters than squabbling over the past. Leanna Page was certain to lead the fairies in an attack, one even mighty knights – so long as of the human variety – would be troubled to win; and, they yet had no way of knowing whether the fairies did not have some method of evading the power of the Jewel of Nebulous. If the two kingdoms were to maintain either of their sovereignty, it was necessary they overcome their disagreements and provide each other aid. Isolda had little trust, and complete dislike, already, of Pavoline’s recently crowned king, and she knew he thought no kindlier of her. If they had any opportunity to ally their forces, the attempt could not be made, she knew, through any number of written messages. She wrote so in the letter, and implored that the two new royals could meet, speaking personally and alone.
The queen fondled the ring of the royal seal between her fingertips, familiarizing herself with the sense of its power, feeling grateful to have finally acquired it in full. Returning herself to her task, she used the seal to finish the letter and called for Blythe, the new maidservant who had eagerly accepted Esta’s position when it was made available. Isolda, startling as the officious maid entered her chambers before she finished her call, passed Blythe the parchment and ordered that she carry it personally to Guiomar. The maid’s usual alacrity was dampened a moment in personal fear, but was renewed swiftly by her desire to fulfill every extent of her still novel employment. Isolda was all too pleased to see her set off on the month-long journey to Pavoline castle and back.
Guiomar received the note from a quivering Blythe at the end of the second week. She had been brought to him at sword point as he reclined on a silver chaise in a moment of silent anguish – one of many the king had sat through since learning of the infuriating page’s fairy-aided escape from his dungeon. If not for this late occurrence, he more likely would have laughed at Isolda’s request and sent her messenger back with naught. As it was, the new knowledge that the girl, Leanna Page, had troubled Masor same as she had now troubled him was enough to spark a sufficient level of his curiosity and concern. He penned a note in response, inviting Isolda, who must be starved, he noted, to dine with him in Pavoline on any day hence she was able to arrive. Blythe sighed, relieved, once Guiomar handed her the billet and sent her off, but too quickly once arriving home in Masor she was sent again to Pavoline by her queen who, in spite, wrote a scathing response, assuring Guiomar she would not deign to set foot on Pavol soil, much less dine with its wicked king. She insisted he, as a show of good faith, meet in the Masorian throne room at his earliest convenience.
It was half a year of traveling to and fro, delivering correspondence betwixt the hateful monarchs, before Blythe at last completed her final journey to Masor, conveying just a few lines from Guiomar which confirmed his participation in meeting at the only place the two could agree upon: the small bridge at the Gwahanu straight.
On the set date of the meeting, one week following the receipt of the final letter, all Masor knights and servants harvesting at the River, by command of the queen, ceased their work and joined the River dwellers in vacating the open riverside, stealing into their homes as they watched the royal retinues approach from afar. The Masor carriage, first, halted several meters before the bridge, then Pavoline’s followed suit upon arrival. When each was stationary, attendants unclosed the royal carriage doors and each monarch stepped out upon the dirt path and began a proud stride towards the bridge. Guiomar wore inconsequential robes, with short sleeves designed for comfortable practicality as opposed to decoration, but he adorned himself with his lavish crown and, most notably, the Jewel of Nebulous, creating as formidable an appearance as ever. Aligned thus in intimidation, Isolda strode now in flexible trousers with her abdomen and breast protected by a sturdy, though royally embellished, warrior’s plate. A sword hung by her belt and from her shoulders proudly waved the purple-gold cloak of the Oxbiens.
“I thought this was to be a friendly encounter, Isolda,” Guiomar began, when at last the two stopped before one another on the bridge.
Isolda looked meaningfully to the Jewel on his hand then returned her gaze directly to his eyes. “You have your weapons, Guiomar, and I have mine.”
“Alright,” he nodded, smirking slightly in competitive respect. “Then let us begin. Tell me what you know of the page.”
“Before we negotiate the future, let us settle the present,” Isolda responded. “The drought must end, Guiomar, along with your control of our skies.”
Any aforementioned gaiety now fell from Guiomar’s countenance.
“The pain of this drought is what you filthy Masorians deserve,” he snarled.
She sighed with impatience. “Wherefore?”
“You are the reason my mother is dead!”
“That is not the case, but say it were so, you are now ever more so directly the reason mine is the same,” she rejoined, and she beamed at Guiomar’s gaping surprise. “Is it not the case?” she asked, offering plainly false doubt.
Guiomar said nothing, confirming his guilt.
“I should strike thee dead now, thou murderous fiend,” Isolda continued. “But not a soul would be done well by such a deed. Even from your own deranged perspective, you and I stand on even footing, King of Pavoline. Let us treat each other in a manner which reflects that.”
Guiomar dropped his sight to the Jewel of Nebulous and brushed his opposite fingers against the gem. He nodded, and clouds at once began to fill the Masor sky, accompanying a cool wind which blew through Isolda’s hair. She turned towards her kingdom and, in the distance, could see rain begin to fall. Satisfied, she returned to Guiomar expectantly. He pouted, then pulled the Jewel from his fingers and placed it in the pocket of his robes.
“Gramercy.” The queen spoke without a touch of gratitude.
“How did you come to know it was I all those years ago? Was it the page?”
Isolda smiled, pleased with herself. “I have known the truth of it all these years, Guiomar. A fairy came to my maid the night we dined in your castle, and she reported to me the truth she heard. Unlike you, however, I would never act on the word of a servant, and certainly not one speaking on behalf of a fairy.”
“So, Leanna doesn’t know of it?”
“Oh, the maid was her mother, I am certain she has always known. —” Isolda paused in realization. “Ha! Thinking back to that night, I suppose we can now conclude how the odd couple of parents encountered one another.” She returned to her prior thoughts. “More recently, however, the page spoke to my brother in his dreams and brought him to an image of your chambers. A fairy spear rested in the corner, confirming prior accusations.”
“Incredible,” said the king.
“Her powers are indeed to be marveled.”
Guiomar turned cautiously curious. “Why are you not seeking retaliation against me?”
“You are atrocious, Guiomar, but powerful. To be frank, I have found I am the same, only with far more tact. I always thought we might help each other one day, and now such a day has come.”
He began a suspecting smile. “This is the second occasion I am now only privy to you, without your brother. He is the king, no? Hath he again fallen ill?”
Isolda calmly gestured in the negative. “He is far from ill; indeed, my brother sees too clearly now for his own good. Nevertheless, he knows nothing of delicacy, nor of politics. In short, Masor no longer recognizes a king, or even vice-crown. There is only I: its queen.”
Guiomar made a grand obeisance, jesting in spirit, but avowing true respect to her persistence. “Welcome to sovereignty.”
The queen rolled her eyes and returned to the matter at hand. “Leanna may have spoken true of your guilt, but I am certain she does so through no loyalty to Masor.”
“I had her in my dungeon before I received your first letter. She escaped, rescued by fairy warriors. If she is not among you in Masor, I can only imagine she remained with the winged ones in the Woods. I can confirm she is no friend to her own race.”
“So she did make the journey,” Isolda accepted.
“What do you know of it?”
“She traveled from my castle to yours in under a night.”
Guiomar was amazed at the confirmation of it, but was unsurprised. “Yes, I suppose that in fact makes a great deal of sense now.”
Isolda clicked her tongue. “I should have put a poignard in her when I had the chance.”
“You had the chance?”
“Oh, indeed. She resided in my dungeon for a moment before visiting yours. She persuaded Madrick to banish her to Pavoline so she could prevent you from killing her father. I hear she was unsuccessful, same as she could not prevent you killing your own.”
Guiomar took a sharp breath and looked round to ensure his guard was still far enough off to have heard nothing. “I want her found,” he growled back to Isolda. “I want her gone from this world.”
Nodding knowingly, Isolda responded, “As do I, Guiomar. The fairies may be an adversary, but for all their mystery, they are old and known to us. That Page is something new. I wish only for Masor to be as it was when I was ruling over it these many years. That girl, her influence on Madrick, that is my only complication.”
“There we differ significantly, Isolda. I have no grand memories of the past I wish to renew. As I always have, I wish Pavoline to be more. I wish to expand.” He smiled as he thought of his dreams.
“Yes,” she recalled, then queried, “In which direction?”
“All of them,” his eyes gleamed.
“I can certainly support any attempts to force the fairies farther from our lands, but surely you do not expect to expand in every direction. Nothing south of the Gwahanu, be it Wood or plain, may ever belong to Pavoline.”
“Wherefore?”
“Because I will share no greater portion of a border with the likes of yourself.”
“Come, ally. Are you unaware? All borders are flexible.” He smiled.
She did not reflect his demeanor. “Not this one,” she commanded.
“We shall see.”
“No! Fool of a king, we meet today to discuss how we might collaborate, not compete. Do not throw yourself into old habits.”
“Could you stop me?”
“I already today have spoken simple words that gave you cause to look over your shoulder. Imagine what might be done to you if I shared what I know with all your kingdom. You are beholden to people other than yourself, your highness, despite what you may wish. I know your secrets, same as Leanna does, and I can be as great a danger to you as she, so give me not the cause.”
He scowled. “I do not wish you anywhere in my kingdom.”
“Nor do I wish you in mine, or any for that matter raised with Pavoline’s superstitions.” A spark of inspiration lit up Isolda’s eye. “So let us prevent it,” she continued. “You say borders are flexible; let us make ours fixed. Along the Gwahanu we shall raise a steep wall of stone, your Pavol masons building on your land from the East, and we Masorians building our half from the West. If either manages to overtake part of the Wood we shall extend the wall directly east or west, never encroaching to the North or South. Construction would begin at the Wood and continue on towards this bridge through which we may maintain correspondence towards our mutual end of securing Leanna Page until such time as she is found and destroyed. On that day, the wall may be sealed, and no Masorian need ever lay future eyes on a Pavol.”
“A wall?”
“Do you object?”
“You imagine it is wise to destroy the riverside?”
“We will be destroying nothing. We will be building upon it, improving it. Imagine the shade, and the security. Imagine nevermore having to worry that one of the ‘filthy Masorians’ you so despise might so much as touch a blade of grass in Pavoline.”
Guiomar sneered and stood silent, intrigued and considering. At last, he discovered he had no complaints. “Very well. So it shall be,” he agreed.
Isolda reached out a solemn hand which Guiomar took in his own. They remained in the handshake for time enough to investigate one another’s eyes, making certain they were trusted to keep their word.
“If ever again you utilize that Jewel to harm Masor, I shall ensure you are offed your throne,” Isolda affirmed.
“Naturally,” Guiomar nodded.
Releasing hands, they made loose decisions regarding strategy for collectively attacking the fairies in the search for Leanna, agreeing each to send regular messengers to the Gwahanu bridge to more quickly concretize the schemes in writing at a later date. When their plans were settled, each monarch strode backward a number of distrustful steps toward their own carriage, then, with a final nod, they turned, marching off to execute their designs.
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