The pen is mightier than the sword,
And mightier than the literary award,
Without the pen we'd be unable,
To leave those notes on the kitchen table,
Nothing lovelier ever penned,
With three small crosses at the end;
Made for no-one else to see;
The literature of you and me.
-Leunig.
Just in case any of you guys were wondering Armaël is pronounced Arm-ayel and Blohein is just bloh- heen. Simple enough ok? And Gryffudd is Griffith.
And many thanks to Gothamin and Singinstrawberry, your reviews made me soooooo happy. Mwa!

Chapter 9 – Love at Last

Cierwan slept badly that night. He dreamt of Myra raising her arms in the air and on her command thunder would be heard, rain poured in torrents and lighting cracked. She had the weather under her control, no seer or sorceress had that power, and he shuddered at the thought of some one controlling that much. He rolled out of bed and moved to the window. The night was still, the only sign of life coming from the twinkling of the stars, and the moon's face lazily hanging up in the sky. Myra, Myra how I long for you, Cierwan thought sadly, I was a fool to let you go. You are more than a friend, you always have been. Why didn't I see that from the start? Now I may have lost you forever, lost you to the woods. He punched the wall forcefully. Why had he been so blind?

He walked over to his bag and pulled out his bowl again and filled it with water. Muttering the same incantation, he blew onto the water and whispered Myra. This time, the Mirror Pool did not show Myra; instead it showed his poetess living happily with Bertrand, her artist.  Cierwan closed his eyes, searching for the familiar surge of jealousy and anger. Nothing came and he took this as a sign that he should finally move on. The image swirled and he was finally shown Myra in the arms of a woman he recognised as Blohein. Blohein, my friend, please look after her. I will be there soon.

"Ahh, Sergio!" Count Luxenham bowed, "I have been looking for you! His Highness, the King Jerrold wishes for you to be presented to him with in the hour." Cierwan's eyes lighted up, "Really?" he asked. How fortunate, and if I an correct in assuming, his Advisor Lord Aganet will be there. "But of course! He has heard all about you!"  
"But there is not much to hear about," Cierwan muttered

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The next morning Blohein told her that her untrained power could be dangerous if she did not learn to control it and introduced her to her teachers. "Myra, these gentlemen are Ioan and Eamon," (A/N: Ioan is pronounced yo-an and Eamon Ay- min.) Ioan was a tall, dark-curly haired man with hazel eyes and Eamon was shorter with ginger hair and ice-blue eyes. "A pleasure to meet you, Myra-Armaël,' Ioan said, bowing, kissing her hand. Eamon cleared his throat. "And might I add such a fine sight to see so early in the morning?" he said, kissing her hand and looking up at her at the same time. Myra laughed and her eyes danced with amusement. "You are obviously the flirty one, am I correct?" she asked. Ioan shook his head, "My good friend here is a notorious flirt. I have been trying to discourage him; he has to give us other fellows a chance." Myra laughed again and Blohein cleared her throat, "Now that we have got introductions out of the way, we need to talk. Ioan is going to teach you how to clear you mind, meditation and connecting with your power and the ladies man here is going to teach you in the practical side of things.  I will be teaching you about yourself, Myra-Armaël." She dismissed the young men and moved to a round, mahogany table and sat on one of the chairs. Myra walked over and traced a finger along the intricate leaf border, "This is a most beautiful table, Blohein." Blohein regarded the table, "Yes, it is quite beautiful. My husband made it for me but sadly, he died for what seems like an age ago."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up…" Blohein silenced her with a wave of her hand. "I was already thinking of him; this table brings up vivid memories." Myra frowned with worry and Blohein shook her head. "But today is about you, my dear, not me. So let me speak.  You come from a very rare race known as the 'Rohvarmsi'. The Rohvarmsi are impervious to all maladies but, unfortunately, we are not impervious to others who wish us harm. Nor are we saved from emotional pain, as thought your mother. She learnt the hard way and I only wished I had taught her better, but her time has come and gone and she shall be forever mourned by our race. But you, my dear," she stopped and took hold of Myra's hand, "you have the world at your feet. Darkness is abroad, Myra-Armaël, and you are the only one with enough power," Myra started to protest but Blohein dismissed her objections with a shake of her head, "Listen to me Myra! You are the only one with the power, it doesn't matter that you can't use it yet, and you are the one to destroy the Imrahid." Myra sat, shocked, her eyes wide. "What are the Imrahid?" she asked feebly.  Blohein sighed with infinite sadness and fear, "They were once a band of barding brothers travelling the globe together; healing the sick, granting wishes to those unhappy or poor, feeding the hungry. They were generally good Samaritans. Until one day, they were resting atop a hill when something happened to them, we know not, and since then their hearts have been corrupted and turned black and as hard as stone. Instead of healing and feeding the sick and lowly, they slaughtered and caused mayhem, searching for something that we don't know. Imrahid means 'brothers of dark' but that was 600 years ago and then, there was Gryffudd, a most powerful mage, and he banished them to a wasteland far from any civilisation but now it would appear they are back and have started their rampage again." She paused and smiled sadly, "That is why my dear Myra-Armaël, we must teach you to use your powers. You are our only hope."
"Is that why Cierwan is looking for me too?" Myra asked. Everything seemed to make sense now, "Is it?" Blohein nodded slowly as if despair was weighing her down, "Yes," she whispered, "Oh Gods, I pray he can learn to love fast, Myra, you will need his love and he will need yours in the following years."

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Cierwan leapt on to his horse and thundered out of Kyrria. He had been presented to King Jerrold and lo and behold, Lord Aganet was there too. Lord Aganet had still not managed to hide his powers well enough so that even the lowest ranked mage could sense his darkness. But Cierwan, being one of the highest, could even access his mind and read his thoughts and what he had read there had shook him to the bone. This man was certainly powerful; powerful enough to call back the Imrahid and start their blood-fest once again.

Cierwan made for the woods of Blohein's to warn them but he somehow already knew that they would already have been informed. His main concern, however, was for Myra. He did not want to see her hurt because she had been through enough already. He kicked his horse, Valoir, trying to make him gallop faster as panic tears glistened his eyes. He did not want to lose Myra. I will not lose her again, I will not let her go.