Wish Granted

It was getting to be impossible to remember everything in this army.

Ewan thought he had a pretty good memory for important things, but it depended on what you meant by 'good'. He considered it a survival trait to be able to instantly forget the names, appearances, ranks, and warrior classes of any men who spent too much time around Tethys, especially after he filled their boots with spiders or similar. And even more especially after Tethys heard about what had happened. Honestly, she had no idea how much trouble he took to protect her.

It was a lot harder to remember complicated rituals for channelling anima spirits, or even how to place his feet while casting Fire so that he didn't blow himself end over end into a tree. For the third time. That day. And this entire Valega concept was ridiculous for anyone under sixty, in his opinion, but Ewan tried it anyway, picking a nice rock outcrop on the hillside to sit on while he… Valega-ed. He had to… forget everything about himself… well, he couldn't get to that part yet or he'd forget all the other steps… and then just reach out into absolutely everything, everywhere. Well. Maybe he could start with just the rock he was sitting on.

Then she appeared. Ewan had absolutely no idea who she was (actually, he did, but explaining the subtleties gets confusing, so let's leave it at 'no idea'), except that she looked to be the closest person to his age that Prince Ephraim's army had yet picked up. The girl was wandering aimlessly through the tall grass, fascinated by everything she saw, including several different flowers of the same kind in the same bunch.

On top of everything else, it was impossible to keep track of all the people constantly volunteering to help construct the most patchwork battalion in Magvel's history, and if this girl was anything like the others – one Lute was about two-thirds too much – Ewan had no interest in making things harder on himself. He closed his eyes and focused again.

Maybe a different starting point would help him get into Master Saleh's Valega ritual. The wind was ruffling the grass, hundreds of thousands of long tuft-ended leaves that all sprouted from one natural garden, waving as they drew water from the earth and strength from the morning sunli–

"La la lala, la la lala, la la-la-la la-ah…" She had started singing softly. It shattered Ewan's concentration like Vidofnir through a box of windows. His eyes snapped open – the girl was searching through a cluster of dandelions that had gone to seed; they were starting to turn into little white puffs, but for some reason none of them seemed to suit her needs.

Girls were truly bizarre.

The sun was starting to heat up his short cape quite a lot, and Ewan leapt on the opening. Focus on the warmth of the sun until everything else faded away and he could reach that selfless state, and then… he would need a really good wish. It had to be properly selfless, or else Saleh would probably find out and send him to gather wyrmsward herbs during the next battle.

"Excuse me?"

Ewan raised his head and wasn't surprised to see the girl looking at him. Her head was tilted in curiosity but something looked a little wrong about it. Ewan had seen people do the same thing when they were confused by one of Gerik's orders, but she looked like she had heard about it from somewhere else and decided to try it out.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh… you were looking at the ground, and I thought maybe you had lost something…"

"Actually, I was supposed to be attaining unity with the flow of natural existence," Ewan interjected, rather snappishly.

"…Or maybe you were just feeling lonely," the girl finished, looking away. Ewan suspected she had completely ignored him, but he softened a little, realising that if someone as young as her had joined an army and felt lonely, she probably didn't have anyone left in the world. Ewan had his sister and Gerik and Saleh, Ross had his father and a spirit of fierce warrior pride that could dull swords, Lute had her books and studies, and he didn't know what was with Amelia and Franz, but they seemed to be all right.

"Well, I wasn't, but I'm not getting anywhere with Valega, so… if you want to talk…" Ewan offered, shifting well over along the rock.

"All right," said the girl, calmly and instantaneously. She took a seat, apparently not minding that the novice mage was keeping his distance.

Ewan scoured his brain for something to ask. Oh, of course. Pretty obvious, really. "We've got people from the whole continent in this army. Where are you from?"

"The mountains," said the girl. "North of here."

"Really? Between Carcino and Rausten? I've been there a lot, too. You're from Caer Pelyn, like Master Saleh?"

"…No."

"Oh. I didn't know there were other villages in the mountains. Master Saleh never told me about any of them"

"…There are none anymore."

Oh, brilliant. The first topic that he happened to come across led to the detailed explanation of how this war had completely eradicated her home and probably her whole family. No wonder she was travelling with an army – Ewan doubted that he would ever feel safe unguarded in a space bigger than a broom closet if he had seen Tethys and Gerik killed by Grado or traitors out of Carcino.

"Um… sorry." That was a dictionary-perfect example of 'lame', so he moved on quickly. "So you just joined up a little while ago?"

"No. I have travelled with Ephraim for weeks now. He saved me from the soldiers of Grado, inside their own borders, with no assistance but his two loyal cavaliers who kept their escape route clear."

She called him 'Ephraim'. No 'Prince' or 'Lord' or even 'King', which he had heard from Seth was technically now his title. That explained some more – she had to be a relative of the royal family. But why would Renais nobility be in the mountains around Caer Pelyn?

"Wow," said Ewan, because the only other option was to say nothing. It was better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it up and remove all dou… wait, that didn't work. 'It is better to remove all doubt and open your'… no, that was bad too. Blast. Forget it. "What was that like?"

The girl looked straight at him, and her eyes – red eyes, a deep blood red that was somehow more wildly natural than any colour he had seen before – flashed with strange intensity. "Do you know what despair is?" she asked; it was too polite to quite be called a demand.

"Ah, come on, corporal. We've got the bloody stone; she's harmless. You don't have to tie her up as well," said the captain.

"Maybe I like tying her up," the corporal snapped back, finishing the knot around Myrrh's hands. She didn't see the point of it either; she was feeling sick after so many days' captivity, and wouldn't know where to run even if she could. They blindfolded her when they were on the march, and when they made camp all she ever saw was the inside of this co-ordination tent. The air was thick and musty and dead.

"Yeah, you probably do. Freak," the captain muttered, walking out into the night. A faint fresh breeze wafted in when the flap was opened; Myrrh tried to inhale as much of it as possible.

The corporal turned to face her. "Look, little girl, you might have everyone else convinced you're just a helpless little hostage, but I'm still watching. Grado doesn't forgive traitors, and you might not be from around here, but you're going to help Emperor Vigarde, got it? Anything else, any tricks, anything less than total co-operation, and you'll be bound up worse than this while I turn you into a damn research project of abject misery, got it? I asked if you've got it, girl."

Myrrh had looked away, refusing to meet his eyes, but she nodded. It was a nod, she told herself, and it meant nothing. It was just a random gesture from a body that was barely hers. This wasn't her true shape, and she wouldn't let them learn anything they could use to hurt people. She was really just a spirit. That was what made sense, not to think she was really a girl who could turn into the great protector that the people of Caer Pelyn honoured, nearly worshipped.

"Good," said the corporal, sweeping his dagger too near past her face as he sheathed it. He walked out, leaving her alone in the musty half-light.

There were only two possibilities, after being captive this long. Either this powerful Emperor Vigarde they spoke of had tapped into demonic powers and slain Morva, or she had been caught without his knowing. Morva couldn't be gone yet, not so suddenly. It would take time for the Demon King's might and influence to seep into this world, even if that had been a wave of his power she felt emanating from the capital of Grado.

And if he knew she had been captured… there were things worse than death for the Manaketes. Dracozombies were the mightiest of the Demon King's minions, and if Morva decided that rescuing Myrrh was impossible, then she would be expected to give up her own life rather than be twisted into such a beast.

Refusing to think of whether or not she could force herself to actually do anything, Myrrh scoured the tent with her eyes, searching desperately for a weapon of any kind. There were none, of course, unless they had been hidden away in the commander's packs or secreted within his miniature writing desk. In any case, her hands and feet had been tied with rope, and all her great strength was tied to her lost stone. But maybe the rope itself…

No. It was too horrible, and it would be cowardly. Perhaps Morva and Saleh and the elder would have forgiven cowardice, but Myrrh would not be her own instrument of destruction. She wondered if she would even remember who she was after the power of Fomortiis invaded her body. Would she recognise the people she destroyed with the consuming breath of decay as humans, those she was born to protect? Would she know Saleh's face when she saw him? Worse, would he recognise her? She could almost smell the acrid fumes of an undead dragon's assault…

In fact, she could smell something. Not the wooden scent of the soldiers' campfire, faint as it was, but much stronger and from much closer. She saw a red glow draw the shadows of running men on the canvas walls, and a thrill of fear ran through her. There were no other Manaketes nearby, Myrrh would have sensed them. After all Grado's efforts, would a carelessly broken lamp be her executioner?

From outside the tent, she recognised the shouts and clashing metal of combat. Boots and hooves pounded the ground as the red glow grew brighter. The tents were burning. More than one figure crashed into the canvas, and then a blade cut the door-flap open and a stranger burst in.

He was no Grado soldier, that was certain. His armor was dark, mostly black, but his hair and eyes were the blue of oceanic calm, and did not glitter with bloodlust. In contrast, his voice could have hammered nails. "Orson! Where are you!" The tent was too bare to allow for hiding places; Myrrh was obviously the only one inside. His gaze fell on her, and turned quizzical. "Who are you?"

Myrrh wasn't sure she should say anything, Obviously, she couldn't stay with Grado, but was her rescuer trustworthy enough to–

"Prince Ephraim of Renais!" The captain skidded to a halt just short of running into the intruder, which probably would have led to him being placed on the end of the apparent Prince's lance. In the foggy campsite behind him, she could see two cavaliers, one in bronze and the other moss green, running concentric rings of chaos through the troops.

"Who is she!" Ephraim demanded, aiming his lance the captain's way.

"There's no time to explain – take her, you must take her or Emperor Vigarde will have her!"

"Traitor!" The corporal tackled his captain from behind, trying to stab between the armored plates, but Ephraim used his lance as a lever to pry them apart. The corporal rushed Ephraim, this time drawing his sword, and swung in high toward the prince's head. Ephraim ducked the blow, stepped back, deflected the next, gave more ground, side-stepped the third and thrust his weapon forward, felling the Grado soldier in one blow.

"Orson isn't here," said the captain, not sparing a moment for the loss – if it could be called that – of his subordinate. Ephraim crossed the tent and cut the ropes around Myrrh's ankles with the dead soldier's sword. He lifted her over his shoulder and faced the captain, daring him to challenge Ephraim's departure. "Kill me. I will not fight you, prince."

Ephraim let out a long sigh as the tent's roof started to burn. The captain had removed his helmet and closed his eyes, awaiting death. Almost in exasperation, Ephraim brought the shaft of his lance down on the man's head and he collapsed, senseless but quite alive. The canvas would burn too quickly to be a threat to him, so the prince stepped over him and out into the mist-filled battlefield.

"Prince?" asked the bronze cavalier. "We should make our escape while the enemy is in disarray."

"They think there's about a score of us attacking, I'd guess," said the one in green. "Is Orson dead?"

"He's not here," said Ephraim, lifting Myrrh up to the green one's grasp. "We're leaving."

"We'll need a distraction," said the green knight, waving his torch to cut through the gloom. On instinct, Myrrh grabbed it and hurled it with both hands – no choice there – at a store of flour piled against one of the tents. "Hey!" It took a moment for the sack to scorch open, then an explosion echoed across the camp and a plume of fire shot into the air.

"Wish granted," said Ephraim, climbing up behind Forde. They fled.

Not that she told that version of the story to Ewan.

"So… why do you feel lonely, if Ephraim is your brother or whatever?" the little mage asked, still under the impression that she was Renais nobility. Not that you could swing a Gwyllgi in this army without hitting three heirs to various thrones.

"He has said I may call him brother," Myrrh agreed, "but he has no time to offer me, and I cannot ask it of him. I only wish…" But she didn't quite know what she wished for, and trailed off into silence.

"That's what I was doing," said Ewan.

"Wishing?"

"Sort of. It's called Valega. It's a Caer Pelyn ritual – you meditate, reach out into the world around you until you feel like there isn't really a you and an everything else any more, just… the world. And you make a selfless wish for the good of everything."

"How?"

Ewan shrugged, a bit embarrassed that he had never completed the ritual even once. "That is how. I don't really know the details too well. …What were you doing?"

"I have heard of other ways to make wishes. Neimi, the archer, told me that people find dandelions that have gone to seed, perfectly intact ones, and blow all the seeds to the wind to make their wish come true." She looked at the grassy hillside. "There is a distinct lack of intact dandelions here."

"Let's trade," Ewan suggested. "You be altruistic, I'll hunt for plants."

"…All right." Myrrh settled her position on the stone and shut her eyes, but otherwise didn't take any of the meditative positions Saleh had described. She could have as easily been a Caer Pelyn girl sitting on a fence, waiting for her big sister to come back from the market. Ewan started searching for an appropriate former flower.

Aside from the trouble that must have befallen her village, Ewan thought, this girl really didn't have it so bad. Certainly Ephraim would take care of her when the war was over, and she had a say in her own life, now. Between Saleh, Tethys, and Gerik, Ewan sometimes felt like would never have his own life. This girl could do whatever she wanted, go anywhere, find friends and… hey, there was a good one. Ewan bent, plucked the fluff-topped stem, and turned back to the girl.

…Who had sprouted wings. Smooth yellow wings furled protectively like a shell around her shoulders as she sat and concentrated. Her legs swayed in the aimless form of waiting children everywhere. Ewan squinted – it was hard to tell in the morning light, but he thought there was a blurry golden aura around her, and her eyes shone green for a moment when she opened them.

Then it all faded, and she noticed the seed-bloom in his hand. "I'm not sure this is going to work… Oh, you found one," said Myrrh, smiling.

"…You're the Great Dragon. The…" What had Saleh called her? Myrrh: "The pinnacle of the Manakete."

Her smile faded. "I'm not. My father is the guardian against the monsters of Darkling Woods. I don't even have my Dragonstone."

"Well, yeah, but Saleh told me about that: you're destined to be a hero. Well. Heroine."

"I hope so," Myrrh said eventually. "I've seen the world and I want to protect it."

"Then why isn't the Valega working? That should be all you need – a wish to protect the world."

"…Only my father and I are left, now, and if the power of the Demon King is returning, I fear for his life. He adopted me so long ago – if I had to choose between Morva and Magvel, I don't know what I would do. So… that is selfish. And that wish matters to me more," said Myrrh, sadly. "I don't want to be alone."

Ewan frowned and bit his lip. Saleh had been known to ramble at length about philosophy late at night, but it was very, very strange to meet someone who looked to be his own age doing the same thing. He had no idea how to respond in kind, but Gerik had once said something useful…

"If you wish enough and long enough, eventually some of the wishes will come true and some won't no matter what, so you might as well keep wishing and keep going," Ewan recited, pleased that he had remembered the entire phrase. The only thing he wasn't sure of was whether it made the slightest sense or not.

"Um… what?"

Apparently 'not'.

"Here." He held out the dandelion. "I don't know if it works or not, but you don't have to be selfless with this one, so it's worth a shot."

Myrrh took it and stared closely at the seeds, apparently searching for flaws. There were none, so she closed her eyes, and sharpened her focus on one hope. The wings appeared again, as quietly as a lily opening. He had been wrong; Myrrh was as alone as it got in the world. Saleh had spoken about the sacred Manaketes at length – neither human nor demon, both mighty and vulnerable, revered and feared.

She only whispered, but Ewan leaned in to catch the words. "I don't want to be alone."

Myrrh blew, and the cloudy white puffs burst away from the dandelion like the faintest hint of dragon's breath. Ewan gestured and caught every one of the seeds into a swirling funnel between his hands, dancing in perfect rings. His gaze shifted a little to see Myrrh staring at him through the storm, and he jumped back half a step, scattering the seeds to the air. Another gesture caught them again, this time swirling in a ghost of a wall around the mage and Manakete.

He shrugged again. "Wish granted."