Bertrand’s Interlude

Published by J. Allen Cunningham at October 4, 2025

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Image by Danieloov from Pixabay

Bertrand sprinted up the wooden bridges and walkways of Emlahil. Its Wood Elf sentries stared at him as he passed, but he did not care.

He scrambled his way up through the city, seeking Deeproot, its center, and the palace at its top. It was a late hour, and night had fallen. The King might already be in bed, but he had no choice. The guards would surely rouse the King in time.

He tightened his clasp on the wrapped bundle he carried, holding it close to his chest. He knew the magic of the forest would protect him, but could not shake the sensation of darkness behind him — a darkness that reached out with invisible hands.

Still sprinting, Bertrand shook his head, trying to dispel the chill in his spine. This night had already cost him one life. He refused to allow it to take another.

He wound his way up the stairs that spiraled around Deeproot’s massive trunk, and finally reached the grand concourse. Exhaustion tore through his limbs and into his chest. As he’d hoped, King Glilitia stood ready to greet him, dressed in his royal lounging robe.

Bertrand collapsed, nearly landing on the King’s feet, and the swaddled baby he held gave the faintest cry.

“Oh, friend, what has happened?” the King said, his voice still gravely from sleep.

Bertrand looked up at him, his eyes reddened and moist as the tears now began to streak down his face. His words came in hitches, “You—please—have to take her. Hide her—call her your child. Amina—oh gods—”

Even through his tears, Bertrand saw his friend’s face tremble as emotion welled up. King Glilitia leaned over, grasped Bertrand’s arms, helped him to his feet, and embraced him. Their bodies shook with great sobs as the swaddled child whimpered between them.

At last, when he felt he could speak evenly again, Bertrand pulled away. His eyes met the King’s.

“Assassin’s dart, meant for me. Amina—” He paused and tried to catch up to his thoughts. “—leapt in front of me.” He looked down at the child’s face and stroked its soft cheek. “She’s all I have left. I can’t lose her.”

He breathed in deeply, then handed Glilitia the swaddled baby. “I am already less whole. To lose her would mean the full loss of myself. Please, this is the safest place in all of Andoria. I have nowhere else to go.”

Betrand watched, heart pounding, as Glilitia looked at the child. The King’s hands rose a little, fell, then rose again, and he took the baby gently into them.

“She is young enough,” the King said, his voice trembling. “We can alter the records, and call her after our own—” His voice broke, and he drew the baby in toward him as he looked to Bertrand. “You know what this means?”

“Yes.” Bertrand lifted his chin and clenched his now-empty hands. “I will do whatever I can for her.” He felt a fresh round of tears coming and swallowed heavily.

“You would always be welcome. To not offer it would be heartless.”

“And I will come, so long as my heart can endure it,” Bertrand said as he clasped the King’s outstretched hand. Then he pulled a gem from his pocket, held it to his lips, and whispered, “Amina”.

Bertrand vanished from the concourse. A tuft of air whipped up from the ground where he had stood.

Glilitia looked back at the baby and stroked a gentle finger across her face as she gazed up at him. He noted that her ears were not quite as pointed as her father’s, but her eyes were clearly his. The smallest frown crossed his face. Then he sighed. He looked up at the night sky and wondered what fate had just left in his care.

**The tales of Bertrand, Glilitia, and others in their world continue in J. Allen Cunningham’s currently publishing, immersive book series The Trials of Andoria.**

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