The Law of the Lair, page 1
Copyright © Helen Scheuerer 2020
Helen Scheuerer asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
A Lair of Bones is OUT NOW!
Continue Deelie and Cerys’ story…
About the Author
Also by Helen Scheuerer
Chapter One
It had been three glorious years since Deelie had left Saddoriel. Archways and chandeliers of bone had been exchanged for the sturdy ivory pillars of Lochloria, the open-air scholars’ city of Lamaka’s Basin. Here, warlock magic flowed like an unending river and the dramatic tones of the lair’s harp and fiddle were replaced with the softer, more delicate notes of timber wind chimes.
Deelie laughed loudly as she watched Cerys chase her brother, Marlow, around the quadrangle, waving her fist threateningly. The siblings had shot up in height since departing from the cyren lair; their long legs were like springs beneath them as they darted across the stone pavers and emerald grass. Deelie massaged her aching cheeks, still not quite able to believe she could laugh so much that it hurt. It was one of many things that had changed since the young cyrens had left Saddoriel.
Across the quadrangle’s gardens, Marlow evaded his sister once again and Cerys let out a growl of frustration, flashing her dark talons as Deelie had taught her. A gleeful laugh burst from Marlow’s lips as he dashed past the white stone bench where Deelie sat. The musical sound entwined with the warm summer breeze and the wind chimes knocking together. Deelie found her own laughter bubbling out once more.
‘Are those two at it again?’ a soft, amused voice sounded from behind her.
Deelie looked up to see Cerys and Marlow’s mother, Sedna Irons, watching with her arms folded across her coral breastplate. A smile tugged the corner of her mouth, softening her usually harsh face. Sedna’s dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid that ran the length of her spine, and midnight-blue scales peppered her temples. Her kind lilac gaze sought Deelie’s before it found her nestlings again.
‘I was hoping they’d learn some decorum from you, Deelie. Alas, my children know nought of propriety, it seems …’
Cerys and Marlow darted between the thick white pillars without a thought for the Lochlorian locals going about their daily business in the quadrangle.
‘We are lucky Marlow is able to do such things,’ Deelie ventured daringly, glancing up at the great battalion leader beside her.
Sedna squeezed her shoulder gently. ‘You’re right about that,’ she said. Under the instruction and treatment of the Warlock Supreme, Marlow’s former illness had all but faded. All that remained was a slight irregular tremor in his smallest finger.
‘I’m counting on you to get my offspring under control,’ Sedna continued. ‘And to their lessons on time.’ Deelie could hear the smile in Sedna’s voice. It told her there was no real expectation that she would be able to control the two unruly, unpredictable Irons nestlings.
‘Battalion Leader?’ a gruff voice interrupted. It was Vardan, the head cyren guard of Lochloria. ‘The messenger from Saddoriel has arrived.’
‘Have him wait in my chambers.’
‘But —’
All it took was a raised brow from Sedna to silence Vardan. While the battalion leader was nothing but gentle and kind to Deelie and her children, she was a force to be reckoned with amongst the cyrens of Lamaka’s Basin and Talon’s Reach.
Vardan gave a stiff nod. ‘He will wait in your chambers,’ he said, before scuttling off. Deelie had never seen Vardan scuttle away from anyone but Sedna.
* * *
Lessons were different in Lochloria. They took place outside beneath the yellow wattle trees, by the stream that ran through the centre of the quadrangle, and were taught by a water warlock apprentice called Killian. At first, Deelie had been terrified of Killian – he was all folds of black robes and a hood that covered his face: the uniform of all warlocks. But over time, the hood had come away to reveal a thoughtful, round face and handsome dark features. Instead of learning history and deathsongs, the trio learned about the power of water and how its current always called to their kind, stirring the cyren magic in their veins, just as music did.
While Deelie had come to love their lessons with Killian, she could never shake the knowledge that if her mother, Zarya, ever discovered her education was in the hands of a water warlock, blood would be spilled. Despite that, Deelie found there was a lightness to the magic of water warlocks that she deeply admired. As far as she understood, all cyrens did with their magic was sing songs of death, whereas the warlocks … They used the power of water to create enchantments and potions that could heal, that could build and grow things. Deelie need only look at Marlow, healthy and strong, or imagine Saddoriel itself, to know that.
Marlow, who had experienced the warlocks’ unique brand of magic firsthand, was even more curious than Deelie. ‘But howww, Killian?’ he asked, for what felt like the fourteenth time. ‘How did the water take my tremors?’
Deelie didn’t mind Marlow’s questions. In fact, she liked how his moss-green eyes brightened every time he asked one. During these interviews, Cerys was unusually quiet, watching Killian patiently address each of Marlow and Deelie’s concerns.
‘Warlocks draw natural power from the water,’ he said this time, as he had many times before. ‘This power enhances the properties of the herbs we wish to use, or it can fuel the words of our enchantments. A combination of both potions and verbal enchantments helped cure your ailments, Marlow. Healing is something we warlocks pride ourselves on.’
‘What if you didn’t heal him, but changed him altogether?’ Cerys asked suddenly, her head tilting slightly as she waited for the response.
‘Can change not be a form of healing?’ Killian replied.
Cerys narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Deelie had noticed that Killian’s answers often came in the form of more questions, unlike the straightforward yeses and nos of her former tutor in Saddoriel. While Deelie and Marlow enjoyed the philosophical nature of the warlocks, Cerys seemed to crave a far more factual education.
‘I think it can,’ Marlow offered, twirling a fallen leaf between his fingers. ‘The healers in Saddoriel said I was going to die.’
‘And yet here you are,’ Killian mused.
Marlow grinned, which made Deelie grin too.
‘Show us again, Killian,’ she heard herself say. ‘Please?’
Killian sighed, in the same way she’d heard Sedna sigh – the way that meant he didn’t mind showing them at all. The warlock produced a tiny vial from his robes and removed the cork with his teeth. He cupped his other hand and poured the liquid – water from the stream that he carried with him at all times – into his palm. He whispered to it, so softly that Deelie and the others couldn’t hear the enchantment. They watched in utter awe as the water in Killian’s palm rippled and rose up away from his hand. It split into several droplets and floated in mid-air before them, forming an unusual shape.
Cerys frowned. ‘What is it?’
‘The letter “S”,’ Deelie answered, marvelling at the strange formation.
‘Hmm … It’s actually meant to be a sea serpent,’ Killian told them. ‘I’m somewhat out of practice with these sorts of enchantments. I’m better at …’ His free hand circled the water shape elegantly and he murmured another spell. The droplets of water changed colour, suddenly blooming into a lilac flower.
The trio gasped in unison, looking from the bloom to each other in utter awe.
‘I wish I could do that,’ Cerys breathed.
‘You can do lots of other things,’ Deelie offered, patting her friend’s knee.
‘Deelie is right,’ Killian said. ‘A cyren has other gifts.’
Cerys scoffed at that. ‘Like what?’
Killian raised a brow in mock surprise. ‘You can manipulate bodies of water, Cerys. The rivers, the seas … You can breathe underwater, and your music … Your song —’
‘One song,’ Cerys countered crossly, ignoring his other points. ‘One lousy song, if we’re lucky enough to find it.’
Cerys’ premature impatience over her lack of deathsong was well known in Lochloria.
‘A cyren can sing as many songs as they like,’ Killian said slowly.
Frustrated, Cerys tutted. ‘There is only one with power.’
Killian pressed his long fingers together before him, the wide sleeves of his robes billowing. With his dark brows furrowed, he seemed to consider Cerys and his next words carefully before he spoke. ‘There is power all around you, young nestling.’
* * *
That night they dined in the Irons’ private apartments, as they always did: just the four of them huddled around the table, the wind chimes creating music of chance throughout their quarters. Sedna was still wearing her coral breastplate, her dark hair now swept up and pinned back with two pieces of bone. Eve
Now, Sedna’s bright lilac eyes scanned the trio. ‘How were your lessons today?’ she asked.
Deelie always waited for Cerys or Marlow to answer first. They were the ones Sedna was really asking, after all. But the battalion leader never allowed Deelie to remain in the shadows.
‘Deelie?’ she prompted.
Deelie tried not to flush. ‘We … Uh …’
Cerys nudged her with an elbow, a little encouragement to tell her that she should be used to this by now. But she wasn’t. She could never get used to being asked about her day, or having her opinions actively sought after.
‘Killian showed us more warlock magic,’ she managed.
‘Did he, now?’ Sedna said, smiling.
That was also something Deelie wasn’t used to: a fully mature cyren smiling at her. She couldn’t remember the last time her own mother had smiled.
Marlow was nodding enthusiastically. ‘It was amazing. Even Cerys thought so.’
Sedna’s eyes brightened. ‘It’s a very different form of magic to our own. Though it is no less valuable.’
‘Without it, I’d be dead,’ Marlow announced.
‘You probably would be.’ While the battalion leader was gentle and kind, she never sugar-coated the truth to her nestlings.
‘Any news on the war?’ Cerys asked.
This Deelie had grown used to. Her friend wasn’t shy in the slightest and always thirsted for information about her mother’s involvement in the conflict with the humans across the seas. Often, she and Deelie would stay up late into the night, whispering of what they had gathered about the fighting over the last few years. Deelie sometimes drew on her own memory – snippets of conversation she’d overhead; letters she’d scanned from her sisters to Zarya, who’d discarded the parchment in a hurry. Once, Deelie had thought to reprimand her mother for leaving such secret information lying carelessly about, but she’d been too scared of repercussions. Instead, she’d burned each piece of parchment in the fire herself, ensuring that not a single word remained.
‘More casualties,’ Sedna told them, never holding back. ‘You know I receive a new count every day.’
Deelie’s time in Lochloria had been surreal. Sometimes, the simple marvel of pure magic was all that mattered. The wars across the seas were far away, and she could pretend that a droplet of water blooming into a flower was the most complex part of her day. But then the whispers of deathsongs and warships would flutter in, and the reality of it would nearly sweep Deelie away from her life here, like a forceful current washing her out to those bloody waters.
Her sisters were out there, her mother … How many humans had they killed? How much coastline had been gained? To what extent could the Saddorien Army shape the water to its will? Without a true deathsong of her own, it was hard to imagine any sound escaping her that had the power to kill. Deelie pictured Neri tucking her into bed when she was little: her sister’s gentle touch and kind eyes, the quiet humour in her crooked smile … How many lives had her song ended?
‘Are we winning?’ Marlow asked.
Sedna pushed her plate away and leaned back in her chair with a heavy sigh. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Why not?’ Marlow asked. ‘A war is a fight, isn’t it? There’s always a winner.’
‘In the end, I suppose. But Marlow, we have been in this war for over three years now. The losses on both sides are unfathomable.’
Deelie stayed quiet, unable to keep Neri from her thoughts. She was out there somewhere, along with their mother and other sisters, fighting King Asros’ war for the coastlines of the human realm.
Deelie nearly jumped when Cerys squeezed her hand.
‘Don’t you want to know, Deelie?’ she asked quietly.
Deelie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘Sometimes I think it would be easier not to …’
‘You’re right,’ Sedna said. ‘Sometimes ignorance is the easier way of life. But that does not mean it’s right, Deelie. No child of mine will bury their head in the sand while the world burns.’
Chapter Two
Deelie, Cerys and Marlow waited by the stream for Killian the next day, joined by a small group of young warlock apprentices. Killian was late, as he often was, leaving the group to meander and chat in low voices amongst themselves. Deelie kept close to Cerys and Marlow, who didn’t seem to mind at all that they didn’t belong here.
‘Are you the cyrens everyone’s talking about?’ said a young water warlock, stepping towards them, her grey robe fluttering.
Deelie watched Cerys’ brow crinkle. ‘Depends what people are saying,’ she said curiously.
Deelie was suddenly aware that the hum of the group’s conversations had ceased, quiet falling around them.
‘That there is a cyren here whose deathsong conquered three human warships a week ago …’
‘We’re too young to have a deathsong,’ Deelie heard herself whisper, her face flushing hot as gazes shot to her.
But the water warlock shook her head, not unkindly. ‘Not you.’ She glanced across to Cerys and Marlow. ‘Your mother, the Saddorien Battalion Leader. Everyone’s been telling the story …’
Cerys and Marlow exchanged looks and Cerys tugged Deelie closer to her side. Deelie knew from this small action that neither Cerys nor Marlow knew anything about their mother’s deathsong, or her apparent part in the battles out at sea. Deelie herself had always assumed that Sedna’s role was one of strategy, that she rarely swam in the bloodied waters … Cerys’ expression was unreadable, and Marlow’s face had taken on a pale hue reminiscent of his days of illness.
The young water warlock who’d spoken grimaced. ‘I meant no disrespect,’ she said, holding a hand to her chest.
It was Deelie who stepped forward. ‘It’s alright,’ she told the warlock. ‘We know.’
The girl nodded gratefully and rejoined her friends, who had returned to their own conversations.
‘What does she mean?’ Cerys hissed as Deelie met her gaze.
‘I think you will have to ask Sedna tonight,’ she replied evenly. ‘There is no point in worrying without hearing what she has to say, is there?’
‘What if it’s true?’ Marlow asked, his green eyes wide, his hands wringing before him.
Deelie nudged him, the same way that Cerys so often did to comfort her. ‘Then it would seem you two are the offspring of one of the most powerful cyrens in history.’
Cerys stared at her. ‘Then why are we not —’
‘Good morning, young warlocks and cyrens.’ Killian’s firm voice cut her off as he strode towards them. ‘My apologies for the tardiness. A warlock’s work is often unpredictable.’ He offered no further explanation, instead facing the group with his hands in his pockets. ‘Today’s lesson is a little different. It’s an instrumental part of your education – of understanding water warlock and cyren history and culture, and most importantly, law. If you’ll come with me …’
Intrigued, the group did as he bid, following his long strides along the stream, away from the quadrangle. They found themselves leaving the scholars’ city behind and wandering through the woodlands at the stream’s edge, the notes of the wind chimes following them. Curiosity bred silence amongst the group, and they walked for some time without speaking. The quiet didn’t bother Deelie at all. She enjoyed any excuse to take in the wild sights of Lochloria: the sea of trees, tall and vibrant, their leaves rustling in the warm breeze. It was all so vastly different to the dark tunnel networks and the formidable cylindrical fortress of her former home.
At last, the group came to a place that looked eerily familiar to Deelie. One look at Cerys told her that her friend was experiencing the same surreal sensation. Before them was a pool surrounded by weeping willow trees, its surface still and glassy. A strange aura seemed to pulse from it … and even the wind chimes fell quiet.
