Lady Warhawk, page 27
part #4 of Zygradon Chronicles Series
The Stronghold didn't feel like the warm, welcoming haven it had been before. The two of them rarely spoke, diving into their studies, desperate to find the answer to free Mrillis. Meghianna didn't like Ynfara's insistence that she was the key, perhaps the only one who could free the enchanter. The moons wore on and the child's growth became visible and Ynfara's strength grew fragile. And still no answers.
"It's right in front of us," Ynfara said one evening, when they had given up their studies and rested their eyes by sitting in the common room by the fire pit. A tired laugh escaped her. "Not right here, literally. It just occurred to me that whatever they did with Mrillis, they did it right then and there, in that spot where Nemma was sacrificed. Her blood so fouled the ground, if there had been a sign carved into the bedrock saying 'here lies Mrillis the enchanter,' we wouldn't have seen it."
"I believe you might be right," Meghianna said slowly. "And just like the spell that wiped Megassa from most people's minds... It kept us from seeing or even thinking it. My dear, we will make an enchantress of you yet. Such clarity of vision." She laughed wearily and nodded. "Yes, in the morning, we will prepare for the journey."
Ynfara opened her mouth to say something, most likely a protest, but Meghianna stopped her. Later, she thought she should have been suspicious when the young woman meekly acquiesced and went to bed. The next morning, Meghianna tapped on Ynfara's door to wake her for breakfast, and the young queen was gone.
I'm halfway there, Ynfara said, when Meghianna called her through the Threads. If I am the key, then perhaps no one can be with me, no other imbrose can be here, when I set him free.
How are you going to do that? And how can you dare to risk your child's life?
Without Mrillis to stand with Athrar, what sort of life will my child have? Ynfara shot back.
Meghianna agreed with her, but that didn't mean she would sit idly in the Stronghold while Ynfara traveled through the wilderness of the frontier, with the Encindi so close. She packed up the minimal supplies necessary and followed Ynfara down the tunnel to the coast.
She might agree that Ynfara was the key, but that did not mean she would let her wander through the wilderness without protection. Yes, Ynfara's imbrose had grown, but there came a time when even the most powerful enchantress lost some of her strength as all her resources turned inward to protect and nourish her unborn child. Ynfara's belly was noticeable now. Her pregnancy would not protect her from harm--especially if someone recognized her as Athrar's missing queen.
She contacted Pirkin, Athrar and Lycen through the Threads, to tell them what Ynfara had decided and had done. Meghianna knew Pirkin would insist on going out to search for his daughter and watch over her. Lycen overruled him and broke off communication with them as soon as Meghianna gave the three men Ynfara's proposed route.
Athrar sounded weary more than upset. I agree with Ynfara that she is the answer, the one prophesied, but I still wish it could have been someone else. What if she loses our baby? Do you think Mrillis would want to be rescued at that sort of price?
It is high time someone did pay that high a price for him, after all he has suffered for our world, Pirkin said.
Your daughter? Your grandson?
Granddaughter, Meghianna said. Didn't Ynfara tell you yet? She nearly laughed at the impressions that came to her through the Threads, and imagined both men gaping in surprise. We are sure she carries a daughter.
That will be no help at all, Pirkin said. True, the enemies of the throne will back off, pretending friendship for the sake of taking control of the throne through marrying her--
I'll thank you to let my daughter grow up before you marry her off, Athrar growled. He laughed. A daughter! Why didn't she tell me?
You'll have to ask her that when I have her safely back at the Stronghold, Meghianna said.
She agreed with Pirkin--the risk was worth it to bring Mrillis back to them. She prayed that the price would not include Ynfara's child, or Ynfara herself. Mrillis' heart might just break one final, fatal time, if that happened.
Please, blessed Estall, she prayed, don't take him from me. I can't live without him.
Lycen joined Meghianna two hours south of the tunnel mouth at the coast. He'd ridden his horse into a lather, despite changing horses every hour with Valors he trusted implicitly. Meghianna thought it might do them all a world of good if some of those Valors who provided fresh horses and supplies for them along their journey had looser tongues. Some gossip about how Lord Lycen rode at a frantic pace in the company of the Queen of Snows, both of them grim-faced and intent, might do a great deal to dispel the more vicious, intentional rumors.
Ynfara had the advantage of being half a day ahead of them, despite riding at a pace designed to protect her horse's strength and her child's life. She used imbrose only to shield herself from the notice of anyone and anything she passed in her journey, and that left a faint track that Meghianna prayed few could follow. She concentrated on the wisps of power and disturbance among the Threads and let Lycen take care of guiding and defending them.
Ynfara reached the clearing where Nemma's brutally slaughtered body had been found while more than half an hour of travel still lay between her and her pursuers. She dropped her shields and stretched out her thoughts to take in the entire countryside, every living thing that might sense her presence, hear her, smell her.
"Grandfather..." She shivered, and the sensation of cold and fear and flickers of doubt came through the Threads to Meghianna.
Meghianna glanced sideways at Lycen as they urged a little more speed from their mounts, and more wrinkles of worry settled around his grim mouth.
"Grandfather, I am sorry for all my anger and for pushing you away. I forgive you for the circumstances in your life that led to so many changes in mine. I can see now you were not in control. I forgive you, and I beg you to forgive me." Ynfara swallowed hard and whispered in the suddenly too-silent night. "I do love you, Grandfather."
A tear escaped each eye and slid down her dusty cheeks. One hit the edge of her cloak. The other hit the ground.
A harsh, dissonant chime rang through the clearing. A crack appeared in the ground where the tear struck. The stink of old, rotted blood gushed up from the crack as it grew wider and longer.
Ynfara staggered backwards and reached for the reins of her horse as the creature whinnied and panicked. She stepped back a few more paces as the crack turned into a long, black hole and the sides caved in. A sickening green light pulsed from the bottom of the hole, like a weak heartbeat. Ynfara gagged at the stink gushing up in the air from the bottom of the hole, and nearly went to her knees.
A soft shimmer of sound washed across the landscape, like a sweet, warm breeze of springtime, carrying the perfume of a thousand fruit trees in bloom. Meghianna choked on mixed laughter and frustration, and knew that once again, she was too intent on one task to follow the song of the Zygradon and find its resting place.
But what did it matter? Mrillis, she knew in that moment, had returned to the land of the living. She couldn't sense him yet, but the Zygradon knew he was there, and rejoiced.
The intensity of the rotting stench rising from the ground softened and faded with every heartbeat, and the darkness of the green light decreased, changing until only a pale, silvery glow remained in the air. A man groaned, faint and weak.
Meghianna cried out, nearly falling from her saddle, as the sense of Mrillis' presence returned to the Threads. Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head at Lycen, who grabbed hold of her arm and would have stopped her horse.
"Ride on! They need us now." Sobs and laughter mixed in her voice.
By the time they reached Ynfara and Mrillis, he had regained enough strength to pull himself most of the way out of the hole with her help. They lay in a heap, wrapped around each other, nearly on the edge of the hole, both muddy and sweaty and trembling with the effort.
Riding so long without stopping had not been kind to Ynfara. Meghianna took one look at the young queen and saw that she had taken the precaution of wrapping her womb in a protective spell, so the baby would be unaffected by whatever strain she endured.
Their return journey took three days. They rode slowly for the sake of Mrillis and Ynfara. She held his hand whenever she could, and Meghianna was sure that was the best medicine the enchanter could have been given.
Master Deyral and the doorway to Wynystrys waited for them at the coast, an hour south of the tunnel leading to the Stronghold. Meghianna gladly let their small party be taken onto the island, rather than travel another half day to reach the Stronghold. It was a relief to let someone else be responsible for the welfare of her two patients.
She made sure Mrillis was safely washed and tucked into bed, then oversaw Ynfara's identical treatment, because the young queen would not leave his side until he was tended. Then Meghianna gladly sank into her own bed in the guesthouse next to Ynfara, and slept for two days straight, content in the knowledge that Wynystrys would carry them all safely home to Quenlaque.
When she woke, Lycen sat by her side, his eyes dark with sad news.
Edrout had emerged from hiding with Lok and Mykil as his supporters. He demanded that Braenlicach be given to him as Athrar's heir and the next Warhawk. Raids had hit the strongholds of the minor Moertan kings most loyal to Athrar simultaneously, meaning this campaign had been planned for moons, maybe years. The disappearance of Mrillis, then Ynfara and Meghianna, had given them the opening and weakness they needed.
"Let him come and take it," Mrillis said, when Meghianna and Lycen joined him and Ynfara on the shore of Wynystrys a short time later. He sat on an enormous, flat boulder, looking through the protective haze to the coastline where the harbor of Quenlaque was wrapped in storms. "The star-metal sword will burn the hand of anyone unworthy to hold it."
"It will allow itself to be touched by the hands of those who helped forge it," Meghianna said. "A descendant of the Warhawk's bloodline, or a descendant of one of its forgers."
"That would certainly help us narrow down Edrout's paternity, wouldn't it?" Ynfara said, her tone sharp. She blushed and ducked her head when Mrillis laughed at her words.
"You are more like Ceera every day, my dear." Mrillis nodded, his smile fading a little too much for Meghianna's taste. "But yes, that is the truth. We would have a better idea of who is Edrout's father, if he is able to touch the sword without dying of it."
"That would be a victory for our enemies," Lycen said. "They will claim it is proof that Athrar is his father after all." He made a face of disgust and spat. "Begotten on his own sister."
Meghianna sighed. "I wonder where Megassa is now. A prisoner of the conspirators, or murdered once she was no longer useful?"
"Or the heart of the conspiracy?" Ynfara whispered. She shook her head. "I know how she poisoned Mother Glyssani and you thought she had fulfilled the prophecy of the one who abominates--but what if that isn't all of it? What if... I have heard enough people call Edrout an abomination, a child of incest. Megassa was the only one with Indreseen for moons before she gave birth. The midwife vanished--some say she was killed to keep her silent. What if Edrout is Megassa's son?" She licked her lips. "And what if the Nameless One is his father?"
"That would be an abomination, yes," Mrillis said. "Just as it was rumored Trevissa was the daughter of Endor and his sister, Triska. It would be something I would indeed expect of the Nameless One, to double back the family power again by breeding his great-granddaughter. And Megassa has a strong talent for illusion. It would be simple for her to substitute her own child."
"Illusions. Yes. We must counter illusions with truth," Deyral said, as he joined the group on the shore. He nodded toward the city, with the castle fortress rising high above it. "It is time to impress on these Noveni fools and rebel Rey'kil just who and what they dare to rise against."
Ynfara laughed, meaning she understood what the High Scholar meant. Then Mrillis nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief when Meghianna glared at him, demanding an answer.
"The operative word, my dear," he said, reaching for her hand to squeeze it, "is 'impress.' How long has it been since Wynystrys detached from its foundations?"
"Since I was an infant. Ah." She nodded, and decided to laugh rather than feel foolish.
Athrar and most of the Court of Quenlaque waited along the shore, with flags waving and jewels flashing in the sunshine. Deyral and Lycen had called through the Threads to warn them that they would be arriving today, returning Mrillis and Meghianna and Ynfara. The plan had been to simply climb into a boat and row to shore. If Meghianna correctly read the glint of determination and mischief in Deyral's eyes, Wynystrys would come close enough to the docks that the island would scour the floor of the harbor and Ynfara could step from the shore to the docks and into her husband's arms without touching the water.
And the sight of the mysterious island of the Rey'kil, appearing where ships had been displaced moments before by magic, would certainly impress on the Noveni doubters and skeptics that the Rey'kil enchanters still had more than enough power. Despite the continued raiding of star-metal artifacts for that foolishly proposed dumping on Encindi territory.
"I've told Athrar what we're doing," Ynfara announced, as the first ships skittered to the far sides of the harbor and out of their path, moved by suddenly capricious winds and currents. "He thinks it's a marvelous plan. He told me I had better be sitting down, and I'm not to walk a step until he comes for me," she added, her voice thickening with happy tears.
"Smart lad." Mrillis nodded and patted her shoulder. "I'm starting to think he might just be good enough for you."
Lycen and Meghianna stared for a few moments, then the four of them burst out laughing. Deyral pretended disgust, shaking his head, but soon joined in the merriment. The noise of the crowd along the shore quieted to murmurs, as they finally realized something odd was happening in the harbor. People stared, watching the ships that were pushed aside by magic as the island's long, tapering end approached the shore. Most of the ships filling the harbor had reacted to the first stirrings of magic and moved out of the way under their own power. Few ships were actually tied up at the docks, because Athrar had ordered six docks in a row to be empty. He had feared an attack on Ynfara when she appeared in her boat. Those who couldn't convince him that she was a betrayer like Indreseen might try to murder her, after all.
When the water grew shallow enough that the disturbance along the bottom grew noticeable, and the displacement of water for visible nothingness created an eye-aching gap, the murmurs grew into an odd mixture of gasps and strained silence that made the air crackle. Meghianna chose to sit down on the boulder Ynfara had chosen for her seat, and wrapped an arm around the young woman. Despite the years of control moving the island, Deyral had never brought it this close to a shore before, and the stop might be rough.
The air shimmered around them and the crowds gathered along the shore and docks let out a collective gasp as Wynystrys appeared from thin air for all to see. A moment later, Athrar appeared at the end of the nearest dock, his face gleaming with laughter. He ran, flinging himself across the narrowing gap of water and shore, landing with a crunch in the soggy pebbles and mud, but not falling. Meghianna got up and moved aside quickly, letting Athrar gather up Ynfara in his arms and spin her around twice before kissing her soundly.
The crowd on the shore let out cheers that made Meghianna's ears ring.
"That's sure to settle any doubters and scandal-mongers," Mrillis said, stepping up to link his arm through hers.
"Ah, yes. I forgot one of my first lessons. Staging and appearances are more valuable than the most potent spell," Meghianna said, nodding. She smiled when Lycen linked his arm through her other arm.
A gangly, dark-haired boy stood square in the gates of Quenlaque Castle when the procession led by Athrar, with Ynfara on the saddle in front of him, reached the castle. He stood alone, and the guards were conspicuously absent.
"Stop!" Mrillis commanded, and his voice echoed off the castle walls, reverberating so every hard surface seemed to ring. He slid down from his horse and hurried forward, putting himself between Athrar and the boy.
Meghianna reached through the Threads to test the boy, as the celebrating crowds behind them fell silent. Her head ached for a moment, and then she realized she couldn't feel the boy's presence through the Threads at all. Either he was an illusion... Or he was wrapped in a type of magic she had never encountered before.
"Edrout," she whispered, and recalled all those days of speculation about Megassa's magic and who Edrout's real father might be. Magic had aged the boy so he looked nearly grown.
"Ilianora," Lycen growled, and sat up stiff and tall in the saddle, looking beyond the boy to the silent castle behind him. "What has he done?"
"No matter what he has done or not done, or what he wants us to believe he has done, we must move slowly and cautiously," Meghianna whispered, and reached across the gap between their horses to grasp her son's wrist.
"Welcome home, Father," Edrout said. He bowed grandly, making his dark cloak flutter so all the gold thread embroidering the edges and the jeweled brow-band he wore glittered in the sunshine. His gaze flicked once over the muttering crowd before turning all his attention back to Athrar.
"I am not your father." Athrar's voice was calm, almost uncaring. He released the reins of his horse with one hand and rested that hand on Ynfara's belly. "This is the only child I have fathered. My heir."
"I am your heir!" The boy's voice rang, a flat, dissonant sound in contrast to Mrillis' earlier shout. "I will prove it." He held out his hand. "Let me take Braenlicach in my hand. It will shine for me like it never shone for you."
"All that will prove is that you have the blood of one of the forgers of the sword in your veins, not that you came from my blood." Athrar glanced at Lycen. The communication was momentary and Meghianna didn't catch it, but she knew them well enough not to be surprised when her son dismounted and came over to stand with Athrar's horse, visibly guarding Ynfara.
