Age of Death

by Michael

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Oh yes, you are so busy—we both are. We’ve been stalemated in this conflict for years and are incredibly preoccupied with sitting, waiting, and staring at fires, while those we love die or disappear because of the orders we dole out or quests we sanction.”

  Nyphron also leaned back on his elbows. “I hate waiting. Never used to do it. My whole life has been rushing from one skirmish to another. Now . . . I honestly don’t know how long it has been since I’ve drawn my sword. If I tried to use it, I’d likely develop blisters.”

  “Maybe you should spend more time with Nolyn.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “That’s not how you raise a proper son.”

  Persephone had wanted him to admit he should spend more time with Nolyn. Perhaps even an apology for relegating everything to her would be in order, but beyond even those desires, she had hoped he would promise to do more. His answer irritated her. “How would you know?”

  “I’m sure it’s hard to believe, but I was once a son, and I hardly ever saw my father before the age of ten. That was when I was sent to the garrison to start my training. Nolyn should begin soon. Then neither one of us will see him much. He’ll begin his life as a warrior, a hard, grueling existence.”

  “That sounds like an awful way to raise a child.”

  “You think you could do better?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Nyphron shook his head. “Then I fear for Nolyn.”

  Persephone rotated to her side to get a better look at him. The motion revealed just how soupy the world had become, and in the glow of that liquor and flame, she noticed just how handsome the last Galantian was. “Why?”

  “You’re basically saying that the way I was raised wasn’t good enough. That you expect greater things for our son. But look at me. I’m still in my first millennium, and I’ve very nearly taken over the world. How much more could you possibly want?”

  “Are you drunk?” she asked.

  “I didn’t even have a biscuit.”

  Nyphron looked back at the tent. She wondered if the drink had made her more appealing in his eyes, too.

  “You really should have some protection. Let’s not forget about the raow.”

  Guess not.

  “Now that Moya is . . .” He stopped himself, and she appreciated that he didn’t finish that thought. “Anyway, you need a new Shield.”

  “I have Habet here,” she declared. Reaching out, she touched his hand, which generated a grin and a nod.

  “The war will come back to us. It won’t be long now. The advantage is shifting once more. You can feel it, can’t you? We’ve enjoyed too many years behind the lines, but that will soon change. Lothian won’t wait on the weather. As soon as he gets his dragons, he’ll strike. The keenig needs a proper Shield—and my wife will have the best. With Tekchin gone, Sikar is second only to me in ability. I’ll inform him he’ll have the privilege from now on.”

  “Sikar doesn’t like me. Doesn’t like humans in general, I think.”

  “I don’t see how that matters.”

  “It probably would help to have a bodyguard who wants to protect me.”

  “Sikar is a consummate soldier. He’ll do as ordered.”

  “Okay, okay. Fine,” she said, her head still floating. “How long do the effects of erivitie last?”

  “Should wear off by next week.”

  She turned abruptly, and if she hadn’t already been reclining, she would have fallen. When her eyes were able to focus, she saw Nyphron grinning.

  “We’re quite a pair, you and I. Look at us drinking to our losses and making light of the future. In a way, it’s exactly how the last of the Fhrey and the Rhune Galantians ought to behave. It’s like we’re heroes in a story that a Keeper of Ways would tell, except . . .” Persephone looked back into the flames, tears came, and somewhere in that confusing moment, she felt Nyphron’s arms surround her, holding back the dark.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Great Rain

  As I write this, I have no idea if the prophecies are true: Rain’s, Malcolm’s, Suri’s, everyone’s. I hope they are—if for no other reason than it makes a better story. — The Book of Brin

  “Why did you say I was great?” Rain asked once they were outside the Hall of Mideon. He looked beyond bewildered and appeared pained, as if the honorific had been a cruel insult.

  Beatrice had come out with them, just her. The king’s daughter had made it clear she wanted time alone with the visitors. Everyone in the hall had treated Beatrice with unquestioning reverence. Her beauty, white hair, youthful face, and diminutive stature had dressed her in the appearance of purity so perfect that Gifford wondered if it were all just an act.

  Even in the world of the living, appearances can be deceiving, and in Nifrel, a dwarf can make himself into a giant.

  Beatrice looked at Rain and then at the others. “When we’re alone,” she promised. She reached out as if to touch his arm, then stopped. She looked at her own hand and retrieved it awkwardly. “You’ve all had a long journey. While the others prepare, let’s get your people settled, and then you and I can talk.”

  She set off across the antechamber, but the dwarf never took a step.

  Beatrice turned. “Rain?”

  “These are me friends,” he said. “I won’t have secrets.”

  “But—”

  “Wouldn’t have made it this far if not for them.”

  Beatrice didn’t look happy. She stared back at him for a long moment, but Rain was like stone. Given that he’d recently bested a tornado-sized serpent, Gifford didn’t have high hopes that Beatrice would get her way.

  It didn’t take the white-haired dwarf long to figure out that Rain couldn’t be budged. “Fine, but let’s get out of the hall before we talk. There are certain key elements in this discussion that we wouldn’t want others to overhear. We can go to my chambers.”

  Gifford stared at Beatrice, stunned. She knows!

  Rain nodded. Nothing else was said as the Belgriclungreian princess escorted them deeper into the recesses of the Bulwark.

  A warren. That’s what came to Gifford’s mind as they snaked their way through corridors and down flights of stairs. The Belgriclungreians’ fondness for burrowing was well known, even to him, and apparently, it didn’t end with death. They were moving through an insanely elaborate rabbit hole, one that he imagined looked a bit like Neith, based on the tales Roan had told.

  Beatrice led them to a stone wall. She tapped it with the gem of a ring, and the outline of a door appeared. She shoved, and it opened. Inside was not just one room, but many. Lower ceilings, smaller fireplaces, and plenty of rugs, pillows, and wall hangings gave the apartment a warm coziness that the rest of the castle lacked.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” Beatrice told them. “Would anyone like tea? Cake, perhaps?”

  She saw the confusion but had anticipated it because she quickly added, “Just because we don’t need to doesn’t stop us from enjoying eating and drinking. Nifrel is all about sensations: pain and pleasure. I would’ve thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

  Beatrice walked into another room and emerged with a tray of steaming cups and a large plate of tiny cakes.

  “Beautiful ceramics,” Gifford said while taking a cup. He showed it to Roan, who nodded her agreement.

  He took a cake and found it moist and sweet, with just a hint of cinnamon. Beatrice continued moving through the room offering refreshment to each of them. Even Brin took a cup and a cake, a sign she was coming around, if only a little. When the princess got to Rain, he took nothing, and she set the tray down on a low table within easy reach of anyone who wanted more.

  Rain’s face remained chiseled. “Will you answer my question now?” he asked.

  She nodded. “But only if you answer one for me first.”

  Gifford thought it was going to be about Tressa’s key, but instead, the princess said, “Why have you come?” Rain didn’t
answer, and Beatrice added, “Your friends deserve the whole story, don’t you think?”

  Rain glanced at Gifford and Moya, then nodded. “All me life I’ve been haunted by a dream about a woman—one I never saw, only heard. It’s the reason I became a digger. I felt . . . no . . . I knew she was buried deep under the ground. It’s why I went to Neith with Frost and Flood, and why I returned there with Persephone. I’ve been looking for her without knowing why. When I reached the Agave, I knew I’d gotten to the bottom of the world, but she wasn’t there. She was deeper still. I knew it then. The one who haunted me wasn’t trapped, she was dead—she was in the underworld.”

  Rain stared hard at the princess.

  Beatrice nodded. “Yes, I called to you. I needed you to come.”

  “Why?” Rain asked.

  Beatrice smiled, walked to the door, and tapped it again with her ring. The outline vanished, and the opening became a wall. They were sealed in, trapped with the perfect white-haired princess.

  “What I’m about to tell you is for you alone, Rain.” Beatrice gave a glance at the others. “And for your close friends, apparently.”

  The princess took a seat near the fire. For Brin, this was the closest thing she’d experienced to the dahl’s lodge since she was a girl. Food, a fire, and a wonderful story coming—if Tesh were sitting beside her, she would have called this paradise.

  “As you’ve likely surmised, I know that one of you carries Eton’s key.”

  “You don’t know which one?” Moya asked.

  “No,” Beatrice replied. “I see the future—I always have—but it’s not that precise. Like stars at night, only the big ones, the brightest, are clear. The little things, the tiny details, are lost in the background, crowded out by the brilliance of the rest.”

  “The stars.” Roan spoke up. “We saw them when we passed through the wall. They’re yours, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “My tiny contribution to my father’s world.”

  “I like them,” Roan added.

  Beatrice nodded. “Thank you. I miss the real thing. I used to look to them for guidance. They are a constant, you know? Everything changes except the stars. You can plot your way by their positions.”

  Brin had heard of people traveling by way of stars, but she suspected Beatrice might mean something else entirely.

  “I also know why you are here. At least why you think you are. In that respect, it is quite likely that I know more than you do.” Beatrice poured a bit of tea. As she did, she said, “People have lied to you.”

  With a hard swallow, Brin braced for the rest, but Beatrice left it there. Instead, she added what looked to be honey to her drink.

  Brin admitted to herself that she had no idea what to think about this strange white-haired dwarf with the sparkling eyes and childish face. The princess was the sort of odd, magical individual—like Suri—who had always fascinated Brin.

  Perhaps it is only a façade, but the faces we choose to show others say much about who we are because we picked them. What sort of person selects that exterior?

  Beatrice finished stirring her tea and lifted the cup with both hands. She held it beneath her chin, the steam rising before her face. “You can be certain that some lied with good intentions, others not so much, but everything will be revealed before the end. What won’t be, what will remain hidden, is that the end will not be where you think it is. There will be much more that has to happen. Your part might seem like that’s all there is, but in many ways, it’s just the beginning. You—we—are but the faded mythology of a world to come. Many of our names will be forgotten, lost in the dust of time, but what you do now will shape the world until the Golrok, when everything is at last decided. That’s what it comes down to, what all this is ultimately for. There is a set of scales, and each soul will choose their side. How the balance tilts at the end, when all is over, means everything. Either way spells disaster of one sort or another. The hope is that the scale never tips, that it stays balanced. But ensuring that outcome will take courage the likes of which the world has never seen.” Beatrice looked at Brin. “And it will also need help from the most unlikely of people.”

  “I don’t understand what this has to do with me,” Rain said.

  “Really?” Moya popped a bit of cake into her mouth. “Because I don’t understand what this has to do with any of us. Do you think you could be a little more vague, Betty?”

  Brin thought the princess might take offense, but that didn’t appear to be her nature. Instead, she nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. I must sound like such a tease, right?” She held up a hand and shook it. “Hey, look! I know the future, but will I tell you anything of real value? No!” She took a sip of her drink and instantly pulled it back. “Hot,” she said, rubbing her lips. “Ha! I know the future, but I can’t tell when my own tea is too hot to drink.”

  “And why won’t you tell us anything important?” Moya asked.

  “Look,” Beatrice said, “the gods gave me a gift, or maybe a curse, or possibly I’m an accident, I don’t know. But I can look behind the veil. I see everything, the future and the past like a map—like the stars—points connected across a vast darkness. I’ve had this ability since I was born. I tried using it. Who wouldn’t, right? But my efforts to take advantage of what I knew never worked because acting altered the map. It’s like trying to grab a bit of dust in liquid. It’s hovering there; you can see it, but the moment your hand enters the pool, you disturb the water, and the dust moves away. Over the years, I’ve learned it’s counterproductive to reach in and grab. Subtlety is required. Telling someone the truth doesn’t work. Instead, people need to be directed, coaxed in the right direction. And the easiest way to do that is to keep them ignorant. Then it is possible to move the dust into the right place at the right time. That’s why I can’t explain what I know. If I did, then what I know would change—understand?”

  “Sounds like a weak excuse,” Moya said.

  “I can see that, but it is the truth and the nature of all seers.” Beatrice ventured another, more tentative sip that bore better results. “The good news is—in the case of Rain—I can tell him exactly what is going to happen because I’m the one who is supposed to let him know.” She straightened up, clutched her cup, and grinned widely as she focused on the Belgriclungreian. “Rain, you will survive this quest. You will return to the world of the living. When you do, you will go to Belgreig and to a little town called Muldain, just a tiny fishing village—a place that time has forgotten. At the end of the seaside lane, you’ll find a small whitewashed stone cottage, a very humble home with tattered curtains and a rotting boat out front. Inside, you’ll find a great treasure: an eight-year-old girl named Amica.”

  Beatrice paused to drink. When she lowered her cup, she continued to stare silently at Rain.

  “And then what?” he asked.

  Beatrice’s eyes sparkled brightly. “You marry her.”

  Rain’s brows shot up. This was the most emotion Brin had ever seen the dwarf exhibit. Even drunk and singing, he never showed more than a smile. “Marry an eight-year-old?”

  “Not straightaway, of course.” Beatrice scowled. “But eventually—when she grows a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “Amica is my . . .” She paused and thought a moment. Throwing up fingers, she counted. “Great-great-great-granddaughter. Yes, I think that is right.”

  “She’s your—wait . . .” Shock filled his face. “I thought the line of Mideon is dead.”

  “No, it’s not.” Beatrice shook her head slowly, her eyes eating up his reaction to the news. “And you will reestablish it. Rain, you will be king. You will unite the clans and make the Belgriclungreians great once more. You, my long-awaited hero, will establish an alliance with the First Empyre and make us proud once again.”

  “You’re going to be king?” Moya pushed out her lower lip and nodded in approval. “Congratulations.”

  “Hopefully, you’ll be better than tha
t monster Gronbach,” Brin said.

  Rain shook his head. “No one will believe me.”

  “Oh, yes they will,” Beatrice assured him. “Especially when you return with Lorillion.”

  “Mideon’s sword?”

  Beatrice nodded. “The very same.”

  “But it’s gone.”

  “That’s right. And where did everyone say it went? Grave robbers?”

  “O’ course not. It was proven that the tomb hadn’t been breached.”

  “But they buried him with it, so where did it go?”

  Rain looked a bit embarrassed. “Folks said that old King Mideon was so greedy he found a way to take it with him when he died.”

  “And they were right.” Beatrice moved to a bare section of her wall and once more touched it with her gem. A drawer appeared. She pulled it out and lifted a sword from it. “This is Lorillion—not the idea of the sword, but the actual sword.”

  Rain took a step closer to look. “How is that possible?”

  “What do you know about Lorillion, Rain?”

  “What everyone does. That it was forged by the master, Andvari Berling, from a bit of star that had fallen from the sky.”

  “That’s right. It was a one-of-a-kind creation.”

  “That doesn’t explain how it got here.”

  “Yes, it does,” Roan murmured, and everyone looked her way.

  “How so?” the princess asked, a grin on her face.

  “That of Elan stays in Elan,” Roan said. “That of Eton goes to Phyre; that of both can be touched by the living and the dead. That sword is like the key. It can exist in both worlds.”

  Beatrice nodded. “Very good, my dear, very good, indeed. Andvari—the greatest craftsman the world has ever known—made Lorillion from equal parts metal from Elan and the remains of one of Eton’s falling stars. This is the real sword of Mideon, and Rain will take it with him when he leaves.” Beatrice put it back and made the drawer disappear.

  “Aren’t you going to give it to him?” Moya asked.